Daring Dixie

by Tara Crescent

  He didn’t expect me to okay that. For a fleeting moment, he looks taken aback. He reaches for the pitcher and refills his glass, his hand unsteady. “Oral? Giving and receiving?”

  I don’t know myself anymore. It’s like I’m a different person around them. My nipples are erect, and I’m wet, slippery with desire. This conversation—this matter-of-fact discussion about my limits—should embarrass me. Instead, it’s turning me on.

  I do my best to match Hunter’s tone, calm and unfazed. “I’m good with both.”

  “There are two of us in your fantasy. Two penises. How do you feel about a combination of oral and penetrative sex?”

  It's like he reached into my mind and plucked that fantasy from my brain. “That’s acceptable,” I squeeze through stiff lips.

  Eric finally breaks his silence. “Anal sex,” he grinds out. “Yay or nay?”

  Does that mean he’s considering it? Goosebumps rise on my skin. The way he’s looking at me—there’s boiling lust in his gaze, but there’s something else in his expression. Something darker.

  I should back out of this. I already know I’m not going to. The moment for running away is long gone. Whatever happens, I’m going to see this through.

  “I’ve never done it before,” I murmur.

  “Are you interested in trying it?” Hunter asks.

  I hesitate. “Maybe. I don’t know.” What’s the term that Fiona uses? “Anal’s not a hard limit.” I squirm in my seat, my muscles clenching in need. I’m so wet. So aroused. If either of them as much as touches me, I’m going to explode. I turn to Hunter. “I know you like kink. Is this going to be boring for you?”

  He laughs disbelievingly. “Dixie, I’m so hard that I’m seriously contemplating going into the men’s room to take the edge off. I’m not a germaphobe, but even as a teenager, I’ve never jacked off in a public washroom.” He rests his hand on mine. “Trust me, I’m fine.” He looks up at the other man. “I’m in if Eric’s in. Eric?”

  16

  Eric

  What the hell am I thinking?

  I don’t care about anal sex. I mean, anal’s fun and all that, but of all the thousands of things I could have said, that’s the question I asked her?

  My emotions are all over the place. I’m a little bit jealous that Hunter and Dixie had what seems a very intimate dinner. I feel left out. That’s insane. I should stay away from Dixie.

  But God, when she told me her fantasy…

  I should say no. This is too complicated. For starters, we work together. I’m supposed to help Xavier find his next COO. Sleeping with Dixie would be a serious conflict of interest.

  Then there’s the ghost of my wrecked relationship with Cici. When she said she wanted to try kink, I’d been thrilled. I’d been eager to show her around my world. Happy she was willing to explore, certain we could find enough to turn us both on.

  But I discovered that Cici thought of BDSM as something you did before you were married. You sowed your wild oats, and then you got settled down. Once you were married and had children, you did it once a week with the lights out.

  I don’t know why she ever agreed to try kink. Maybe she was genuinely curious; maybe it was an attempt to get me to propose. In any case, when it became clear that we had very different sexual needs, things had gotten ugly. She’d called me a pervert and made our friends believe that I got off on hurting her.

  I loved her. The shock of what she did has kept me from getting involved with anyone again.

  This situation with Dixie is going to end up the same way—I just know it.

  Dixie thinks she wants to explore her wild side. Bitter experience has taught me that women like her don't really have a wild side that they can access without guilt.

  I keep things casual. I play with experienced partners, women who know exactly what they want and aren’t afraid to ask for it. I hold people at arm’s length.

  Today, Dixie might drink a margarita and proclaim that she wants to have sex in the back seat of a car with both of us. But afterward? I know what will happen. Embarrassment. Guilt. Shame.

  And eventually, she’ll look for someone to blame.

  You don’t know anything about me.

  She’s right; I don’t. She might not react as destructively as Cici had. She might surprise me.

  It’s one scene. A one-time thing. She wants to keep it casual too.

  Hunter’s looking at me, waiting for me to respond. I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t want him to be in the scene and not me, and that’s a dick thing to wish for. Sure, Hunter is a friend, and he might even accede to my wish, but it’s not fair.

  I wouldn't have thought Dixie would be an exhibitionist. Her fantasy has taken me entirely by surprise, and fuck me, I want in.

  You know you’re going to say yes, don’t you?

  Still, I try one last desperate attempt at common sense. “We work together.”

  “We do,” Dixie agrees. Is that doubt in her eyes? Is she regretting this conversation? “John Stone already thinks the only reason you stood up for me against Kevin is because you want in my pants.”

  I snap my head up. “He said what?”

  She waves it aside. “You’re right. I’m being crazy. We shouldn’t do this.”

  I should be relieved she’s having second thoughts, but somehow, I find myself arguing the other side. “That’s not a ‘No.’ I need to tell Xavier we’re going to do a scene together.” I take a deep breath. “I’m in.”

  She bites her lower lip, her expression uncertain. “Too much?” I ask her. “Too real?”

  She must think I’m mocking her again. Her eyes flash with ire. “I don’t want to do anything behind Xavier’s back either,” she shoots back.

  Speaking of the devil, Xavier chooses that moment to walk into the bar. I look at the beautiful woman in front of me. “What do you think, Dixie? Yes or no?”

  “Yes.”

  17

  Dixie

  I can't believe I’m doing this.

  Eric goes over to talk to Xavier. From my spot in the booth, I watch them.

  I must look tense because Hunter puts his hand on mine again. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”

  “For you, maybe. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  Xavier doesn’t look thrilled. He says something to Eric, a frown on his face. Eric says something in reply, his expression hard. The two of them seem to be having an argument.

  My stomach sinks. I didn’t think this through. “Is he going to fire me?” I ask, my voice small.

  Hunter looks incredulous. “For what? Xavier owns a sex club.”

  “He doesn’t look happy.”

  He glances their way for a second. “He’s unhappy with Eric, not you. He’ll come around. Forget them. What about tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Your fantasy,” he says patiently. “Shall we do it tomorrow night?”

  God, that’s moving quickly. I must look uncertain because Hunter gives me a kind smile. “Do you want to wait? Would you prefer to get to know us better first? What can I do to make you comfortable?”

  If I wait, I will chicken out. If I get to know them better, I will chicken out again. No, this is a crazy plan, but if I’m going to do it at all, it needs to be right away. “Tomorrow night is fine.”

  Xavier finally nods curtly. He turns to the bar, and the bartender immediately materializes in front of him.

  Eric heads back to the booth, his stride purposeful. He sees me staring, and his lips curl up in a small smile.

  It’s on.

  18

  Dixie

  What does one wear to a prearranged sex assignation? I try on almost everything in my closet before settling on a white ruffled skirt and a red blouse. I’m swiping some gloss on my lips when the doorbell rings.

  Hunter’s here.

  My pulse racing, I slip my feet into my sandals and open the door. “Hi.”

  “Hello, Dixie.” He’s dr
essed casually this evening—he’s wearing slacks and a white shirt. His gaze sweeps over me, slow and thorough, and by the time he’s done, I’m hot all over.

  “Did you have trouble finding the place?”

  His lips quirk. “Are we making small talk now?”

  I’ll be grinding on his lap in less than an hour, so that’s a valid question. “I guess not.” I grab my keys out of my bag and lock up. “Shall we?”

  Mrs. Grace would have been horrified I didn’t invite him inside and offer him a drink. Then again, Mrs. Grace would have hardly approved of the rest of my evening.

  Hunter isn’t driving the Datsun today. He opens the passenger door of a black Lexus, and I get in. It’s a boilerplate luxury car, leather seats and wooden trim. “What happened to your other car?”

  He chuckles. “It has a tiny back seat. I chose comfort.”

  He shuts the door and comes around the driver’s side. We get on our way. For about ten minutes, we drive in silence.

  The longer we drive, the more I start getting jittery. I think I’m doing a good job concealing it until Hunter glances at me. “You look nervous,” he says. “Why?”

  “Apart from the fact that I’ve never done anything like this before?”

  “Are you nervous in general about trying new things?”

  Huh. That’s an interesting question. “Not really,” I say, thinking about it. “This scene… After senior prom, I was making out in the park with my boyfriend, and a ranger walked in on us.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t know.” I don’t want to think about the past. “I’m rambling. I’m not making any sense.”

  “That’s okay,” he says easily. “If I’d known you were trying to recreate your senior prom, I’d have brought flowers.”

  I laugh. “Trust me, I’m not looking for a re-creation of that night. Not even a little.”

  He puts his hand on my lap. I feel the weight of his touch on my thigh. His thumb strokes my skin through the thin fabric of my skirt.

  He’s just a few inches away from my clit. If his hand just moves higher… A shiver runs through me, and he notices. “Good nervous?”

  I’ve had plenty of opportunities to turn back, and I haven’t. I told Hunter and Eric my fantasies because I wanted them. I’m here by choice, of my own free will. It’s time to put my nerves to rest.

  “Definitely.”

  We turn down a narrow lane. It’s gravel, not paved. We bounce along it for a long time, nearly ten minutes. Finally, Hunter stops the engine. “Here we are,” he says.

  It’s pitch dark, the moon hidden behind clouds. I can’t see his face or much of anything else. Strangely, it makes this easier, not harder. We’re acting out one of my fantasies. I’m going to feel a little foolish doing it. If he’s laughing at me, I would rather not know.

  He doesn’t sound like he’s laughing at me. “Normally, you’d have a safeword,” he says. “If we were doing a scene at Club M, it’s required.”

  “Should I have one then?”

  “Not tonight. You’re new at this. Just say no, and we’ll stop. The moment you aren’t enjoying yourself, tell us. If I whip out my cock, and you want to back out, let me know. It’s always your prerogative to change your mind.”

  My friends only have good things to say about Hunter and Eric. I’m attracted to them, but if there had been any hint that they weren’t fanatic about consent, I wouldn’t be here.

  “I trust you,” I tell Hunter. “Both of you. But I’ve also told a friend I’m on a date. If I don’t check in with her, she’ll raise the alarm.” I’d vacillated about who to trust with this information. I hadn’t wanted to tell Fiona, Avery, or Kiera—there would have been too many questions I wasn’t ready to answer. Finally, I’d called Hira, my friend from work.

  “That’s good.” Hunter nods in approval. “There’s GPS here. I suggest sending her your location.”

  His reaction is reassuring. There’s no sense of outrage; he doesn’t act as if I’m accusing him of anything. He recognizes that this is a normal precaution for a woman to take when she goes out on a date. It’s such a relief.

  I pull up Google Maps and send Hira a screenshot of my location. She texts back immediately. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘So far, so good,’ I type. Her reply is a string of emojis. There’s a thumbs-up, followed by an eggplant. I laugh and put away my phone. “She told me to get some.”

  Hunter grins. “I think we can arrange that.” His hand is on my thigh again. “Come on. Let’s get out.”

  Out? I thought he’d suggest getting into the back seat. I squash back my disappointment and open the car door. Hunter comes around to the passenger side and takes my hand in his. “Watch your step,” he advises. “The ground isn’t even.”

  Just then, the moon comes out from behind a cloud, and I gasp. There’s a lake in front of me, gleaming silver. A canoe bobs on the water, a dark shape in the moonlight. “This is gorgeous.”

  “I agree.” Hunter’s voice is very deep. I glance up at him, and he’s not watching the lake; he’s watching me. Another shiver runs through me. Eric could be watching us right now. He could be out there in the darkness, his eyes trained on me.

  I want to put on a show. I want to give him something worth watching.

  I touch Hunter’s chest. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

  “That’s my line.” His teeth flash in the moonlight. “We’ll get there.” He pushes me against the side of the car, his arms on either side of me, caging me in. He bends his head. “You’re not wearing a bra,” he says softly, his warm breath tickling my ear. “I like it.”

  My nipples are tight aching buds of arousal. “Touch me,” I whisper. It’s been so long since a man touched me with desire in his eyes. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it.

  He slides his thumb over the engorged nub, and I suck in a breath.

  “So responsive,” he murmurs. His mouth follows his finger, and he sucks my nipple into his mouth through the fabric, his teeth grazing my tender flesh. I gasp out loud, wondering if Eric can hear my moan. Fresh heat fills my core. Hunter’s barely touched me, and I’m already ablaze.

  “If I pushed a finger into your cunt, Dixie, would I find you wet?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  He laughs. “So much sass.” His thumb ghosts over my lower lip. “So much fire. What else are you hiding, Dixie? I can’t wait to find out.” He takes a half-step away from me. I stay where I am, my lips parted, my breasts aching, my nipples swollen and hard, my legs spread, desire coursing through my bloodstream.

  For a long moment, he stares at me. Then he crooks his fingers. “Bend over the trunk.”

  Oh, God. I make my way to the back of the car, my knees shaking, and I bend over at the waist.

  “Spread your legs for me,” Hunter orders.

  My pulse racing, I obey again. Hunter moves behind me. He lifts my skirt up and tucks it into the waistband. “You wore panties,” he says, a thread of disapproval in his voice. “Bad girl.”

  “Are you going to punish me for it?” My voice is strangely breathless. I’ve never allowed a boyfriend to spank me. Why would I? I’ve been fighting all my life to be seen as equal to the men around me. I’ve had to fight to go to law school, fight to be respected at work, fight to pursue my dreams. My family, well-meaning as they were, never understood why I didn’t want to marry William and have his babies. “He’s a good man,” my mother had said more than once. “You don’t know how rare that is to find.”

  I’ve had to fight to forge my own path. Why would I want to subvert all that progress by meekly surrendering to a man in bed, draping myself over his lap like I’m a helpless girl who needs a firm hand to keep me on the straight and narrow?

  No, thank you.

  Except I’m bent over the trunk of a car, my ass in the air, in perfect spanking position, anticipation surging through my nerve endings, nothing but my own desires holding me in place.

&n
bsp; And Eric is out there, watching this. Watching me.

  “Do you want to be punished, Dixie?” Hunter asks, his voice darkly amused. He makes me position my hands so that they’re extended in front of me. I grasp my fingers together—almost as if I were praying. He squeezes my ass and runs his fingers over my skin, just on the inside of the elastic of my panties. And it's incredibly hot. He's behind me, leaning into me. I’m bent over the car trunk, my breasts smooshed against the cool steel, and the weight of his body is pressed down into me.

  I’m held captive, not by him, but by my own desires.

  “Are you wet, Dixie?” he whispers into my ear. “You’re bent over my car. Anyone turning in this lane will be able to see you. Do you like that? Does it turn you on?” He pushes his hand between my legs and moves the gusset of my panties aside. He shoves his finger in me, and my muscles clamp down around him. Need explodes through me. “So wet,” he murmurs.

  I turn my head to a side to watch him. He holds his finger up, coated by my juices, and then he sticks it into his mouth.

  Oh. My. God.

  “You taste like sin.”

  “I do?” My face feels like it’s on fire, as is the rest of my body.

  “You do,” he confirms. His finger slips between my folds again, sliding inside easily. He pushes deep, and I cry out and push back against him. More. I want more.

  “Taste yourself.” His finger is at my lips, his voice rough. “Taste how sweet you are.”

  A shiver of pure need runs through me. I part my lips and suck his finger, my arousal surging to a frenzy. This is so wickedly good. “Hunter,” I beg, not sure what I’m begging for. “I want…”

  “Hush.” He steps away from me, and I feel his absence like a loss. Once again, I picture what I must look like to anyone watching. Legs parted, skirt flipped up, ass on display. A fresh burst of heat assaults my core.