I text back. I’m pretty sure he wants to wax poetic about his baseball card collection. Don’t wait up, girls! I’m in the hall of fame for the walk of shame, and I know how to do it right.
No sooner do I hit send than the dancing ellipses light up my screen, and I envision the two of them feverishly pecking at their phones.
Sophie’s text pops up first. He will NOT fall in love with you, Em! You are giving him what he wants, not what he deserves.
Vi pops up. What she said. Step away from his man parts or NO FREE COFFEE!
As delicious as coffee sounds right about now, I happen to be hungry for a bite of something meatier. What if I could have his man parts and my java? Sophie and Vi are thinking like women. Dex is a man through and through, and Lord knows men think with an entirely different head altogether. It just so happens that their emotions and their bodily functions all happen in the same lower district. Men can fall in love or at least be tricked into believing so by way of their penis. Sophie and Vi are totally wrong about this, I think to myself as I bolt out of the car and head up the long tongue of his driveway.
Dexter’s home reminds me of those mega mansions you see on television, some place a moody teenage drama might take place or a tight shot of some wealthy family’s home on a soap. There’s an air of unbelievability to it as if it’s been planted right here on the outskirts of Moon Ridge by those prop masters he hires to run that show of his. For a second, I do a quick sweep for cameramen shooting me from the side, but the only red eye pointed at me is the security system from above his garage. The outside of his house has an old-world appeal. Think Hansel and Gretel’s cottage—only in this case it mated with a castle. The dark Hershey’s bar doors, the ironwork set in the windows and along the sweeping stairwell all add up to exorbitant wealth.
I give a gentle knock to the door, and in less than a few seconds, it glides open, revealing one vexingly hot Dexter Houston still clad in his suit, his hair slicked back, that peppered stubble on his cheeks giving him that slightly demented look I find alarmingly attractive. Yes, I’ll admit, a clean-shaven man looks mighty fine, but I’ll take an unshaven, unruly, and yes, slightly egotistical bastard any day of the week. It’s not like I plan on keeping them for God’s sake. Why would I care if his heart is dislocated or his native language happens to be nothing but expletives? I don’t mind a dirty mouth when the time is right, and judging by the devilish gleam in Dexter’s eye—the time is right indeed.
“You came.”
“I did and expect to again and again.” I glide on in and indulge in the fact his mouth just parted. A tiny laugh rumbles from his chest at the naughty idea I just planted. Oh, come on. He was thinking it, too. Unless he wasn’t. “Or are you less than generous in bed?”
He shuts the door, locks it with a deafening slap before taking a step in close, his heady cologne enveloping us in a membrane that would make any perfume counter at the mall envious of its prowess, but those eyes, those heavily lidded deep marine-colored eyes penetrate me before any part of his body has the chance.
“I happen to be generous both in and out of the bedroom, September.”
An iced chill spreads through me like an earthquake when he says my formal name. There’s something low and, dare I say, deliciously demented about the tone in his voice. I’m betting there will definitely be a little dom/submissive role-play action in less than ten minutes, and every last cell in my body is prickling with excitement at the prospect.
“Is that why you think I invited you here?” He steps in, that shadowed stubble on his cheeks begs for me to touch it, but my limbs are momentarily rendered useless. My God, I’m on the verge of collapsing. I can’t catch my breath. That sweet spot between my thighs is going off like a motor, and I am definitely at the height of arousal. One touch, one wayward look might land me screaming with ecstasy, and as much as I would enjoy every last earth-shattering moment—it would be downright embarrassing. But then, this is the formidable Dexter Houston. I’m sure he’s witnessed a non-contact orgasm a time or two that just so happened to be initiated by his presence. I hate to fall in line with the statistics. Therefore, I will move heaven and earth to deny both him and me the pleasure.
Dexter carefully sweeps my cheek with his thumb, and my skin scorches in his wake. “What do you want to do tonight, Ember?”
His voice roars calmly like a lion merely making his presence known in the pride. A simple growl sets a quiver running through me, and for the life of me, we can’t get naked fast enough. Damn Sophie and Vi for trying to pit me against the idea of having a little primal fun. I can feel the weight of their miniature judgmental selves on my shoulders, admonishing me for ever stepping inside this dark carnal castle. And yet as much as I want to shoo them away, I’m too transfixed on his gaze to do anything about it. Try as they might to put a hex on Dex and his man parts, my girl parts are turning on a neon welcome sign and waving him south like an airline controller trying to land a 747.
I clear my throat. “I think we both know what you called me here for, Dex.” My fingers pinch his tie as I pull him over, closing the gap between us. “I do believe you wanted a little decorating advice for your bedroom? Maybe you should take me to ground zero and I’ll survey the scene for myself. I am a pro at telling men when and where to put their junk.”
A wicked lopsided smile curves up his face. “A woman who knows what she wants and when she wants it. I happen to be a man with the same tastes.”
“Oh, I think your taste leans a little toward the forbidden.” My fingers work to unbutton his shirt as his breathing grows erratic. His eyes run over my features. They touch every part of my body before his fingers ever get to.
Dexter takes me by the hand and leads me up the grand staircase, past the myriad pictures of framed art—children’s stick drawings, each signed by Chelle, and I pause slowly before coming to a stop.
“Oh my God,” I coo. “She’s really good. I never graduated past macaroni art myself.”
His lips dip to my neck. “You’re making me hungry.”
A light laugh brews in me. “Sorry to tell you, I’m all out of macaroni.”
His teeth graze over my ear. “I have a feeling I’ll find something else to nibble on.”
I run my hand along a gilded frame, still stunned by the display of Chelle’s talent. Not only are about a dozen adorable prints framed, but each one sits in a professional mat with a colorful border that matches the work itself. A princess in a castle, a fire-breathing dragon, a picture of two stick figures on a hill—obviously her and Dexter—one of a flower garden, an under ocean scene with mermaids. My heart begs to explode at how achingly sweet it all is.
“Speaking of my favorite artist, where is she?”
“With her mother for the night.” He tucks a kiss just under my ear and I moan.
“I just love that you framed her art.” I sigh dreamily, leaning against his chest.
“Of course, I did. I’m damn proud of her work.” He glides his arm around my waist as we take them in together. “Chelle is everything to me. She’s transformed me like nobody has had the power to do. I appreciate whatever she gives me, and I want her to know that.”
My chest bucks as I swallow down my emotions. Dexter is an amazing father. So much for reducing an egotistical maniac to his knees.
I clear the vengeance from my throat. “That’s really wonderful. You’re a great dad, Dexter.” I turn to him and offer a sheepish smile. “I wish more people could see this side of you.”
His go-to frown appears from nowhere. “No, thank you. See that dragon?” He points to the green monstrosity that’s burning down a village—most likely Leland. “That’s the only part of me I like displayed in the wild, the only part that exists outside of Chelle.”
“Oh really?” I pluck his dress shirt out of his pants and glide my hand up his heated chest, chiseled like limestone, and just as smooth. “Well then, I guess I get to take a ride on a wild beast tonight. Please do mind where you breathe yo
ur fire. I’d hate to come away with third-degree burns. But by all means, keep it hot. I’m all for dancing in the flames in the name of f-u-n.”
“I’ll have you dancing in less than thirty seconds, and it will be the most f-u-n you’ve ever had.” A barely-there dimple goes off in his cheek, and my mouth falls open as if he’s just revealed a seductive secret. My mouth makes a home over it before dragging hard across that sandy stubble to meet with his lips. Dexter invades my mouth as if he were taking me by force. The power of his lashing tongue both alarms and titillates me. He pulls me blindly down the hall, into a bedroom—I assume his—where the cool air is soaked in his rich cologne.
His hands ride up and down my back, curving around and pressing into my cushioned chest, rough and greedy as if he were doing a brief survey of the landscape. With the deftness of a magician, he pulls my dress off in one easy move, and I find myself baring all with my hands in the air. I never had on a bra to begin with, and my panties melted off at the thought of what was lying ahead this evening.
He swallows hard, taking me in, his eyes still hooded, glazed over as if he were stoned. His chest is heaving as if he ran a marathon, one explosive breath after another.
“Is this how you prefer to evaluate the students you work with, Mr. Houston?” I couldn’t resist. The thought of entering into a forbidden relationship is delicious in and of itself, but acknowledging it makes it that much more exciting. “You’ll be fired.”
“You’ll be worth it.” He offers up a wry smile, his eyes meeting with mine briefly before falling to more interesting places once again.
“Come here.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed and lands me over his knee, my face grazing his navy brocade comforter, thick and expensive, scented with him, and he warms my bare bottom with his hands. “This is what I like to do to my students—and since you’re the first and the last as far as my student affairs go, I think I’m going to showcase every last fantasy ever I’ve had.”
A breath hitches in my throat at the thought. My pink parts start in on a quiver, and there’s no stopping them at this point. Dexter runs his heated palms over my body, roving his fingers where every last part of me has been begging him to go, and I let out an enormous groan that could be heard for miles. He pokes and prods, penetrates, before pulling me up, parting me in ways that allows a breeze to tickle me in the most delicate of places. His mouth is on me, and I’m struggling to right myself, struggling to make sense of this outright primal beast taking over my body in the most outrageous manner possible. Before I know it, I’m clawing at the sheets, clawing at him, undressing him until my own mouth makes a meal out of him. Dexter is relentless in his pursuit of me, owning me, making me his in every single way. He brings all the necessary roughness to the party as I jump and jiggle, crawl, and get down on all fours in the most unflattering ways. My legs are up, they’re down, they’re out and almost always as far apart as humanly possible. Dexter pounds his existence into mine like he is driving home a point, making me ache, making me want him even more—if that were possible—making me beg for just one more hit until he tumbles over me in a heap and we lie panting and sweating as if we had just lived through a war.
Yes, Dexter Houston is a beast in the bedroom with those overpowering limbs, that roving tongue that dove into entrances and exits alike. I’m pretty sure I’ll never kiss him on the mouth ever again, but if the fact my heart is doing its best to explode out of my chest is any indication, then yes, I will inevitably be back for seconds and thirds of whatever he has to offer. I’ve never had a wild night like this in my life. I’ve never had a wild fantasy like this in my life. Dexter is a maniac, he’s a genius, he’s a fierce warrior with a weapon of mass orgasmic destruction that is well worth a war or two.
He pulls me in by the crook of his arm, and our breathing syncs to something just this side of rhythmic as we fall blissfully asleep, warm and satisfied with our limbs entwined like vines. I’m not looking forward to the walk of shame that’s about to ensue in a few short hours.
The truth is, I never want to leave.
* * *
Waking from a thick sleep, my body stretches like a cat and my bare bottom lands against a warm, decidedly fleshy exterior. My lids fly open, exposing an ethereal glow as the sunlight kisses the foreign surroundings.
Dexter’s bedroom. I let out a quick breath as the night’s aerobic activities come crashing back to me. That’s right. He had me this way, that way, right ways—very wrong ways—upside down and right-side up. I take in a breath of sheer elation at the memory as I nuzzle my backside against his chest. His arm tightens its grip over me as he gives a lazy groan into my neck before dotting it with a kiss.
“Why are you awake?” His voice is low and raspy, sexy as hell, and I moan with pleasure simply from the sound of it.
“Because my internal clock is set for six forty-five, and judging by that peach glow pouring in from your exposed window, I’d guess that were about right. Why in God’s name don’t you have curtains? You do realize waking up with the sun poking you in the eye is liable to give you a headache. It’s true. It’s happened to me on more than one occasion, thanks to the skank they’ve paired me with in Canterbury Hell House. My roommate, Taylor, has a thing for sitting at the window—having her encounters at the window—she likes to be seen as much as she likes to watch, and I’ve walked in on her doing both.”
A deep gurgle of a laugh vibrates over my back as he spins me around until I’m facing him. His eyes are silted, glossy with fatigue, and what I’d like to believe is residual lust for me.
“I’m sorry. I keep meaning to do something about those windows. That is, in fact, why I called you up here last night, but then you decided to take advantage of me.” His finger glides down the middle of my chest before he gives one of the girls a quick flick. “You are a naughty, naughty girl.”
“Me? You’re the one who morphed into a dragon and made sure all of your wildest fantasies played out in pornographical order. I’m pretty sure they’ll put you away for a long time once they discover what you’ve done to me, Professor Houston. By the way, your prison nickname will be Knee Pads. They’ll have fun with you the minute you set foot through the door.”
He groans hard and winces through a smile. “You are ruthless.” He lifts the sheets and gives a quick glance south. “Boys are still attached. It looks like I got off easy.”
“Is that so?” I bubble with a laugh as I lean up on my elbows. “I haven’t left the building yet. I’d be on high alert if I were you.” I fall back to the pillow, and my head butts into a hard protrusion. “Ouch. Don’t tell me this is a strap on and that whole jackhammer routine you had going was a put-on.” I pluck whatever it is out in front of me, revealing it to be a fuzzy little stuffed animal with one eye hanging loose, its tan fur matted and loved, the nose a bit worn. “Oh my goodness!” I hold it high like a trophy in the event he feels the need to pluck it to safety or cuddle with it. “So this is the infamous teddy bear Chelle told me about during our interview. I’m in love. What’s its name? Let me guess. Mr. Fluff Fluff?” I laugh as I press it to my chest and land a kiss over its head like a reflex. But my gaze drifts right to Dexter, and that dirty grin he was wearing a second ago softens as a newfound sadness lingers in his eyes.
“Curly.” He shakes his head at it before carefully pulling it to him. “It was Meghan’s. The night she went into the hospital I told her I’d sleep with him until she got home so he wouldn’t be alone. It wasn’t allowed in the room with her. She never came home.”
“And you never broke your promise.” A heated tear tracks its way down my cheek. “And he’s still here.” I bite down hard over my bottom lip as a dull laugh lives and dies in my chest. I’m a terrible human. Here I’ve painted Dexter as a monster, and he’s been an angel all along.
“It just is. Every time I tried to discard it, I thought why the hell not keep it, you know? I was only able to make one promise to my sister, might as well make sure I keep my end of
the bargain.” He lands it quietly on the nightstand next to him. “Sorry he attacked you.”
“I’m sure he’s attacked his fair share of women.” A part of me is sorry I went there.
“Not true.” He pulls me in until his bare skin is heating mine, and it feels electric. Every last ounce of my body is drinking down the sensation in quick, heated spasms. “The only other female who’s done somersaults on this bed is Chelle. I don’t bring women home.”
“Oh?” My eyes ride up and down his body. “What do you do with them? I’m not buying any celibate bull you might want to swing. Those night moves of yours were no lucky guesses.”
A dark laugh strums from him. “You got that right, sweetheart, but let’s just say you honed my skills a little more than I thought possible.” He gives a light tap over my thigh. “As for the others, I’ve taken them to a hotel. There’s one in Denver I like. The bed and breakfast in town works, too.”
“Wow, I bet you scored some serious air miles on your credit card with all your wild romps.”
His brows pinch in the middle as if he were pained. I’ve come to know most of Dexter’s expressions, and his remorse, his grief is the most heart-wrenching to witness.
“Let’s just say I’m not proud. It’s not a life I set out to live. It’s just sort of where I landed.”
“But you were committed for a while. Twice from what Google helped me glean. I’m sorry you were dumped.” My lips twist in a knot because, according to that devious plan I dreamed up, I plan on dumping him as well in three short weeks.
“Twice too many times. It never feels good.”
His phone beeps and buzzes, vibrating over the nightstand as it bumps and grinds for attention.
He reaches over and glances at the screen. There’s a text message, but I can’t make out what it says.
“Oh, for shit’s sake.” He falls back against the pillow and covers his eyes with his hand.
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