by Monica James
MADISON
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, tugging at the short hem of my black dress.
Mary kicks her legs in the air as she flips through Cosmo. Glancing up briefly, she shrugs. “You look like you should be charging by the hour.”
“Lamb!” I almost choke on her honesty.
“What? You asked.” She continues flipping through the magazine, not at all bothered that her mouth filter is nonexistent today.
Turning toward my cupboard, I sigh at what’s left standing, or hanging. The selection is measly and doesn’t scream “devour me,” which is what I want.
For the past two weeks, Dixon hasn’t been himself. Although I don’t know what’s wrong, I do know who’s wrong.
Beth.
Ever since they met, Dixon has been distant, distracted, and detached. He tells me nothing is wrong, but I don’t believe him. I know Beth is the cause of whatever is troubling him, but I just don’t know why.
“Would you stop obsessing over this? He’s stupidly crazy about you, Maddy,” Mary wisely says, obviously reading my internal dilemma.
“I can’t help it. I’ve got this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.” I rub my hand over my somersaulting belly.
“That’s called hormones.”
I spin around, grinning. “Not funny.”
She innocently shrugs. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
She’s part right. I never thought I’d feel this way, but I actually miss the physical connection between Dixon and I. It’s like being cut off after having a first taste—a very addictive taste.
My insecurities are once again plaguing my sanity and I can’t help but conjure up reasons why Dixon won’t touch me. At the forefront is, now that he’s met Beth, does he feel like he’s dating the wrong sister?
I’ll never be like her. I’ll never have her confidence. Or her sexual prowess. And I’m afraid now that he’s met her he wants that and not me. That’s what has me stepping out of my comfort zone and attempting to look like someone other than myself.
“So tonight should be fun, right?”
Mary’s comment snaps me from my thoughts and I smile. “It’ll be great.” Grateful for the derailment, I tease, “I can’t wait for you to meet Debbie. I mean Hunter.” I can’t help but smile at his porn inspired nickname.
She rolls her eyes, not at all excited. “With a name like Hunter, he’s bound to be a dumbass.”
I bite my lip to stifle my laugh. “This night needs tequila and tequila.”
She happily shoots up and heads for the kitchen, and for once, I don’t stop her.
* * *
I texted Dixon and told him Mary and I would meet him at Cherry Pop as I wanted to have a few cocktails before I met him in this outfit.
Regardless of Mary calling me a whore, I decided to wear my little black dress, which is more little than dress. But I wanted to show Dixon that I too can be a little bad. Not Beth bad, but bad enough to hopefully have him touching me again.
I remember when I saw Dixon here after our three-month separation. His feral look of possession and longing is one I’m hoping to elicit from him tonight.
“Drink!” I shout over Beyoncé, before bringing the shot to my lips and throwing it back before Mary has a chance to tell me to slow down.
I know that I shouldn’t as I’m way past drunk, but each hit gives me the confidence I so need.
Slamming the shot glass down onto the bar, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, probably smearing my red lipstick in the process.
“Maddy, how about we get you some water?” Mary flags down the bartender.
I have other ideas, however. “How about we get you some water and me another tequila?” I suggest, pointing to the three blurry Marys.
“I’ve forgotten how adorable you are when you’re drunk. It’s not a sight I see often.”
“Me either,” I say, hiccupping. I slap my hand over my mouth, while Mary giggles.
“Oh my God! It’s my song,” I scream when ‘Telephone’ by Lady Gaga comes blaring over the speakers.
Latching onto Mary’s wrist, I drag her to the dance floor and push aside anyone who stands in our way. When we find our own little dancing oasis, we both let the music take over and begin moving to the upbeat tempo. Closing my eyes, I get lost in the lyrics and feel a sisterhood to the verse of leaving my head and my heart on the dance floor.
I dance like no one is watching but Dixon. Every sashay of the hips, flick of my hair, and wriggle of my butt is for him. Continuing my risky moves, I don’t sense someone brush up near me until I feel foreign fingers wrap around my waist. My eyes snap open and I instantly dance out of his hold because his closeness brings on a bout of panic. Mary is dancing with some Latino Swayze a few feet away, so I can’t flag her down.
I can only handle this type of closeness from Dixon because I know he’ll never hurt me, but the feral look in this stranger’s eyes reveals he’s jacked up on way too much booze and probably party favors to think straight.
When he makes an attempt to grab me once again, my demons, ones I have tried so hard to control through therapy, come roaring to the surface and I feel myself shutting down. I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s my fault. What did I expect from wearing this dress and dancing so suggestively? Mary was right; I do look like a whore. No wonder my brother did…it’s my fault.
Just as the walls start closing in, my lifeline, my savior comes to the rescue and makes everything all right again.
“Madison!”
Focusing on my light, my eyes pop open and I run into the safety of Dixon’s arms. “Are you okay?” The fear, anger, and relief are reflected in his deep voice.
Too shaken up to reply, I nod, burying my face in the crook of his neck.
The loud music drowns out most of his exchange with the man I presume is my groper, but the words “If you fucking touch her again, I’ll skin you alive and feed you to my dog,” can be clearly heard.
When he begins moving, guiding me off the dance floor, I follow, trusting him completely. His rigidity reveals he’s livid. I know the only thing restraining him from going back out there and beating the guy to a bloody pulp is me. He knows I’ll break without him.
He’s become my world and that scares the living hell out of me.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dixon asks, stopping abruptly and pulling me away at arm’s length.
Now that I’m not blinded by fear, I appreciate how epic he looks in dark, fitted blue jeans, and a chic, high-collared, button-down navy sweater vest exposing his taut forearms. Underneath he sports a light gray, soft woven T-shirt with the top button undone, and on his feet are black boots.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I affirm when I can speak without drooling.
He narrows those beautiful blue eyes and runs a hand through his tousled hair.
“I promise,” I add, stepping forward and snuggling back into his warm embrace. I’m thankful when he cuddles me back and I feel his shoulders drop—an inch.
“Where are Mary and Hunter?” I ask after calming down my racing pulse.
His chest rumbles as he replies, “I asked Hunter to take her to the bar as she was seconds away from murdering that punk. And that motherfucker was mine.”
Pulling out of his arms, I latch onto his muscled forearm, as I’m afraid he’ll go back out there and give him more than an earful.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. It’s my fault.” Feelings of shame overwhelm me, and I lower my gaze to the floor, embarrassed.
“Hey.” He places his finger under my chin, coaxing me to look at him. “Some asshole pawing you against your will isn’t your fault.”
I nod, mewling when he strokes his thumb over my lower lip.
“But while we’re on the subject of drinking, did something happen? I mean, you hardly drink. Is everything okay?” His intelligent gaze scans every plane of my face; it appears he’s trying to decode a secret I’m not privy to.
“Yes, eve
rything is okay.” Well, apart from my vivid imagination dreaming up every possible scenario to explain your detachment, I silently add.
“Okay. As long as you’re sure.” He seems relieved by my response.
He guides me into a booth, making sure to keep his arm around me. As I’m looking around for Mary, Dixon randomly asks, “So you didn’t talk to anyone today, did you?”
I raise a confused brow as I turn to look at him.
“You know. Your mom? Or maybe Juliet?” he clarifies. Her name passing through his lips is like a sharp dagger piercing my side.
Why is he asking about her? And more importantly, why would it matter if I had spoken to her? “No, I haven’t spoken to either. Why?”
His shoulders instantly depress. “No reason.”
When I continue staring at him, he explains, “I just know how much you loathe her and I wondered if she was the cause of your need to drink, dance, and dress—” his eyes blaze as he scans down my body “—so boldly.”
His heated gaze pushes thoughts of Beth aside. He has me feeling even more exposed than I already feel. “Do you like my dress?” I ask, hoping my nerves don’t betray me.
When he tilts his head to the side and slowly traces his upper lip with his tongue, my nerves are swiftly replaced with the need to kiss him until I can no longer breathe. Sadly, all daydreams are put on hold.
“Do you realize how stupid you sound when you open your mouth?” snaps Mary as she charges into the booth.
I look up to see Hunter trailing behind, a mischievous smile on his face. “You could always open your mouth then. I’ve got just the thing to fill it with wisdom.”
Dixon raises his eyes to the ceiling, while Mary scoffs, “Not in this lifetime, you disgusting pig.”
The corner of Dixon’s mouth curves in humor when he hears her response. “Good to see you two getting along so famously,” he teases, while I can’t help but smile.
“Don’t be so quick to tease, Doc. I should be chewing your ass out, seeing as you left me alone with this pervert,” Mary warns, her tone revealing he’s next in line for her wrath.
I burst out laughing when Dixon quickly cups his privates.
“Oookay, how about we get something to drink?” I suggest, still chuckling as I loop my arm around Mary’s shoulder.
Mary nods eagerly. “Anything to erase the last five minutes of my life sounds good to me.” She launches out of the booth and stomps in the direction of the bar. In the process, she nudges a smirking Hunter out of the way.
With nothing but worship in his eyes, he declares, “I think she likes me.” He then looks over his shoulder, playfully biting his knuckle.
I can’t help but grin at his humor.
“I think you’re sorely mistaken, my friend,” Dixon rebukes, shaking his head as we exit the booth.
We all head for the bar and I’m surprised to see Hunter dart ahead, desperate to catch up to Mary.
“I think he likes her,” Dixon says into my ear as he wraps an arm low on my waist, guiding me through the crowd.
My senses are titillated by the contact. “Well, I know for a fact she doesn’t like him,” I reply, shivering harder when he chuckles into my ear.
Hunter squeezes in between people and smiles victoriously when he stands by Mary’s side in line.
He turns over his shoulder and motions to Dixon if he wants a drink. He nods in response. When Hunter glances at me, I wave a no. I’ve had enough alcohol for the night.
We move and stand off to the side. “The answer to your question is yes.” His breath is warm on my neck as he leans in close.
“W-what question?” I stutter, forgetting everything but the way he makes me feel.
“The one you asked me earlier. I do like your dress. I like it a lot,” he adds, his hand slipping low and coming to rest lightly on my behind.
I take three deep calming breaths before replying. “Oh. That question. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. Although, you know you could wear anything and you’d still look like a goddess.” His husky voice is heavy with desire.
When he begins to slowly palm my right butt cheek, the fire within begins raging out of control. “I wanted to look different,” I confess, deciding to address the issue which has been plaguing me for the past couple of weeks.
“Why? You’re perfect the way you are.”
But that’s the problem. I don’t want to be perfect. I don’t want him to treat me like I’ll break. I want him to devour and destroy me until I’m begging for more.
“I just…I thought maybe if I looked different, if I looked a little more provocative like…I dunno, like Juliet…” I finally find my lady balls and say it “…that you’d want to maybe…” And just like that, my lady balls shrivel up and go into hiding.
“Maybe what?” he asks, his hand stilling.
I raise my shoulders, focusing on my stilettos. “That you’d maybe…want me more.”
“What?” The shock is apparent in his tone as he draws out the W. “Why would you think that, Madison?”
I shrug once again, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid for the over share.
He swiftly spins me by the shoulders so I’m facing him. “Look at me,” he demands.
I do.
“You are the only person I want. Juliet…” when he grimaces painfully, I begin to doubt my theory “…is most definitely not the person I want. I want nothing to do with her, and for you to think that you need to look more like her to gain my affections…” he pauses, looking away briefly before angrily concluding “…is ludicrous. She is the epitome of who I do not want. Ever. But you…” He tenderly cups my cheek. “You are exactly who I want. Who I choose to be with.”
His words are what I needed to hear, but it’s her, it’s Beth and her fascination with Dixon that troubles me. “I think she likes you, Dixon,” I confess, feeling my lower lip tremble.
He pulls away, disgusted and infuriated. “There isn’t enough scotch in this world to help process that appalling accusation.” He works his mouth open and shut as if tasting something bad.
“I know her and, like I once told you, she’s toxic. I don’t trust her and I especially don’t trust her around you.”
Pinning me with his stare, he declares, “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I don’t plan on being around her ever again.” I believe him, but I can’t help but dwell on his strange behavior. If it’s not Beth, then…is it me? Is my past too much?
With whatever courage I have left, I press, “But you’ve been so distant. You’ve hardly touched me.” I avert my gaze, embarrassed to be sharing my fears. “I thought…” But he doesn’t let me finish.
His grip is unyielding as he wraps his long fingers around my wrist and drags me through the sea of people. I can barely keep up with him and protest by securing my fingers over his to signal him to stop, but he doesn’t.
He hauls me down a long, dark hallway. The further we descend, the seedier it becomes. It’s filled with amorous couples groping each other passionately while using the walls as their makeshift pleasure posts. I attempt to turn away, but just as I twist to the left, I get another eyeful of way too much skin and tongue.
“Dixon, where are we going?” I object, but it’s useless as the loud music drowns out my complaint.
Just as I’m about to protest once again, he opens the last door on the right and shoves me inside. As I gather my bearings, I pull out of his hold while my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Looking around, I see that we’re in a small, private function room. Red velvet couches are scattered along the wall, and a circular bar sits in the corner of the room. I get the vibe that this room is used for private dances of the lap kind.
“What…” But my question is drowned out by the door slamming shut behind me and the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place.
I spin around and see Dixon pressed against the door, watching me with a look I’ve so missed. “Tell me what you want,” he demands, not bothering to
mask his dominance.
“I-I…” I fumble, suddenly lost for words.
“Now is not the time to be bashful. Tell me.” He pushes off the door, a look of untamed possession in his eyes.
I back away, afraid of what I’ve started.
“What do you want, angelo? Tell me,” he presses, making it clear he won’t stop until I enlighten him.
Stepping up to the plate, I shyly confess, “I won’t break, Dixon. I want you to touch me. I want you to forget my past and touch me the way I know you want to.”
My words appear to have slapped him. “Your past has nothing to do with this.”
I stop backing away and stand my ground. “Then what? If it’s not Juliet or my past, why won’t you touch me?”
He grits his teeth together. “I want to touch you. So bad.” His clenched fists support his claim.
“Then why? I don’t understand.”
He stops stalking toward me and heatedly runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready.”
He’s right. I’m not ready for sex, but the other stuff, I’m ready for. I was ready the first time I felt him worship me in a way no one has ever done before. My cheeks heat at the memory and the feral growl which erupts from Dixon reveals he remembers, too.
Without a word, he saunters over to a red settee and takes a seat, his legs spread wide. After a painful few moments of silence, he beckons me with a menacing finger. I don’t hesitate. I walk toward him, my heels clicking loudly, reflecting my pounding heart. I only stop when I’m standing inches away, not bothering to mask my rapid breathing because my heaving chest betrays my aroused state.
“Are you wearing anything underneath that little dress of yours?” Dixon asks, casually leaning back and resting his arms across of the top of the settee.
“Just my underwear,” I reply timidly.
He coolly nods. “Take them off.”
“W-what?”
The corner of his mouth pulls up into a smug grin. “You heard me. This is what you wanted, right?”
He’s right. I did ask for this and I would look like a total hypocrite if I backed out now.