Down & Dirty

by Ashley Johnson

  “Here’s a room where you can shower,” I point to the open bedroom door as I pass it, “and there might be some extra clothes in there that Collin left last time he was here.”

  After an awkward silence he growls out a “thanks” and then he disappears into the bedroom.

  I make my way to my own room, prepared to take the world’s fastest shower because I know that Nixon has a tendency to sit in a room when he hasn’t been invited and I’m naked.

  I turn the shower on, turn on some music, and strip out of my soaking wet clothes. I step into the shower but my body starts to tingle from the warmth of the water on my cold skin so it takes me a minute to get used to the temperature before I can begin washing myself.

  What feels like the fastest shower I’ve ever taken, only two songs long, I shut the water off and throw the curtain back preparing to step out but instead let out a small shriek.

  Nixon is standing in the same t-shirt and boxers, his ass leaning against the countertop and his muscular arms are crossed over his chest.

  I grab the shower curtain and drape it across me, attempting to cover up my naked body, hoping that he hasn’t seen more than I want him to, or noticed that I took his advice and got rid of the shag carpet that was between my legs last time he saw it.

  “Jesus, what the hell are you doing in here Nixon?” I shout while trying to keep my balance on the still wet shower floor. I need to remember to buy a shower mat when I get out of here.

  Then I look at his face. The sex god smirk that is always plastered on his face is nowhere to be seen. He actually looks a little upset.

  “What’s the matter?” I whisper, wondering if something has happened in the last ten minutes.

  “Are you sleeping with him, Emmie?” he mumbles almost inaudibly.

  “What? Sleeping with who?”

  “This Collin guy, are you sleeping with him?” he repeats.

  I swear I feel my brows hit my wet hairline. Where the hell is this coming from?

  “Um, not that it’s any of your business but no, I’m not,” I answer, hoping it’s enough to get him to leave so I can get dressed.

  “If you aren’t sleeping with him then why are his clothes in the drawers of the guest room? Don’t lie to me,” he grits out and levels me with a look that means serious business. I’m actually a bit afraid of his reaction if I answer him wrong.

  “His clothes are in the guest room, along with his fiancées, because he and Jaycee house sit and watch Otis for me when I have to travel for different races. It’s easier for them to have a small wardrobe here since they stay at least nine or ten weekends a year. What’s this about Nixon?” I ask, wondering why he cares who I’m sleeping with.

  I watch some of the tension melt from Nixon’s shoulders when I tell him about Collin and Jaycee, but he still looks like something is bothering him. After one deep breath and a slight clench of his jaw, he turns his gaze away from me and seems to be focusing on an invisible spot on my floorboard.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” he mutters and I feel my body slightly jerk back.

  Why is this notorious bad boy and ladies man asking me if I have a boyfriend? Wow, maybe he’s into me.

  Then I roll my eyes at my own thinking. Nixon can have any woman he wants. Models and pop stars have flocked to him, looking for a date, or even a night in his bed.

  There isn’t much about me that he’d be interested in, other than my two very noticeable assets on my chest. My light brown hair will look dull once the bottled color starts to bleed out. My hazel eyes, though I have more light green in them than most, aren’t anything to write home about. My five foot six frame isn’t plump due to a few hours a week spent doing Crossfit, but I, in absolutely no way, look like an underwear model.

  My full sleeve of tattoos are pretty freaking cool, if I do say so myself, but still not something that would bring on that question.

  So, why me? Because I didn’t throw myself at his feet when he signed my boob? Or because I ride like he does? I can’t think of any reasons why I would be his type after seeing the other women he’d been with.

  “Excuse me?” I have to ask, just to make sure he didn’t ask me if I had an extra towel and I dreamed that he was asking me about my relationship status.

  He rolls his eyes and then his gaze turns back to me. Instead of seeing the hard, scary look he gave me a few seconds ago, now he actually looks a bit anxious.

  “You heard me sugar. Do you have a boyfriend?” Wow, I did hear that right. It’s best to answer it now before he gets tired of my silence and decides to get in my face in the shower, while I’m still naked.

  “Um, no I don’t have a boyfriend,” I say quietly. His brow furrows at me like he doesn’t believe my answer.

  He pushes off the counter and takes two steps closer, stopping about a foot from me. He tips his head down slightly to look into my eyes and whispers “how is it possible that you are single?”

  Now I’m super confused. This guy has been putting the moves on me from the second he met me, not caring to ask if I was taken then, and now he’s asking me how it is that I’m still single.

  “Huh?” I blurt out. Nixon chuckles and then steps in closer, leaning at the same time. Before I can blink his mouth is on mine.

  Our kiss starts out light, making my lips tingle with something I don’t feel like looking into at the moment, but then he barely tilts his head to the side and runs his tongue along the crease of my lips.

  The movement has rendered me stupid. I open my mouth and tangle my tongue with his feeling butterflies in my stomach and a rush of heat a little further south instead of pushing him off me and remembering all the times he showed me his arrogant side.

  I get a small jolt behind my back when I feel his hands traveling low on my hips around to my ass. It still hasn’t registered that I let go of the shower curtain and I’m now standing in my shower, bare ass naked, while I make out with Nixon King.

  I should really stop this, I keep thinking to myself, but it feels way too nice to want to quit. Plus, it’s been a while since I actually got some lovin’ that wasn’t self induced. What could it hurt to sleep with Nixon?

  I’m making a half assed mental pros and cons list while our hands glide all over each other.

  On the cons side, Nixon is a huge player. Who knows how many different women he’s been with the last year, hell in the last week. I don’t want any of those crazies finding out that I had slept with him and egg my house or steal my dog, since Nixon proved that was the easiest thing it the world to do. I also don’t want things to be awkward between us afterward since we have the same sponsor and would see each other more often.

  On the pro side, this is Nixon freaking King. He’s what most women would dream of if they could picture the hottest athlete on the planet. Plus I know there is no chance of us becoming a couple since I am completely against it. I could get some smokin’ hot sex out of this guy and then we’d go our separate ways.

  And he is Nixon freaking King.

  So, the pro side of that mental checklist wins out and I decide that I will sleep with Nixon, consequences be damned.

  I lightly push on his shoulders, making him back up, while I step out of the shower and keep us both moving toward my bed. My hands are traveling under his still soaked shirt to trace all of the different ridges of his cut abdomen before pushing the shirt fully up. Nixon grabs the back of the bunched shirt and rips it over his head and then quickly lowers his mouth back to mine to lock lips again.

  My hands then turn south and reach for the elastic of his black boxer briefs. With practiced hands I shove the fabric toward the floor, smiling when Nixon chuckles into my mouth.

  He then turns our bodies so that I’m backing toward the bed. When the backs of my knees hit the mattress we both fall gracelessly to the bed with Nixon putting his hands on either side of my body to prevent an epic head butt from ruining any further progress.

  Nixon starts moving his mouth to various parts of my body star
ting with my neck, then my shoulders and my breasts. Then he blazes a path down my torso to an area that definitely needs some attention. This is one of my favorite parts of sex. I love a partner who is confident enough to go down on me without me having to ask for it.

  I have my hands in his hair, tugging on the long ends as he flicks his tongue over my clit. Then he sucks it into his mouth and lightly bites down, flicking his tongue around it and driving me out of my mind.

  “Holy shit Nixon, don’t you dare fucking stop,” I moan. His response is to move his hands from my hips to wrap them around my thighs and then dig his fingertips into my flesh.

  I start to feel the familiar flutters of an orgasm low in my belly when he inserts one finger, then two, and starts moving them in and out of me at a grueling pace. I begin to pant as my orgasm starts to surface, then Nixon groans, while his mouth is still on me, and the vibrations set me off.

  I feel my thighs tighten around his head, basically cutting off any air supply he should have. I shut my eyes tightly and arch both my back and my neck as my body hums and Nixon slows the movements of his fingers, but doesn’t stop completely until the aftershocks of my orgasm have passed.

  I open my eyes and lift my head off the bed to look at him and see a wide smile across his face.

  “Wow,” I whisper lamely, making him chuckle before he moves up my body and kisses me soundly. I moan as I taste myself all over his lips, causing him to put more of his body weight on me, the feeling of his cock resting between my legs has my body tingling all over again.

  Then I figure it’s my turn to take care of him, so I push on his shoulder and throw a bit of my weight into his, my body following as he rolls onto his back.

  As I start kissing his neck and traveling south, I realize that the music in the bathroom is still playing and the song that just started always makes my inner hussy surface, lucky for Nixon.

  I start swaying my hips along with the beat as I make my way down to his cock, which isn’t the biggest one I’ve ever seen, but he’s still pretty endowed which is a huge turn on. I grab his considerable length at the base and run my tongue from the base and up. Then I flick my tongue over the tip a few times before I take him all the way in my mouth.

  He lets out a deep groan and runs his fingers into my soaked hair, grabbing a few fistfuls and lightly tugging. I bob up and down on him a few times before Nixon releases my hair and slides his hands under my armpits, pulling my body up the length of his until we’re eye level.

  “Jesus sugar, just watching your hips move while you suck on me is enough to make me come, and as hot as it would be to come in your mouth I really want to do it while I’m inside you.”

  I give him a small smile and a peck on the lips before I clamber off him and reach for a condom from my night stand. After I’ve grabbed one and ripped the packaging off it, I climb back on top of him and slowly roll it on, grinning when I hear his breathing pick up.

  Once the condom is in place, Nixon reaches his hands out to latch onto my hips as I lower myself onto his shaft. We both groan once I’m completely seated, but I can’t sit still long. I feel the need to move, and do it quickly, so I start out by grinding down and then start moving up and down, my downward movements hard and deep.

  Only a few minutes into it, Nixon flips us so I’m once again underneath him and begins pounding into me relentlessly. My legs are linked together behind his back and I have a feeling my nails digging into his shoulders are going to leave a few red welts.

  “Come on Emmie, come for me baby,” Nixon grunts out, and I’m not sure if it’s his talented movements between my legs or the fact that he just called me Emmie while we’re having sex and not that stupid pet name, but I come hard and loud, shouting his name as I throw my head back on the pillow.

  Three thrusts later and Nixon follows, groaning through his orgasm and slowly thrusting a few more times before lying his body down on mine.

  We’re both breathing heavily while we come down and even though the sex was amazing I’m now wondering if this was a mistake.

  Will this make things weird for us when we were just starting to become friends? Is it going to be awkward to be at the training track with him? And most importantly, will it be hard to watch him flirt with other girls while I’m standing right there?

  Oh no.

  “Jesus sugar, settle down. Your entire body just turned into stone. Quit freaking out and let’s both get cleaned up before we talk about this, okay?” he kisses me on the cheek and then rolls away from me, making his way into my bathroom.

  While he’s gone I can’t tear my gaze away from the ceiling. My mind keeps going back and forth between what a terrible mistake we just made to the incredible pelvic roll he kept doing that would make my stomach tingle.

  Now my mental pros and cons list is starting to come back and I realize that I should have put a bit more thought into that decision before I just slept with him. Jesus, I’ve never been this much of a mess after sex, not even after my first time. Nixon seems to bring out the crazy in me for some reason.

  “Come on, hop out of bed, get cleaned up and throw on some clothes. I’m going to take a quick shower and grab some of the extra clothes in the guest room and then we can have lunch, okay?”

  He doesn’t wait for a response from me, just walks out of the room and down the hallway to the guest room.

  Okay, well I can lay here and sit inside my brain while my body turns into a popsicle because I’m still naked, or I can get cleaned up and throw on some warm clothes like Nixon suggested. I’d rather go with the latter, seeing as how I’m getting nowhere inside my head anyway.

  I haul my sated body out of bed and into the bathroom to clean myself up and run a comb through my tangled hair before throwing it up in a messy bun. Then I walk back into my room and throw on a black t-shirt and a pair of plaid flannel pajama pants.

  I walk down the hallway, telling myself not to look into the guest room since the water in the shower is no longer running, and turn right into my open kitchen.

  I snag a power drink out of the fridge and down half of it before Nixon comes around the corner wearing a blue t-shirt and a pair of black mesh workout shorts. He snatches the drink from my hand, finishing it off for me.

  “No, I was done with it. Please have the rest,” I offer sarcastically and then turn to grab another out of the fridge.

  “Thanks sugar, now what’s for lunch?”

  My hands clench into fists at the use of that damned nickname. I always hated nicknames. They sound sappy and it seems like it is an excuse not to use the name that person was given, or that you don’t remember that person’s name.

  I love my name and what it signifies, so I could never be mad at someone for calling me Emmie.

  “Jesus Nixon, can you please stop calling me that?”

  To this outburst I only get a smirk and a head shake. “No way, you know deep down you love that nickname and want me to call you that for the rest of your life.”

  This earns him an eye roll. “I hate nicknames. It seems like you only use them so you don’t get me confused with the twenty other women you are fucking at the moment, not because you think it’s a term of endearment.”

  Nixon’s whole body freezes, energy drink raised in the air, and he narrows his eyes at me.

  “Wow, Emmie how many women do you think I’m sleeping with right now?” he asks in a slightly angered tone.

  “Hell, I don’t know. Five? Ten?” I blurt out, throwing my hands out to my sides for emphasis.

  “One,” he answers.

  My head cocks back at his answer and I narrow my eyes at him because I’m not sure I believe him.

  “One,” he repeats and points at me.

  Well color me surprised. My mouth opens and closes a few times but I’m stunned speechless.

  “Believe it or not but I haven’t slept with another woman since I signed your luscious tit four weeks ago. I thought the nickname was cute and I want to have that with you. I normally j
ust call women baby, but it seemed like you would require more from me than the generic. You are much more than generic to me.”

  I want to laugh and tell him that ‘sugar’ is pretty freaking generic, but he looks sincere as he tells me that I’m not generic.

  I still have no words. I’ve turned into a mute.

  “Hello? Earth to Emmie,” he says, waving a hand in front of my face.

  I finally snap out of it and clear my throat. “Okay, so what do you want to have for lunch?” I ask, attempting to change the subject. This is way too heavy for me right now. Next thing you know I’ll be moving him in with me because he says he likes the color of my nail polish.

  Nixon smiles like he knows what I’m doing and decides to play along. “How about we order a pizza? Sound good?” I nod and we get a pizza ordered, but we have thirty to forty minutes to kill before our food shows and I’m out of ideas. Luckily Nixon thinks of something to talk about.

  He leads me into my office. It’s painted a light lilac and has shelves that house my awards and trophies. We brag back and forth about who has what trophy and how old we were when we got them until we hear Otis barking at the front door, alerting me that the pizza is here.

  After we’ve both gotten our pizza and a drink and are situated at the table, Nixon decides to bring up our between the sheets action.

  “So sugar, now that we’ve slept together what should we do with it?”

  My brows shoot up and I think I choke a bit on the pizza I’m chewing on. Well, I was hoping we could sweep it under the rug and never talk about it again.

  “Um, I’m not sure there’s anything to do about it. Why don’t we just leave it alone and pretend it never happened. We can still be friends without the weirdness,” I explain, hoping he thinks the same. Nixon just looks confused.