Daring Dixie

by Tara Crescent

  Argh.

  It’s casual sex, I tell myself again. We’re not dating. I don’t have to tell HR.

  But I’m splitting hairs. I’m skating by on technicalities. Xavier knows about Saturday night. If he happens to mention it to Hira, I don’t even want to think about her reaction.

  So much risk, and for what? Good sex?

  Great sex, I correct. Still, is it really worth it? I’m the General Counsel for a large multi-national corporation. It’s a prestigious job. The salary is exceedingly generous. I’m steadily paying down the medical debt I incurred. Why am I recklessly throwing it all aside for Hunter and Eric?

  Because you felt safe telling them your fantasies. Because they made you feel seen.

  I shake my head violently. I should call this off. That would be the practical, sensible thing to do.

  Then Hunter texts me on Thursday. ‘Do you have plans for Saturday night?’

  This is the perfect opportunity to tell him I’ve been having second thoughts. I should do that.

  ‘No,’ I write back. ‘I’m free.’

  ‘Good. Think about your next fantasy, Dixie. I’ll be in touch.’

  That’s maddeningly vague.

  I can’t wait.

  I’m not looking forward to work on Friday. After my disastrous meeting with Xavier, I’m not exactly eager to run into him at the weekly huddle. Kevin’s still grumbling about his contract; John is his usual snide self.

  If there was ever a day to call in sick, today would be the day.

  I drag myself in anyway. Eric knocks at my door thirty minutes later, two cups of coffee in his hands. “Caramel macchiato, extra whipped cream,” he announces.

  A smile breaks out on my face. His hair is sticking up at odd angles. He looks adorably rumpled, and I’m ridiculously delighted to see him. It’s almost as if I’ve missed him this week.

  God, I’m in trouble.

  “Ooh, yes.” I make greedy hands at him, and he laughs and hands me the paper cup. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “No reason.” A faint smile creases his face. “Okay, fine, I’m bribing you.” He shuts my door and sits down in a chair across from me. “The Unplug transactions lead to a shell company—XPM—that Xavier supposedly owns.”

  “I should have known there’s no such thing as a free coffee,” I comment wryly, softening my words with a smile. “No luck tracking the ownership down?”

  He shakes his head. “Brody’s been working on it, but they’re not getting anywhere.”

  I look up, surprised. “Lockhart & Payne have a financial forensics team now? They didn’t when I worked there.”

  “It’s new,” he explains. “Anyway, they’ve been trying to track things down, but they’re not getting anywhere. Leforte Enterprises is too complicated.”

  I can’t disagree with him. When I got here, every subsidiary just did their own thing. Contracts weren’t standardized. It was a lawyer’s worst nightmare. It’s taken me six months of hard effort to get them to fall in line, and people like Kevin still fight me at every turn.

  “I thought Brody’s team could do the legwork, but that’s not working out.” He grimaces. “I was hoping this would be a simple case of fraud. An employee got greedy, took advantage of the lack of controls, and embezzled money from Leforte. But XPM is registered in Xavier’s name, which means—”

  “Someone’s trying to get him in trouble.”

  “Exactly. You know the business. Will you help me?”

  I bite my lip. “Are you sure Xavier wants my help? I asked him about some dodgy transactions yesterday, and he nearly bit my head off.”

  “Did he?” He rolls his eyes. “He’s always touchy about Layla. Did he apologize, or should I beat him up?”

  That forces a laugh out of me. “He explained about the transactions, and yes, he apologized. I got a very nice bottle of champagne out of it.”

  “Good,” he replies. “Well? Will you help?”

  Working long hours with Eric. I should decline. After all, tracking down financial crime isn’t in my job description. “Of course,” I say instead. “I have meetings all morning, but do you want to get together this afternoon after the weekly huddle?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t,” he says regretfully. “Xavier and I are golfing with Jack Achard and Harry Gifford. Thank you for going through those contracts, by the way.”

  Achard & Gifford is an advertising agency that Leforte is in the process of buying. I look outside. The sun is shining, there’s not a cloud in the sky, and it’s about as perfect of a late summer day as you could ask for. “Yes, poor you.”

  He grins. “Fair enough. You want to take my place? I loathe golf.”

  “I can’t play,” I tell him. “Besides, I have too much work to do. Kevin Hughes is still whining about his contract.”

  I can’t help but notice he didn’t answer my question about whether Xavier wanted my help. What does my boss think about this? Is he on board? Or, after my screwup yesterday, am I really on borrowed time?

  Shortly after lunch, Elisa sends out a message canceling this week’s huddle. I use the extra time as an opportunity to power through my mailbox. I’m replying to an email from Reena when Andie knocks on my door. “It’s time for Happy Hour,” she says meaningfully. “Come on, Dixie.”

  “No way. It can’t be five.” I glance at the bottom of my laptop screen. Andie’s right. “Okay, fine. Let me finish up this email, and I’ll leave.” She looks skeptical. “I promise.”

  True to my word, I pull into El Trompo’s parking lot. I know Eric’s not going to be there, and there’s no reason Hunter should be there either—after all, he doesn’t work for Leforte—but I still scan the lot for their cars and feel silly about it.

  The frantic workload of the last few months is easing off, and people can sense that the end is in sight. Everyone’s in a good mood today. I stay later than intended, nursing my drink, enjoying the company and the conversation.

  It’s almost eight when I get up to leave. I detour to the bar to leave a tip for the staff and then head out.

  I’m almost at my car when I notice Hunter’s Datsun parked next to mine.

  My pulse speeds up. I approach the driver’s side, and Hunter rolls down the window. “We were hoping to run into you,” he says. “Get in, Dixie.”

  Eric’s in the passenger seat. I slide into the back, anticipation dancing through my bloodstream. Hunter was right—there’s not much room here. “Are we going somewhere?”

  “No,” Eric replies. He swivels around to look at me. “We have an assignment for you.”

  “I get homework now?” I intend the words to be a grumble, but my voice is breathy, and I sound exactly as I feel. Eager. Excited. Ready.

  “Mm-hmm. Tonight, when you get home, go online, and pick out three sex toys you want us to use on you tomorrow.”

  A thrill runs through me. “Umm, what?”

  Eric’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Do you need me to explain the concept of online shopping, Dixie?”

  Mrs. Grace’s voice in my ear reminds me I can’t give him the finger. “I didn’t realize sex toy stores had overnight shipping,” I say sweetly.

  “You don’t have to buy them,” Hunter replies. “Just pick them out and let us know what they are. We’ll take care of the rest.” He quirks an eyebrow. “Unless you want to go into a physical store instead?”

  I could never. Everyone would be looking at me. I would die of embarrassment. “Online is fine,” I say hastily.

  Eric grins. “We’ll call you at ten tonight,” Hunter says, his voice low and tight. “That’s how long you have to choose.”

  That gives me less than two hours. “And if I don’t?”

  Eric tilts his head slightly. “If you don’t, Dixie,” he murmurs. “There will be consequences.”

  A full-body shiver runs through me. “Okay,” I whisper.

  All week, I’ve wondered if I should call this thing off, but that’s Old Dixie talking.


  New Dixie isn’t going to apologize for her desires.

  Sex toys, here I come.

  23

  Dixie

  I get home, change out of my work clothes and into a long t-shirt, and then climb into bed with my laptop and a glass of wine.

  I’ve never shopped for sex toys. This feels all kinds of naughty. Navigating to a browser window, I find an online store and click on it.

  Oh wow. The page is… eye-opening. Their best-selling products are front and center. The first thing I see is a picture of a naked man spread-eagled on a bed, his ankles and wrists tied in place, a naked woman straddling him.

  It’s a bedroom restraint kit.

  The bondage theme continues—the next item is something called a thigh-cuff system. I click on it, and my throat goes dry. It appears to be bands of velcro cuffing the model’s wrists to her thighs. Inspired by the product photos, my imagination goes into overdrive. I’m picturing myself in the place of the model. Lying back, my legs spread open, my wrists locked to my thighs. Hunter looming over me, a vibrator in his hand. Eric reaching for my nipples, holding a wicked-looking clamp…

  I gulp down half my wine in one sip.

  The next item on the best-sellers list is an anal lubricant. My nipples harden to aching points. My imagination helpfully supplies a fantasy. They turn me over, and my clamped nubs press into the soft mattress. It hurts, but it’s the best kind of hurt, the kind that makes my insides heavy and needy.

  Cold liquid trickles between my cheeks, then fingers follow, tracing slow circles around my tight hole, slicking the lube into my clenched sphincter. My body jerks in response. A finger pushes into me, past the tight ring, stretching me open.

  I can’t move my hands—they’re locked into place. I try to wriggle away, and Eric spanks my ass. “Bad girls get punished, Dixie.”

  I’m so wound up. I wriggle out of my panties and slide a hand between my legs. I’m wet. Soaked. Hunter would have made me show him. He would have made me stick my fingers in my mouth and taste myself. A full-body shiver runs through me as I remember the way he smeared my juices all over my nipples before taking them into his mouth. It was the dirtiest thing anyone has ever done to me, and I have a feeling they’re only getting started.

  I close my eyes and pretend they’re here.

  “Suck your fingers clean,” Hunter orders.

  I part my folds, slowly, as if I’m putting on a show for them. My right hand is clicking the website. Anal plugs. Nipple toys. Wand massagers, whose thick heads, send a shudder of pleasure through me. A pretty purple flogger. My left hand is between my legs. My fingers circle my clit, excruciatingly slow, wickedly teasing. I imagine them watching me, their eyes dark with desire. I imagine them sorting through the toys, carefully considering what they’re going to use on me first. The clamps? The cuffs? The anal plug?

  My phone rings, the noise loud and shrill in the quiet. I almost jump off the bed, the phone falls to the floor, and I have to grope for it. “Hello?”

  “Dixie.” Hunter sounds amused. “Did I catch you at the wrong time?”

  He can’t see my hand, he can’t see my hand. “No, why?”

  “You sound out of breath. Are you shopping?”

  “Yes.”

  His voice lowers suggestively. “Are you touching yourself, Dixie?”

  I pull my fingers up as if they’ve been scalded and belatedly realize Hunter can’t see me. My cheeks heat. “Yes.”

  “Want to get on a video call with Eric and me? You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with the idea.”

  A video call. A forbidden thrill shoots through me. “You’re not recording it?”

  “Not without your consent. I give you my word.”

  I have a choice. I can either trust Hunter and Eric or not. “Let’s do it.”

  Eric and Hunter pop up on my laptop screen. Hunter is sprawled on a couch. He’s wearing a navy blue t-shirt printed with the logo of his judo gym. He looks laid-back, relaxed, and extremely hot.

  Eric is in bed. He’s shirtless. I can only see the upper half of him—he might be completely naked for all I know. His chest is corded with muscle and sprinkled with chest hair.

  I hadn’t really been able to see them last week, but God, they’re sexy, both of them. Hunter is broader, bulkier. Eric is lean and corded with muscle.

  I must linger a moment too long, staring at them, because a wicked grin curves Eric’s lips. “Want me to stand up?”

  Jerk. I avert my eyes at once, and he chuckles, warm and deep. “Did the sex toys turn you on, Dixie?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, mortified.

  “Did you touch yourself?”

  My face feels like it’s on fire. “I did.”

  His eyes blaze with heat. “Bad girl,” he scolds. “Did you ask for permission to do that?”

  A shudder of lust runs through me. This is a game I never thought I wanted to play, but when he calls me a bad girl, my pussy gushes. “No, I didn’t.”

  Hunter leans back. “What three toys did you pick out?” he asks, his voice deceptively light.

  Oh, crap. I’d been so busy drinking my wine, checking out the sex toys, and fantasizing about Hunter and Eric using them on me that I forgot I needed to choose three. “Umm…”

  He tilts his head to one side and waits for me to continue.

  I can bluff my way out of this. “A pair of nipple clamps,” I murmur.

  Hunter quirks his eyebrow. “Which ones?”

  What does he mean, which ones? I cast my mind back to the pictures and draw a blank. “The pink ones,” I guess wildly.

  “Pink.” Hunter’s lips twitch. “Let’s try the question again. What three toys did you pick out?”

  Busted. “I didn’t,” I admit in a whisper. “I got distracted.”

  “Distracted by what, Dixie?” Eric asks.

  Oh God, they’re relentless. I’m mortified and wildly turned on. “I was touching myself. Stroking my clit.” Eric swallows visibly, and a small thrill shoots through me. “I saw a bedroom restraint kit, and I started to fantasize about being tied up, on my stomach, ass in the air, my legs spread open.”

  “Fuck,” Hunter groans. For a second, need blazes in his eyes, and then he takes a deep breath and reasserts control. “Let me count the transgressions,” he says. “First, you touched yourself without permission. Second, you didn’t pick out the sex toys you were supposed to. And third, you lied to us about it.” He shakes his head. “You’re just begging to be punished, aren’t you?”

  I don’t know what wanton creature takes hold of my tongue. “Yes,” I breathe. “I’ve been very bad.” My fingers ghost over my clit, and I shiver, goosebumps forming on my skin. “I can’t stop touching myself. Please punish me.”

  Eric throws his head back. “Are you touching yourself right now?” he demands.

  I nod.

  “Show me.”

  I lick my lower lip. “I will if you will.”

  “What a good idea.” Eric adjusts his laptop, and my earlier guess was right—he was naked. His cock jumps out, hard and erect. He wraps his fingers around his length and slowly fists himself, and God, this is hot. I’m a bad, bad girl, because I love this.

  Hunter gets up. His torso fills the frame, and then he’s tugging his t-shirt over his head and pulling his pants down his hips. My mouth waters as his naked body comes into view. Hunter does judo, and his body bears evidence. There’s not a spare ounce of fat on him. It’s all solid, intimidating muscle.

  Also, his ass is so tight.

  “You’re drooling,” Eric notes in amusement.

  “Mmm.” I can’t pretend otherwise. I move my laptop back and adjust the lid until the built-in camera points between my legs. Both my face and my naked pussy are in the frame. I sit a split-second with that realization and then dismiss it. I trust them.

  “Fuck me, you’re gorgeous.” Hunter’s staring at my pussy. “I can’t wait for tomorrow night.” His voice turns crisp. “Peel back your hood. Sh
ow me your clit.”

  I spread my legs wider, part my folds, and slowly pull back the hood. My clit is red, engorged, glistening with my juices. I stroke myself, slow and soft, and on my screen, my lips part in a gasp as pleasure floods my body.

  I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve never sat before a camera or a mirror and examined myself. I’ve certainly never displayed myself so brazenly for a man. I’ve never masturbated in front of an audience.

  But I have an audience now, and it’s so arousing. Such a turn-on. Hunter and Eric’s gazes are transfixed on the screen. Their hands fist their cocks, pumping up and down, and I unintentionally match their rhythm, stroking harder, faster—

  My toes dig into the mattress, and my insides tighten. My muscles quiver. I clench my eyes shut. I’m almost there. Just one more stroke, just one more—

  “Stop.”

  My eyes snap open. “What?”

  “Bad girls don’t get to orgasm, Dixie.” Eric gives me a truly evil grin. “You’re being punished, remember? If you’re very nice, you’ll get to come tomorrow. If you touch yourself between now and then, however…” His voice trails off.

  “You’re going to leave me hanging?” I protest, almost in shock. I was so close. I was right there. One more second, just one more flick over my clit… argh. The need, the lust, the hot gush of desire—it’s flowing through my blood, and they can’t ask me to turn it off like a tap. “You can’t do this to me.”

  “I think I just did,” Hunter responds. He’s still pumping his cock. It’s right there, tantalizingly out of reach. I want to reach into the screen, grab him by the hips, and sink down on that hard length. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dix. We’ll pick you up at eight.”

  They end the call, the jerks. Before I can come. Before I can watch them come. I’m shaking, and I want to finish myself off.

  My skin is tingling, every nerve ending painfully alive, and I’m so aware of the weight of my breasts, the ache in my pussy. But in a weird, twisted way, I’m enjoying this. Edging is fun.