Daring Dixie
Page 16
“Fun, you say.” It’s going to happen. They’re going to stick that plug in my ass.
“Mmm. This plug is made of glass. It’s heavy. You’re not going to forget you have it in you.”
“I doubt that'll be much of a problem,” I retort.
He chuckles, and so does Eric. “Bend over the table, Dixie,” he invites.
He doesn’t wait for me to obey. He pushes me down. My aching nipples are crushed into the wooden surface, and I welcome the accompanying jolt of pain. Eric gently kicks my legs wide open, and a fresh surge of anticipation grips me. Oh God, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe this is actually happening.
Hunter pushes my panties down to my knees and trickles lube between my cheeks, the way I’d fantasized about last night. It’s cold, and I wriggle a little, and a hand at the small of my back pushes me down again. “Stay still,” Eric says, sounding stern. “This will be easier if you relax. Push out.”
Relax, he says. I grit my teeth and do my best to obey. Hunter slicks a liberal amount of lube into my tight hole, and then the plug follows. He pushes it slowly and steadily. It doesn’t so much hurt as it just feels weird. I stand up on tiptoe and bite my lip. Eric strokes the small of my back, his touch warm and reassuring. My muscles stretch to accommodate the widest part, and then, with a pop, it’s seated in place.
“Perfect.” Eric sounds hoarse again. “Stand up. What do you think?”
I straighten and take an experimental step. “It’s less uncomfortable than I thought it would be.” I’m feeling quite proud of myself. “Was that the small? I think I’ll be able to handle the medium.”
“Will you?” Hunter grins wickedly. “Do me a favor, will you?” He nods in the direction of the coffee table. “Eric seems to have left his wine glass in the other room. Can you get it for him?”
“Umm…”
“I will be very disappointed if the plug falls out,” he adds. “Oh, and Dixie, your panties aren’t allowed to touch the ground either. If they fall to the floor, I’ll have to punish you.”
More strokes from the flogger? Another full-body shudder runs through me. I turn in the direction of the living room. The panties are clenched between my knees. My ass is clenched—I don’t want the plug to slide out.
I take tiny, mincing steps. I feel the weight of the plug inside me, shifting around as I walk. It’s impossible to ignore the sensation. It’s so unexpectedly hot. I’m soaking wet by the time I get back to Hunter and Eric. I’m afraid to look down—I’m half-expecting my juices to be dripping down my thighs.
I hand Eric his drink. “Thank you, Dixie,” he says. He takes a sip of the wine and sets the glass down on the sideboard. “What should we do with her next, Hunter?”
Hunter’s expression is hungry. Predatory. “I know exactly what I want to do.”
Eric picks me up and sets me down on the table. I squeal—I wasn’t expecting it. Hunter yanks my panties down my legs and tosses them aside. “I’m hungry,” he growls. “In fact, I think I’m starving.”
His mouth collides with my pussy.
Oh. My. God.
His tongue… oh God, his tongue. He swipes through my folds, lapping my juices. I whimper and part my legs, wanting more. He seems to read my unspoken desires, because he slides two fingers into my pussy, twisting them around and jostling the plug inside my ass.
Eric takes hold of my wrist and wraps a leather cuff over it. Desire shocks up my spine. He’s tying me up. He’s tying me to the table, spread wide open, as if I’m the centerpiece at an all-you-can-eat buffet. He’s spreading me open for his friend.
I almost come right there.
Hunter’s beard tickles my inner thighs. He licks me, lavishing my clit with attention. His fingers twist and curl inside me, homing in on my g-spot and pressing down on it. I squirm and wriggle as pleasure assaults me. The plug, his mouth, the sensation of the fur-lined cuffs on my wrists and ankles… Heat bursts through me; fire blazes in my core. I’m alight with desire. It’s all too much. “Can I come?” I gasp. “Please, I need to—”
Hunter pulls away. I’m about to sob out loud when I see him rolling a condom on his cock. Thank the universe, he’s finally done teasing me.
Eric grabs some strings of rope. He ties one end to my cuff and the other to the leg of the table. He walks around, his expression blazing with heat, tying me in place. I can’t move. I can’t wriggle away. I’m trapped and I love it.
Hunter impales me with his cock.
The air leaves my lungs. I’m faint with pleasure. I want to reach for him, and I can’t. With each thrust, his cock rubs the wall between my pussy and my anal passage, and the glass plug jostles and shifts. His fingers find my clit as he pounds me. His eyes are hot and demanding, and I can’t look away from him. I can’t bite back my moans any longer.
Eric’s still moving—what is he doing? I want to take him in my mouth, but he’s not within reach. Then I feel his lips at my nipples. Sucking one and then the other into his mouth, nipping them with his teeth, painting sensation all over the engorged nubs…
He slides a clamp over my nipple and tightens it, trapping the heat and the sting and the ache. “Too much?”
I can’t form sentences. I shake my head wordlessly.
He repeats the process with my other nipple, and then he runs his thumbs over my clamped buds. Just then, Hunter presses down on my clit and thrusts deep with a low growl, and the dam bursts. I can’t hold back, not any longer. I throw my head back and scream my pleasure into the night. Hunter empties himself into me with a groan, and I shatter into a million pieces.
I take off the plug and wash up, and we’re back at it again in less than thirty minutes. I’m still ready to try the medium-sized plug, and so I tell them that. This time, Eric spears me, and he plays with the plug, moving it in rhythm to his thrusts.
Hunter removes the clamps and that’s more sensation, though this time, it’s not as fun, at least, not until he wraps his lips around my nipples and soothes the sting.
Then they position me back on the table, this time with the blindfold on. One of them teases me by running a feather all over my body, while the other comes in my mouth. I think it’s Eric, but I’m not a hundred-percent sure, and that adds a whole new layer of wickedness to what I’m doing.
It’s after two in the morning when we’re finally done. I’m so tired that I can barely keep my eyes open. Hunter surveys me through bleary eyes. “There’s a bed,” he says. “Want to crash here?”
Oh, that sounds lovely. I have to push back the temptation. I can’t do this. I have to leave. Eric and Hunter are making my fantasies come true, but they’re also inspiring new, more dangerous fantasies. Fantasies like them sticking around. Fantasies like them needing me for more than sex.
Fantasies that I cannot let myself want.
I shift my weight from one leg to the other. “Is it okay if we head back?” I mutter, my eyes avoiding his. “I have a lot to do tomorrow and I want to get an early start.”
He’s quiet for a moment; they both are. Then Eric gets his feet and grabs his pants. “Of course, Dixie. Give me a moment to get dressed, and I’ll drive you home.”
25
Eric
A couple of weeks go by, and with each passing day, something becomes increasingly clear. I really like Dixie.
It’s not the sex. Not that there’s anything wrong with the sex; it’s mind-blowingly good. It’s by far the best sex I’ve ever had.
But that’s the problem. This is the best sex I’ve ever had because it’s Dixie.
She’s smart and funny. She writes clear emails and is respected by her coworkers. When we meet to uncover who’s framing Xavier, I realize that spending time with her is a pleasure. She has a keen, incisive mind and a clear moral compass. She would make a great COO.
In bed, she’s passionate and responsive. Making love to her is so very addictive.
The more time I spend with her, the more I’m developing feelings for Dixie Ketcham.
As far as I know, she hasn’t told any of her friends what she’s doing. We’ve invited her to spend the night more than once—she refuses. We’ve asked her to join us for dinner—she always finds a reason to decline.
At the office, she treats me with polite friendliness, the way she treats everyone else. Earlier this week, I’d asked her if she’d disclosed to HR that we were seeing each other. “Do you want to do it together?” I’d said. “I was reading the employee manual, and I think we need to formally disclose that we’re—”
“We’re what?” she’d interrupted. “That we’re casually doing it?”
That had stung. “Yes.”
“Xavier already knows.”
“Sure, but the right process is—”
“Since when do you care?” she’d cut in again. She’d bitten her lower lip. “Look, can we drop this, please? I’ll talk to Hira when the time is right.”
It’s one thing for me to blow off HR—I’m here on a temporary basis. Plus, Xavier knows about us, so my conscience is clear. But Dixie is a permanent employee, and furthermore, she’s a lawyer. She knows better than to ignore the rules.
She’s ashamed of you.
My mood sours. We’re Dixie’s dirty little secret. I’ve been through this once—been with someone who thought there was something wrong with me, someone who saw kink as a moral failing. I don’t want to relive that. It was hard with Cici, and it’d be even harder with Dixie because I respect the crap out of her.
You knew all along that this was a mistake. Why do you keep getting involved with women that refuse to accept you for who you are? There are lots of lovely, kink-friendly women who would be happy to date you. Instead of picking one of them, you’re falling for Dixie.
I will always be the guy she fucks and never the guy she dates. And that rankles.
I need to put an end to this before she stomps all over my heart. But I have a sinking realization that it’s too late for self-preservation.
Dixie comes into my office Monday afternoon shortly after lunch, juggling her laptop, two cups of coffee, and a brown paper bag. I grab the coffee from her, and she gives me a grateful smile. “One of those coffees is yours,” she says. “Coffee, milk, no sugar. So boring.”
“You do realize that the caramel macchiato you drink is simply a sugar delivery mechanism?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She offers me the paper bag. “If I’m going to look at numbers all afternoon, I’m going to need fortification. I brought muffins. Banana nut or carrot?”
“Carrot, please.”
“Should've known you'd pick the healthier option,” she grouses under her breath.
I give her an amused look. “Dixie, neither of these is the healthy option. We’re eating glorified cake. I just like the carrot better. Were they out of chocolate chip?”
She nods. “Sadly, yes. Should I be concerned that you know what kind of muffins I like?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?” I know precisely how hard to bite her nipples. How she likes her clit stroked. How she likes me to use my fingers and my mouth at the same time. The sound of her moans as she falls apart is etched into my mind, and she’s worried I’m paying attention to her food choices?
She blushes. “Among other things.” She moves the chair around so she’s next to me and cracks open her laptop. “Shall we get going?”
Right now, with her sitting close, close enough that I can smell her rose lotion, I couldn’t give a damn who is trying to frame Xavier. “Sure.”
“I thought we’d dive into Zephyrus today.” She grimaces. “I’m going to warn you ahead of time that this will be a mess. Hughes has trouble retaining employees. They’ve gone through three CFOs in the last three years.”
“That many?” I should know that, but in my defense, Leforte has dozens of subsidiaries. Xavier has been hands-off for too long, and Valade was like a magpie, snapping up any business that looked interesting. Leforte Enterprises is a private company, and Xavier doesn’t have shareholders to be accountable to, but still, whoever takes over next has their work cut out for them.
“Mmm. Do you want to look at last quarter’s numbers while I take the first quarter?”
“Sure.”
We work in relative silence for an hour. I’m out of coffee, and I’m about to suggest a break when Dixie frowns. “This is weird.”
“What is?”
She pivots her screen toward me. “In March, Zephyrus paid Summit a hundred and fifty thousand dollars for an event,” she says. “But it doesn’t look like the money came from them? It came from XPM.” She leans forward. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“What event?”
“Umm…” She switches to a different window and clicks around. “Some kind of fundraiser for local food banks.” She chews on her lower lip. “That doesn’t add up. I started in January. Kevin Hughes brags incessantly. If Zephyrus hosted a fundraiser, I would have heard about it.”
I sit up. “Hang on, I know what you’re talking about—I was there. It wasn’t in March, and it wasn’t Zephyrus. Xavier hosted a charity auction in December. A fundraiser for local food banks and holiday toy drives.”
“An auction? At Club M?”
She sounds intrigued. My brain instantly goes to the gutter. “Is that a fantasy of yours, Dix? You want to go up on stage and have people bid on you?”
She flushes. “No,” she says shortly.
Okay then. I shouldn’t have brought up her fantasies at work. “It was a standard charity auction. Xavier donated trips in his helicopter. Rafael offered up a week’s vacation in his Spanish estate, Maddox chipped in some of his photos, that kind of thing. I donated financial services.”
“What sort of financial services? Basic financial literacy, like the volunteer work you do?”
“Have you looked me up?” I tease. “I’m flattered. No, my client list is closed; I have all the work I need. I was auctioning off access to my services.” I frown. “Summit billed Zephyrus? That can’t be right.”
“Why not?”
“Xavier owns Summit personally, not under the banner of Leforte Enterprises,” I reply. “He ran the fundraiser. He wrote a check, but he also offered Summit’s resources as part of his donation. There shouldn’t have been an invoice. It should have been comped.”
“I can’t find an invoice,” she admits. “But Zephyrus definitely paid them.” Her expression turns sober. “And then XPM paid Zephyrus. This looks dodgy, Eric.”
“It looks like money laundering,” I reply grimly. “Which is a criminal charge. Whoever is behind all of this is intent on ruining Xavier and is willing to spend a ton of money to make that happen. Tell me there’s a paper trail, Dixie.”
“I’m looking,” she replies.
My carrot muffin is mostly uneaten. I push it toward her, and she raises an eyebrow. “What?” I ask. “If a little sugar got us this far, shouldn’t we see what a lot of sugar can do?”
She chuckles. “Well, if you’re not going to eat it…”
“Dive in.”
For several minutes, she works in silence. I try to focus on my own set of numbers, but my concentration is shot. I’m too busy watching her nibble her lower lip. “Okay,” she says finally. “Here we are. Greta Mallory in Accounting verified this transaction. The name’s not ringing any bells for me. You?”
I shake my head. I’m already looking Ms. Mallory up in the company directory. “Let’s call her.”
“Oh God, I knew I should have double-checked,” Greta Mallory blurts out as soon as I ask her about the transaction. “It all seemed so weird, but Mr. Leforte was in Thailand, and I didn’t want to bother him—”
“Ms. Mallory,” Dixie interrupts. “Can we start at the beginning, please? Can you take us through what
happened?”
“Okay.” She exhales audibly. “Early March, we got a check in the mail from Zephyrus for one-hundred-and-fifty-three thousand dollars. But we weren’t expecting any money from them, so I left my counterpart at Zephyrus a message asking him about it.”
“What’s his name?”
“Stewart Lister.”
Dixie looks him up at once. “He’s gone,” she mouths to me.
That’s convenient. “What did Lister say?” I ask the analyst.
“He didn’t call me back. Mr. Hughes did.”
I sit up. “Kevin Hughes, the President of Zephyrus?”
“Yes.” She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears. “He told me he’d had a conversation with Mr. Leforte about reimbursing us for the expenses, and so I should deposit the check. Then he called back in a couple of hours, and he told me not to worry about the check; Zephyrus had direct-deposited the money into our account.”
“Hughes said this?” I ask again.
“Yes. He sounded really convincing, and he said he’d talked to Mr. Leforte…” Her voice trails off. “I told my boss about it, and she called Mr. Valade.”
I already know where this is going. “And what did Pierre say?”
“He didn’t understand why we were calling him,” she replies. “He said that if that’s what Kevin had said, then he didn’t see the problem. He made it sound like we were wasting his time.”
Fucking Valade. I swear to God, if I run into the man, I am going to punch his face, consequences be damned. I exchange a long look with Dixie. “It sounds like you did everything you could,” she says soothingly. “Thank you for your help, Greta.”
I mutter something appropriate as well, and then I hang up. Dixie stares at me. “I know how it looks,” she says. “But is it possible Xavier changed his mind about donating Summit’s services?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Which means Kevin lied.” She grimaces. “This will be a fun conversation. Shall we talk to him? Or do you want us to talk to Xavier first?”