Chapter Twenty-Three
Alexandra
Something snaps inside me like a rubber band stretched too far; I only have time to gasp, “I can’t fight how much I care about you,” before my lips crash into his; before my hands slip under the back of his shirt, seeking every tattooed, muscled inch; before I put them where I really want them — on his ass, his firm, muscular, delicious ass — and I moan as he pulses his hips against me.
He’s hard already.
Thick and insistent, his desire mirroring my own.
I pull him closer, deepening the kiss, losing myself in the sensation of his body pressed against mine.
Dixon groans into my mouth. His hands are everywhere. We move together in a rhythm, gasping and grasping, clawing, stroking, kissing — two desperate, wounded people consumed by a need that feels larger than both of us.
The world falls away until there is nothing but the heat of his skin, the taste of him on my lips, and the relentless pressure building inside me. We stumble backward, knocking over a chair that crashes to the floor. Our breaths come fast and ragged, our movements desperate.
This is wrong. So wrong. I should fight these feelings. I can’t go allowing myself to think of Dixon as anything other than a necessary evil, and yet, more and more, I think of him as a necessity.
He lifts me effortlessly, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
Our eyes lock for a moment.
“Alexandra,” he whispers against my neck. His voice is like velvet wrapped in steel — soft yet unyielding. “Are you sure?”
“I feel it for you, too,” I say. “Fuck me.”
We fumble with buttons and zippers, stripping away layers between breathless kisses, each revealed inch of skin something that I ache to explore.
The urgency is palpable now; I need to be closer, skin on skin, desire pushing me into a frenzy. The cool air of the room does nothing to quell the burning lust that has taken hold of me. Dixon’s touch sets fire to every part of me as his fingers trace the lines of my body with a possessiveness that enthralls me.
His mouth descends upon mine once more, devouring me with a passion that leaves no room for thought. All I can do is feel — his weight atop me, the way he moves against me, how every inch of him seems designed to fit perfectly with my own. Two people, broken, shattered by life, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.
I run my hands up and down his back, my fingernails lightly scratching at him, the gentle pain making him moan.
“Fuck, Alexandra, the way you touch me… It’s like I’m feeling for the first time.”
He kisses my neck, my shoulder, down my chest.
My skin rises in goosebumps to meet his touch, my nipples harden at his ministrations, and I moan.
Dixon breaks away from our kiss long enough to look into my eyes again. There’s vulnerability there mixed with desire — a raw need that mirrors my own. He says nothing; he doesn’t need to. Our ragged breaths and racing hearts speak volumes more than words ever could. We’ve not just crossed that barrier between us, we’ve broken it to bits.
“I know I’m supposed to hate you, Dixon. But I just want you. I want you inside me. I want to hear you say that…”
My words die off as he pulls my pants down, as he kisses my pussy through my panties.
“That being with you is giving me a reason… that you are my reason. Is that what you want?”
My answer doesn’t come; he rips my panties down and delivers a deep, slow kiss to my pussy that wrenches a moan from somewhere within my chest next to my aching heart. My hips buck against him, seeking more contact, craving the friction that will push me over the edge. Dixon wastes no time, his fingers joining his mouth in a dance of pleasure that has me gasping and arching my back.
The beautiful tension builds with every lick, every nip, every kiss, until finally, I’m tumbling over into blissful oblivion. My body shudders as waves of pleasure roll through me.
When I come back to myself, Dixon is looking down at me with an intensity that steals my breath away. I can see the thoughts playing out behind his eyes, and I want no room for thinking right now, no room for regret.
“I want you to fuck me. Right here. Right on this bar. Every time I come in to work, I want to think about you fucking me while I scream your name.”
His eyes are dark with need as he positions himself at my entrance.
And then he”s inside.
I moan. It’s overwhelming — as if every nerve in my body converges at that single point of contact. My fingers claw at the edge of the bar for support.
He pauses for an instant, allows me to adjust to his size, to the reality we have both surrendered to – that this is so wrong, yet we can’t do a damn to fight it.
Ten he thrusts again, and it’s all I can do to keep my senses. Each is deliberate, powerful, each one pushing a fresh wave of pleasure through me. Dixon leans over me, his hands finding mine and intertwining, creating an anchor in the sea of our bodies crashing together.
I look up at him through half-lidded eyes, lost in the rhythm. The sound of our bodies fills the room, mingled with my moans and his deep grunts. It’s primal, pure and raw.
“Dixon,” I whisper, my voice strained with passion. “I feel…”
He silences me by kissing me fiercely. There’s nothing but Dixon and me — no bar, no fallen bottles or shattered glass, no past grudges or future fears.
Just this perfect present.
His voice is low, guttural. “I want you. Want you like I’ve never wanted anything or anyone. You are my reason, Alexandra.”
“I need you. I want you,” I urge him. His movements become more urgent, and the tension coils within me again. “Fuck me harder, Dixon. I’m so close.”
“Oh, fuck yes, Alexandra. Yes.”
It’s overwhelming; I want it, need it, that sensation of being blasted to oblivion. I reach behind him, sink my nails into his back, and breathe into his ear. “If you care for me, you’ll fuck me like you hate me.”
“Whatever you say, princess.”
“I hate that fucking nickname.”
“The same way I hate you,” he growls. His thrusts deepen, and I rock my hips, moaning. Beautiful, perfect pain races through me. “You like that, princess?”
“Fuck you.” I buck my hips into him, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the bar.
I don’t just like it; I love it.
He matches his pace to mine as I chase that peak again, and this time, he’s right there with me; our shared climax approaches like a high-speed train — inevitable, unstoppable. And when it hits, everything goes white-hot as pleasure courses through me, the only sound piercing through the blissful void is the rasping, throaty moans of my man, the only sensation the burning ecstasy that roils my twitching body and the hot, wet pulses of his cock releasing inside me.
Breathless and intertwined, we collapse onto the cool wooden surface of the bar. The air is thick with the scent of sex and spilled liquor. I can feel the thrumming of Dixon”s heart beneath his sweat-sheened chest, a rhythm that soothes the aftershocks still quivering through me.
As we lay there, I trace the lines of ink that snake across his arm. Yet, despite the raw intimacy of our entwined bodies, we”re still skirting the truth of what we really are to each other.
He cares about me? I care about him? Empty bullshit phrases and I know it.
Even as the rest of me cools down, my cheeks burn with embarrassment over just how little that actually means. I care about many people in my life — my regular barista at the coffee shop, the butcher at the grocery store who always puts a few extra pieces of bacon in my order, the bouncer, Scott. Dixon is more than a bouncer to me, and he needs to fucking hear it as much as I need to fucking say it.
No more fucking around. No more dodging the truth.
I prop myself up on one elbow and look at him.
His eyes are heavy-lidded but hold back an ocean, ready to spill over — a confession on the tip of his tongue.
”Alexandra,” he starts, his voice low and gravelly from exertion. ”There”s something I need to tell you…”
Suddenly, there’s an explosive banging on the door that seems far too sobering for our post-orgasmic haze. My blood turns to ice as adrenaline courses through my veins.
”Open up. We know you”re in there. No more fucking around — it’s time.”
It’s a deep voice, raspy, unfamiliar. I look at Dixon, and he’s already on his feet, anger carving deep furrows in his brow. It must be them. Another killer sent by whoever is responsible for my brother’s death.
He stalks to the door, fists clenched. “Get ready, Alexandra. I’ll handle this.”
I tense and look for a weapon. I’m about to be in a fight for my life. While naked and completely covered in sex.