I take the stairs two at a time but stop and give myself a second before I knock on her door. I can hear her inside as I run my hands through my hair and try to get my heart to stop hammering. She’s singing. Badly. Oh my God, so badly. I smile and try to make out the song. Selena Gomez, I think. Jesus, she soOunds like a dying cat, and it’s fucking awesome. I cover my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing out loud.

Dixie is such a dynamo and seems to be good at everything, but her singing proves that’s not true. Somehow, though, I’m totally attracted to her off-key silliness, which makes my heart hammer even harder. What the hell is with me that I am so flustered by a woman? I’ve never had this problem before in my life. I don’t know what it is about her, but she makes me so off-balance, and yet when I’m with her, I feel more grounded than I have since the accident.

She told me to come over at about seven and it’s six forty-five. I was sick of pacing her block, and I was getting strange looks from the barista at the Starbucks on the corner for milking my tall caramel macchiato for two hours. I should have just hung out at Levi’s, watched some sports or surfed the net, but I was antsy. I had this weird sensation like we were racing against a clock. If I didn’t see her as soon as I could, I felt like I wouldn’t get the chance. I would have been here the second she sent that Fred Flintstone text, but she said her family was in town and she needed to be with them until now.

I listen to her sing just a little bit longer and then try to cover the smirk on my face as I knock. She yells that it’s open, which I need to talk to her about. I don’t know San Fran well, but I know enough to know this isn’t a high-end area. Not horrible, but she should be keeping her door locked, even if she’s expecting company. I open the door and look around her apartment, something I didn’t do much of last night.

She’s got candles lit again, giving the place an intimate, warm feel. The bed is exactly where it was last night, in a nook by the window. There’s what look like two brand-new wide, comfortable armchairs across from the minuscule kitchen area, but no TV. Instead on the wall are a bunch of framed posters—words. Slogans or motivational sayings, I guess you’d call them. Things like “Celebrate Every Victory” and “If You Can’t Beat Fear, Do It Scared.” They’re all in simple dark wood frames, printed in different fonts on different-colored paper. They’d be crazy in any other chick’s apartment, but for Dixie, it works. Especially the one that says “Throw Sass Around Like Confetti.”

I’m smiling when she comes trotting out of her bathroom in nothing but heels and red lacy underwear and matching bra, holding a feather duster and a DustBuster. Holy shit. As my jaw drops, her smile grows. “Sorry. I was just tidying up.”

“No you weren’t,” I reply, my own smile starting to grow.

“You’re right. I wasn’t.” She laughs. “But you seem to like the hot housewife or naughty maid thing, so I thought I should run with it.”

“You’re incredible.” I shrug out of my coat and let it fall to the floor and then start toward her.

“I’m also a complete slob,” she confesses. “If you open my closet it’s just piles of clothes and junk I shoved in there last night so you wouldn’t know.”

“You’re also a terrible singer, and that wall of words says you’re a Tony Robbins wannabe too,” I tell her as I motion toward her wall.

She blinks but doesn’t look the least bit offended or embarrassed, which I love. “I believe in the power of positive thinking, and you were eavesdropping.”

“Hard not to hear that voice,” I quip.

She feigns indignation and points the feather duster at my face. “You don’t like it, you can buy earplugs.”

“But then I’d miss the way you pant my name when you come,” I say casually, but it gets the very uncasual reaction I’m looking for—she blushes.

I use her moment of astonishment to reach out and grab her, pulling her body flush with mine. It’s crazy how she fits, that petite frame of hers curls into me, rubbing and bumping all the right places. I dip my head, our lips brush. “I don’t do that,” she protests faintly, and it makes me pass my lips over hers again, teasingly.

“Oh, you do that,” I promise her. “And I want to make you do it again.”

“Well, hurry up then,” she goads, a smile on those naturally rosy lips. “I’ve got cleaning to do.”

My arms tighten around her waist, closing any gap between us, and my lips take hers. The kiss is deep and hard, and she gives as good as she gets, matching every pass of my tongue and every push of my lips against hers. She drops the feather duster and grabs my belt instead, twisting and yanking until it’s undone, never breaking the kiss or letting go of the DustBuster in her other hand. I move my lips to her ear, biting and sucking the lobe before telling her, “You might want to put down the vacuum.”

She smiles playfully and turns it on for a second, filling the room with a roaring sound. Then she steps back, out of my arms, and says, “If you insist.”

She bends right there in front of me, dropping to her knees, one hand undoing my button and pulling down my fly while the other gently places the mini vacuum on the floor. But she doesn’t stand up right away. Instead, she pushes my jeans over my hips, and then she does the same with my underwear, careful not to catch my completely solid dick, which is now level with her pretty blue eyes. She’s going to give me a blow job. I can tell by the smile curving the corners of her mouth and the way her tongue wets her lips. I somehow get harder at that revelation.

I move my hands to curl into her silky, straight hair and force my eyes to stay focused on her as she wraps a hand around the base of my cock and starts to slide her warm, wet mouth over the tip. Sweet mother of everything, this is incredible. Her mouth is firm, and her tongue swirls deliciously around my shaft as she goes straight for it—taking all of me in one long, unhurried movement.

“Dixie,” I groan as I let my head tip back.

She responds by sliding back up from base to tip, only this time her hand tightens around my shaft and follows her lips, creating an unbelievable friction. She pauses at my tip, rubbing the flat of her tongue up and down the sensitive underside, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to snap my hips and shove myself into her mouth. It’s so damn hard because her mouth feels so fucking good. But I don’t want to control this, I want her to. And she’s doing an incredibly hot job. In just a few short minutes my muscles are taut and I’m swimming in that tingling feeling, my orgasm set to launch.

I’m not ready. I want to drown in these sensations a little longer, but then I look down. Her eyes are shut, eyelashes fluttering, and the hand that’s not on my cock is inside her own underwear. She’s playing with herself. Holy fuck, that vision lights the fuse and my orgasm is inevitable now. I pull back, ready to come in my own hand, but she pulls me back into her welcoming mouth and I roar and see stars.

She makes a noise like a whimper and her mouth tightens around me and I watch her body shudder as she has her own orgasm. I reach down and pull her up, right up off her feet. She wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist and I walk her toward the bed, kicking off my pants and underwear as we go since they were around my ankles. I carefully drop her down onto her back on the bed and lay myself over her. She likes it, I can tell by the smile. And I like her. A lot. More than I’m allowed to.

I run a hand over her forehead and into her hair. “I actually thought we could talk.”

“Oops.” She sighs it more than says it. “So you didn’t want my lips on your cock?”

“I did. Just after the talking part.” I smile.

She lets out a whiny sound and her tiny nose wrinkles up. “Talking will get us in trouble.”

“Why?” I should keep my mouth shut, but I want to hear her concerns, because I need to know they’re the same as mine.

“Because if we talk I’ll have to tell you that I like you,” she confesses and a blush creeps over her cheeks as she closes her eyes to avoid looking at me. Her bluntness despite her obvious insecurity makes my heart swell. It’s so simply and totally Dixie. She has a way of being fearless and vulnerable at the same time. It’s something I’ve never seen in anyone else. “And liking you is like driving full speed into a brick wall. It’s gotta end, and it’s gonna be bad.”

“Not necessarily,” I reply and gently let my lips ghost the curve of her neck. “I mean, I like you too, so that’s something in our favor.”

She opens her eyes at that and looks up at me tentatively. “You do?”

“Fuck yeah,” I reply enthusiastically, and she laughs. “What’s not to like? Other than the singing.”

She slaps me playfully on the arm. I press my palms gently to the sides of her face and kiss her softly. She holds on to my biceps as I do it. “Seriously, Dix. I don’t think we need this to end tonight. I don’t think I can.”

“I know,” she confesses. “But the alternative is…impossible. Even if we kept this going long distance while you’re on the Storm, you’ll be on the Thunder soon, and then it’s got to stop and we’ll be in even deeper by then.”

I know what she’s saying is the truth, I just don’t care right now. “We don’t know when I’ll be called up. Why should we stop having fun now because of something that might or might not happen?”

I hate admitting that I might never make the team, but sadly it feels like the truth right now. I feel a deep burn of humiliation at that, but I push those thoughts from my head and focus on what I think I can win—her.

“You’ll make the team. One day.”

“But until then…let’s keep having a good time,” I reply, moving us back to the subject at hand. “I think we both need something fun in our lives.”

“Eli, the whole point of this was to work each other out of our system,” she reminds me softly.

“I think that’s going to take more time, though.”

“I just…I don’t think it’s a good time for anyone to be in my life,” she mumbles and I feel like, for a second, this isn’t about her job, but then she adds, “I’m up for a promotion and stuff.”

“We’re not breaking any rules right now,” I remind her. “I just think we’d be stupid to deny ourselves more of this.”

She reaches out and wraps her arms around my neck, moving under me, and gently pushes her thigh up to rub against my cock, which is growing again. “More of this.”

“Not just the sex,” I reply firmly. “You. Me. More of us.”

She cranes her neck, reaching up to kiss me. I kiss her back, but her phone starts ringing just when it’s getting good. She pulls away, wiggles her way out from under me and scurries over to the coffee table. I can’t believe she’s going to take a phone call when we’re about to get naked again.

“Sorry,” she tells me as she glances at the screen, her finger poised to swipe Accept. “It’s a work thing.”

She answers and I sit there and watch her pace the room talking with someone named Kelley about a meeting on Monday. I don’t know a Kelley in the Thunder organization, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. She talks about marketing strategies and a presentation or something, but honestly, I’m totally distracted by the way her tiny, perky little butt looks in those lace boy shorts and the curve of her breasts spilling over the cups of her bra. And the way her hair glows a golden color in the candlelight is pretty fantastic too.

She must have ended the call because suddenly I hear her say. “You’re flat-out staring at my ass.”

I blink and force my eyes up. “Not exclusively. I was staring at your chest too for a while.”

She smiles. “Oh good. You didn’t leave the girls out.”

“Can you put that thing on silent? Because I’m about to do things to you that should not be interrupted,” I say and casually stroke my now hard dick.

She watches me do it. “I can’t put my phone on silent.”

“You’re that dedicated to work?” I have to ask because it seems insane.

“No. My family just moved to town this afternoon and Jude is on a road trip, so I want to be reachable if they need anything.” There’s this sudden serious glint in her eyes that makes me think that’s not the whole story.

“They moved here permanently?”

“Yeah. Kind of. It’s a long story.” She shrugs. “But I won’t answer if it’s not my family.”

“You just did.”

She looks sheepish. “That was because I’m trying to get a meeting with the ALS Foundation here in San Fran. I want to volunteer to build a social media campaign for them. That was my contact setting up a meeting.”

“ALS?” I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as she drops her cell back on the coffee table. “What is that again?”

“It’s amyotrophic lateral sclerosis,” she explains. “Also called Lou Gehrig’s disease. It basically destroys your body, then kills you. It’s horrific and I hate it and there’s no cure. I volunteer with them, and the team has done charity events for them before. Now I’m trying to do a little more than the regular volunteer stuff at their annual walk.”

“Why?”

She hesitates. I can see her step falter as she walks toward me on the bed. And that same serious glint slides over her eyes for a second, then she smiles seductively and climbs up on the bed, straddling my hips again. “Because I’m not just a kick-ass communications genius and the best sex you’ve ever had. I’m a good person too.”

I grin. “And modest.”

“Hard to be modest when you’re staring at my ass like it’s the eighth wonder of the world,” she quips.

“And your tits,” I remind her and place my hands on her hips. “But you know what the real wonder of the world is?”

“What?” she asks in a breathless whisper.

I use my hands on her tiny hips to hold her tight, standing up. I turn and before she can wrap her legs around my waist I toss her onto the bed. She lands on her back with a laugh. I quickly drop down and then slide my body on top of her. The sex last night was fantastic. I’m a huge fan of the girl being on top. Hell, I haven’t met a sex position I didn’t like, but right now, I want to be on top of her. There’s something kind of intimate about missionary for me, and I crave that with her.

I lean down, rubbing my beard against the curve of her neck as I move my lips to her ear. “The way it feels to be inside you,” I finish my thought. “That’s the real wonder of my world.”

“Oh my God…” she says in a breathy, almost moaning voice.

I cover her mouth with mine, kissing her hard and deep as I move a hand between us and push it into her underwear. “Watching you make yourself come was pretty wondrous too.”

She probably wants to respond, but I’ve slipped two fingers inside her and curled them just right and she can’t speak at all. She lets out a perfect little mew and pushes her head into the mattress. I balance on my forearm to give me more room to move my hand. She’s panting and writhing in less than two minutes—and she’s wetter than ever.

I feel my dick start to throb with need as she clenches around my fingers and bucks her hips with the pulse of her orgasm. I love watching her come. The way her skin turns all pink. The perfect arch of her back. The circle her mouth makes. The way her nipples harden. I cover one with my mouth now because the temptation is too strong. Then I move my hand from her pulsating core and I can’t help but grind myself into her thigh. God, I need my own release so much I’m almost shaking.

I glance around the room, trying to locate my pants because that’s where my condoms are. She blindly gropes for the night table drawer and pulls it open. Inside is an unopened box of condoms.

“You’re the best,” I whisper gratefully. She rips open a foil, then slips her hands between us to roll it on. The feel of her hands sends ripples of pleasure up my spine.

All I want with every fiber of my being is to slide into her wet, warm, welcoming heat, but there’s one thing I want more—for this not to be the end. So I nudge her gently, entering her with just my tip, and then I hover there. She shifts under me, nudging her pelvis lower, trying to take more of me, but I move my hips back as soon as more than the tip slips deeper. She looks at me with such despair over not getting what she wants it’s almost comical. “Elijah. Please.”

“Tell me this isn’t the end,” I demand, my voice so damn low and gritty even I don’t recognize it. “Promise me.”

She doesn’t respond, or react, her body still, her eyes locked on mine, her bottom lip caught tightly between her teeth. She still has that look of wanton desperation on her face though, so I know this is torturing her. Good. It may be playing dirty, but I’ll do whatever it takes to get what I want—her.

“It’s not the end,” she finally replies in a heated whisper.

I push just a little bit deeper. My entire body quivers as I stop from fully immersing myself in her perfect pussy. “Promise,” I demand.

“Oh God, I promise,” she moans and writhes with need. “Now fuck me, Elijah. Please.”

I’m deep inside her before she finishes saying my name. Her back arches and she sighs with pleasure, or relief. Probably both. But I don’t give her time to relax. I’m too riled up, too needy, for that. So I start to move, fast, long strokes, keeping my whole body low, against her body. I want to touch all of her at once. I’m desperate to feel her skin against mine.

She doesn’t seem to mind, wrapping her legs around my thighs and her arms around my neck. Her hands dig into my hair roughly, and the delicious sensation her nails on my scalp send down my spine has me pushing deep, harder into her.

“Eli…Oh God, Eli…” That breathy voice sends me into overdrive. I wrap my fingers around the back of her knee and pull her leg forward. Her ankle lands on my shoulder and I twist my hips just a little bit as I push into her. It makes her gasp and arch her back. I kiss her recklessly, tongues, teeth and lips battling.

She gets tight—so damn tight—around my cock. And warm. So unbelievably warm, and then, as I push and twist for the third time, slower and harder this time, her hands grip my hair and she does something unexpected. She opens her eyes and locks them with mine as she comes. It’s intimate and hotter than hell, and it sends me catapulting over the edge with her.

My body melts into hers and I bury my face in her shoulder and close my eyes and just absorb the fading sensations of both our orgasms. Her grip on my hair lessens, and after a minute she’s gently running her fingers through, her nails grazing soothingly across my scalp.

“Why is it so good?” she ponders aloud, and I smile against the soft skin of her elbow. “I thought I’d had good sex before, but clearly I was mistaken.”

“We’re just getting started, sweet Dixie,” I promise.