Holy shit, I did it. I am going to do it. I am going to do him. I really am. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s not my fault. It’s that kiss. I’ve been kissed before. I’d actually say I’d been kissed a lot. But his kiss was different. It was the beginning of something I’ve been longing to finish ever since.

I climb the crappy staircase to my apartment, taking the steps two at a time. As soon as I unlock the three dead bolts Jude insisted on installing when I moved in, I close the door behind me and start sniffing. Good, the usual smell of soy sauce and fish that wafts up from the sushi place below me isn’t as strong as normal. Still, I decide to light most of the Anthropologie candles I have peppered around the place. Then I gather as much mess as I can—shoes, piles of clean and dirty laundry, papers brought home from work, purses, coats—and shove it all into my walk-in closet. That baby is why I rented this place.

I spend another ten minutes darting around to tidy up, then run to the bathroom and dab a little more perfume on my wrists, smooth my hair and reapply my lipstick. I glance at the clock. I told him to come by at midnight. That way he could hang with the guys for a little bit, if they asked, and I had time to come back here and get ready.

But I still have twenty minutes and the waiting is going to make me doubt my decision. I head into the kitchen and decide to busy myself doing the few dishes in the sink—a mug, a bowl and a spoon.

I have to do this now. I realized that as the night went on. Not tomorrow, not next week, now. Elijah will be on the team one day in the not so distant future, and then it’ll be against the rules. And I am so impossibly attracted to him that I just need to get it out of my system. If I don’t work him out of my system before he’s a player for the Thunder, my job is going to suffer because I won’t be able to do anything but drool over him, and chances are I’ll slip up and somehow end up with my lips on some part of him and then I’ll lose my job. I know it’s just a physical attraction. He’s hot and charming in a completely off-the-wall way that I’ve never experienced. But he’s too wild and doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. So not my type. Still, I’ve never had a stronger chemistry with someone, and it’s time to indulge that, so I can get back to my life and my goals.

There’s a soft knock on my door. The mug clatters from my hand and shatters in the sink. Shit! The second knock is much harder. “Dixie!”

“Come in!” I call absently and reach for the faucet to turn off the water.

“Well, this is unexpected.” His voice fills my apartment, not because he’s yelling but just because he’s got that kind of voice.

I turn and realize instantly why he’s got an amused look on his sexy face. My hands are encased in rubber gloves, one with a dish brush in it and the other with a large chunk of mug. All the while I’m still wearing my sexy dress and high heels. He looks completely turned on right now.

“You have a maid fetish?” I question.

“No. And this isn’t maid…This is…” His green eyes sweep up and down my body. “I don’t know what this is but yeah, it’s a fetish.”

I laugh and drop the chunk of mug in the trash, drop the dish brush on the counter and start to pull off the rubber gloves. I toss the gloves on the counter. “Sorry. Show’s over. And so is my mug.”

“Debutante does dishes?” He’s still trying to define my look. “No…maybe heiress does dishes? Or…sexy businesswoman does…”

“Goalie?”

A slow smile spreads over his face. “Now that’s a fetish I’ll confess to having.”

He’s just standing there staring at me and smiling. I could honestly look at that smile all damn day long. I can’t explain what it does to me. It’s honestly the most charismatic, charming and sexy smile I have ever seen. It draws me to him like a cat to a laser pointer.

“Can I get you something? Beer? Water? Wine?”

“Just you,” he replies casually, still smiling.

Oh God, we are really going to do this. Suddenly I feel nervous. Still, I find myself walking slowly toward him. He reaches toward me, palm up, and I drop my hand into his and then suddenly, with a whoosh, I’m over his shoulder. My head is dangling over his back and my ass is on his shoulder, my feet hanging at his waist.

“Sweet Dixie,” he says as I squirm. “This is going to be fun.”

I feel his mouth, more specifically his teeth, as he turns his head and bites my butt cheek. Not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to notice. So I haul off and smack his ass, since it’s the only thing within swatting distance. And then his hands grip my waist and I’m flying through the air then land on my back in the middle of my bed, which is covered with throw pillows since I use it as a couch too.

I prop myself up on my elbows and look up at him. He’s shrugging out of his suit jacket. “Tell me you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have since we met?” he says.

“I wasn’t…” He raises an eyebrow at that. Just one—his left one. I bite my bottom lip. “At first.”

“I know you love to say that, but I felt the vibe coming off you the moment our eyes locked,” Eli replies, confident as he starts to undo his cuff links. Jesus, I feel like I should be filming this and selling it to a suit manufacturer for their next campaign. It’s hot as hell.

“There was no vibe, rookie,” I reply.

“I’m not a rookie yet. You’re going to have to come up with a new annoying nickname.” He starts to unbutton his dress shirt. “How about Sex God?”

I snort.

He grins, eyes wide. “Did you just snort?”

“Hell yes. That was a snort-worthy level of machismo.”

“Machismo?” He laughs loudly. “I know you’re older than me, but no need for vocabulary from the forties.”

“I’m only one year older than you.”

His shirt is completely unbuttoned now and hanging from his shoulders. My eyes take a long, slow journey from his collarbone down his perfectly toned chest and abdomen.

“A year and two months,” Elijah corrects. “You’re a certifiable cougar, Dixie Wynn Braddock.”

I regretfully pull my eyes off his gorgeously ridged abs and up to his face. But he’s not looking at mine. His eyes are on my legs. I glance down. My dress hiked up quite a bit after I was tossed on the bed and he likes what he sees. I want to show him more so I move a little bit and the dress slides to the top of my thigh. He takes a step closer.

“Take off your shirt,” I whisper and our eyes finally connect.

Without a word he removes his shirt and lets it land at his feet, then he bends and once again he’s deliciously close, his face inches from mine.

“Now,” he says, reaching up with one of his hands and gently wrapping it around the back of my neck. “Where were we?”

“I think we were right about here.” I tip my head ever so slightly so our lips connect.

Yup. He’s as good at kissing as I remember. I don’t know what it is about his lips or his tongue or how he moves them, but it’s blowing my mind like it did the first time. I’m the definition of hot and bothered. His fingers press gently into my neck, and he tilts my head back farther and leans into me, pushing me back onto the mattress. My hands roam over his bare chest and graze a small but perfect amount of chest hair. I let out a little grunt of satisfaction at the feel of it. Jesus.

“You like the chest hair?” he asks, his lips still against mine, his words basically spoken against my mouth.

“Mmm…it’s awesome,” I whisper and let my fingernails scrape through it and over his nipples, which makes his pecs clench. “Helps me forget what a baby you actually are.”

“Stop,” he says, laughing.

“Make me.”

His mouth covers mine again and his tongue sweeps over mine, and seriously, why is this so damn hot? Just kissing him makes me ache between my legs. I move my hands down his stomach and then I move them back up so I can slide my fingers down it again. Because seriously, it’s so hard and rippled with glorious muscle it deserves double the feels. I deserve double the feels.

I’m suddenly, fleetingly, self-conscious. I’m in no way out of shape, but I am also in no way in shape. Definitely not the kind of shape he’s in. His body looks like he’s auditioning for Jason Momoa’s naked stunt double. He is like some kind of specimen created just for my fantasies. I should probably stop eating donuts and start drinking protein shakes or something.

“I want that dress gone,” he sort of growls against my neck with that voice that’s so rough yet somehow soft it reverberates on my skin.

“That requires standing up,” I tell him and start to try to sit up. But once again he manhandles me, flipping me onto my stomach before I know what’s happening.

“God, I am never going to get tired of how tiny you are.” I feel his fingers start to pull the zipper on my dress down.

“I’m letting you do this. Make no mistake, if I didn’t want you to treat me like a blow-up doll, you wouldn’t be,” I advise him. “I have a blue belt in hapkido.”

“That sounds like something you order at a sushi restaurant,” he snarks, and I try to glare at him over my shoulder but it’s impossible. My zipper is now at the base of my spine and I feel the fabric part as his hand slides up my back, palm flat against my skin. It’s warm and rough because his hockey gloves have given him calluses. It feels like his fingers, spread out like they are, cover most of my back.

“Hapkido is a very serious martial art,” I explain, even though the last thing I want to be doing is giving him a lesson in anything other than where I want those hands to go next. “My dad made my sisters and me take it for years growing up so we’d have self-defense skills.”

“So you’re a lethal weapon. Good to know,” he replies and his fingers move to the clasp of my bra. “I promise not to sneak up on you in a dark alley.”

I smile. “I’d love to flip you on your back. But I don’t need a dark alley for that. I can do it here later. After.”

“After?”

“After the orgasms.”

He chuckles. It’s a deep rumble that I feel like a bass drum between my legs. “How about you get to flip me if I don’t give you an orgasm?”

My bra comes undone.

“Deal,” I reply. “Of course, I might flip you anyway.”

Suddenly his whole body is pressed into mine. I can feel his bare chest against my bare back and one of his thick thighs is between my legs and his cock is pressed into my left ass cheek. It’s official. Everything about Elijah Casco is long, thick and hard.

“Sweet Dixie, the way I give orgasms, you won’t have the strength to stand, let alone flip me,” he promises before lifting himself off me and flipping me onto my back as quickly and effortlessly as he flipped me last time.

I stare up at him, with nothing but flickering candlelight and a faint glow from the street light outside pushing its way through my half-open curtains. He looks older in the dim light—rugged, confident and sexy. His hands move to my shoulders and start to pull my dress down, taking the straps of my bra with it.

Sleeping with Elijah feels risky, in an exhilarating sort of way, like I imagine bungee jumping or ziplining or skydiving would be. You’re terrified, but you want to do it more than anything.

Suddenly I’m naked from the waist up, but I’m not self-conscious anymore because there is so much lust in his eyes as he stares at me that they’ve changed to a dark, mossy color. I feel like I should say something, make a typically Dixie-esque comment, but that look on his face is leaving me speechless. And then he’s moving again, and moving me, before I have a chance to regain my senses. He lifts me by my hips and pushes me farther down the bed, and then I’m flat on my back and his lips are covering my left nipple and he’s actually groaning as his tongue makes contact with my skin. My eyes flutter shut and I let out a loud sigh and arch my back into his mouth.

He moves to my other breast, and I lift my torso even higher off the bed. He chuckles and moves his head to the concave spot between my breasts; as he smiles his beard scratches deliciously against my skin and goose flesh ripples down my arms. “You’re a breast girl.”

I reach down and cup his head between my hands, tilting his fare to look up at me. “I’m an everything girl.”

“Then let’s do everything,” he replies and pulls himself up so he’s blanketing my body with his and our lips meet again.

It’s intense—the way he’s touching me, the feel of his mouth, the level of turned on he’s making me. I need to bring it down a little, gain some control back even if it’s just a molecule of it. So, as his mouth drifts from mine back down toward my breasts I use my martial arts training, carefully positioning my legs between his, and reach out with my arms and—boom! I flip him.

It’s not graceful, and I almost fall off the bed when I do it and end up flailing a little, which I’m sure looks extra ridiculous topless, but I flipped him and he looks impressed. Stunned but impressed. “Cool. I’ve never fucked a ninja before.”

I laugh—loudly. “You don’t fuck ninjas. They fuck you.”

I stand and he reaches an arm out as if to stop me until he realizes I’m just doing it to shimmy out of my underwear. His eyes follow the black lace as it drops to the floor. My dress is clinging precariously to my hips. I could shift my hips and be rid of it, but he’s got way too many clothes on for me to be naked. So instead I get back on the bed and reach for his belt. He crosses his arms behind his head and watches me as I undo it and then pop the button and lower the fly. Before I can get any further he grabs both my wrists and with one quick, hard tug he yanks me forward and I land on top of him. He’s smooth and warm and hard, except for where our breastbones touch, and he’s got the sprinkling of hair that tickles my bare skin.

We find each other’s eyes, and I can see the playful light in his green ones flicker and dim into something else at the same time I feel it happening to me. His hands move up my bare sides and stop just under my arms. The tip of his tongue makes a slow pass over his bottom lip. His voice gets even deeper and rougher as he growls, “Playtime is over.”

And then he’s pulling me up to press his lips to mine again. This kiss is all business, and that is such a paradox with who this man is in real life. Elijah is so playful and jovial all the time that the darkness and intensity that’s driving this kiss is surreal and so sexy it’s taking my breath away—and any remaining inhibitions.

We move against each other wildly—tongues dancing, bodies writhing, hands groping—for long, frantic minutes. I manage to get his pants and underwear down his legs but not before he grabs a condom out of his pocket and drops it on the bed beside us. I use the opportunity to take in his fully naked body. It leaves me more breathless than the kissing did. Elijah has one hell of a cock. It’s long but also incredibly thick and perfectly straight and so damn hard right now it’s throbbing—over me. That makes me flush and the ache between my own legs grows. It doesn’t help that his eyes are riveted to my pussy, fully on display now. I watch motionless as he reaches out with one hand and, without a second’s hesitation, cups it against his palm. His long middle finger bends and purposefully pushes into me.

I close my eyes and let out the softest, longest moan and tilt my hips, rubbing my clit against the heel of his hand. The fourth of July goes off behind my eyelids. “Sweet Dixie,” he whispers roughly. “You feel incredible.”

He moves his finger in and out and I rub my clit shamelessly against his palm again. It feels so fucking incredible. I have been giving myself orgasms for years now. And they’re good. I have a great little vibrator and my fingers know how to get me off, but no modern technology or even my own familiarity can compete with this bliss. I could do this all night.

But Elijah has other plans. Suddenly his hand is gone and I’m air humping nothing. Before I can protest, he’s got me by the hips and is effortlessly lifting me, pulling me up his body until my knees are resting just in front of his shoulders and now my pussy is inches from his face. “FYI, this is the only thing I think I’m going to love devouring more than fruity drinks.”

In a millisecond his tongue is sliding up and into me just like his finger moments ago. The noise that leaves me this time is more of a whimper than a groan, and the minute his tongue slips higher, to my clit, circling it, my orgasm is clawing through me—visceral, scorching and fucking incredible.

“That was easy,” he announces in a snarky whisper, and I want to respond with something even more snarky but I’m still completely lost in this orgasm and I want to keep it that way. I slowly, unsteadily move so I’m sitting on my heels beside his left hip. Through my fluttering eyelids I can see he’s grabbing the condom and ripping it open. I watch him grab his cock firmly with one hand and sheath it with the other. He lets it go, props himself up on an elbow and reaches up and cups the back of my neck, pulling me down toward him. I crumble, still shuddering and breathing heavy. “Dixie, baby, look at me.”

I open my eyes and find his. He smiles, kisses me softly and says, “You still want this? Want me?”

“Yes. I want you,” I reply firmly, despite my shaking limbs. “I want you inside of me.”

He kisses me again, less gently, and pulls himself to a sitting position, then I feel him reach for himself again. His other hand moves from my neck down my back and to my hip, then my thigh, and he lifts it and nudges me. I straddle him again, only this time directly above his hand holding his cock. He tilts his head to look up at me, I look down between us and gently lower myself onto him. He feels even bigger than he looks, and it’s deliciously overwhelming with that incredible orgasm still wafting through me.

When he’s settled completely inside me I expect Elijah to drop back on the bed and let me go to work, but he doesn’t. He stays sitting, wraps an arm around my back and his lips around my left nipple. I start to rock. He starts to buck his hips under me and suddenly we’ve got this phenomenal rhythm going on and I can feel another orgasm starting to grow inside me. I like riding guys, a lot. I like to watch them watching me, and I get to control the pace and my orgasm usually. But with Elijah there is no control. He’s still got his mouth on my tit and his hand has moved up into my hair and his hips are doing all the lifting, and it’s sensory overload. Equal overwhelming parts erotic and intimate.

I feel like we’re lovers—deep, passionate lovers intensifying our connection, our hold on one another—not flirting friends trying to work each other out of our systems. My lust for Eli isn’t leaving. It’s solidifying. I would panic about that, but suddenly I’m orgasming again. Hard. So fucking blissfully hard.

“Holy shit,” I hear him groan into my chest and he roars like a fucking lion and comes just as hard as I do.

Moments later, when we’re both on the other side, I feel his lips kiss their way across my collarbone to my shoulder. Both his hands are wrapped around my back, and he pulls me down and lays himself out on the mattress. I close my eyes as my head lands on the bed, and then I feel the soft chenille throw I keep at the foot of the bed cover me. A second later his lips are back on my shoulder and he’s pulling me into his chest to spoon.

This side of Elijah is surprising too. It’s so gentle and sweet, and I could get used to it…only I can’t.

“I’m going to cuddle you to sleep and then I’m going to sneak out.”

“Oh. Okay.” And I can’t hide my disappointment at the thought of him leaving.

I start to pull away but he doesn’t let me. He turns me toward him. His green eyes look glassy and his full lips a little stained from my lipstick. I almost completely forgot we were all done up for a fancy work event. “I want nothing more than to spend the night here with you, but knowing Levi, he’ll show up at the asscrack of dawn to take me to breakfast before he leaves with the team for their road trip, and if I’m not there he’ll have questions I can’t answer.”

“Oh, right.” I give him a tiny embarrassed smile. I just got all girlfriend-y and needy. I blame the fact that he got all boyfriend-y and sweet.

He curls me back into his chest and runs a hand through my hair. It feels like heaven. I sigh and it turns into a tiny yawn. He chuckles and kisses the curve of my neck. “I’m surprised you came so fast,” I mumble sleepily. “I guess I’m good.”

He chuckles again. “I was surprised too, but you chanting my name in that breathy little whisper of yours while you came was the hottest thing ever.”

“What? I didn’t do that.” I swear I didn’t do that.

Did I do that?

“I didn’t think you realized it, which was what made it so much hotter,” he whispers against the shell of my ear, and I smile. “You’re incredible, sweet Dixie.”

“You’re pretty fantastic too, Elijah.” I don’t want to fall asleep. I want to stay like this, reveling in his warm, strong embrace and the feel of his breath tickling my shoulder and his lips on my neck for hours, until dawn, but I’m exhausted and long before I want, I fade to black.