Page 113 of The Dixon Rule

“I really like this obedient Diana Dixon,” he drawls.

“Don’t push your luck,” I warn, though my voice sounds shaky. “Or the bad bitch will be back.”

“The bad bitch hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s right here. Dying to get fucked.”

I bite my lip as a jolt of need courses through me. If you told me last year that I’d be standing in Shane’s bedroom, waiting for him to issue another command, I would have laughed in your face.

“Take your panties off.” His hand slips out from under my skirt. “But keep the dress on.”

Heart pounding, I slide my thong down my legs and then kick it away. The scrap of lace lies abandoned on the floor near my bare feet.

“God, you’re so fucking obedient.” He licks his bottom lip. “Straddle me.”

I’m breathing hard as I climb on top of him. Shane plants his hands on my waist and slowly glides them upward, stopping to gently squeeze my breasts before coming to a stop at the spaghetti straps of my dress. He nudges them off my shoulders, and I shiver. His fingertips are rough, calluses rasping over my skin, as he yanks the bodice of my dress down.

He groans when he sees I’m not wearing a bra. I often don’t, as my B cup doesn’t always necessitate it.

“These are cute,” he mumbles.

“Are you calling my boobs cute?”

His lips quirk in a smile. “What’s wrong with that?”

“They’re not supposed to be cute,” I object. “They’re supposed to be sexy. Luscious.”

“Oh, trust me, they’re sexy. And luscious. And perky. And fuckin’ cute.”

He traces the swell of each breast with his thumbs. The delicious scrape against my sensitive skin is almost too much. When his thumb drags over one nipple, I make a sound of desperation and my hips rock forward.

“Interesting,” he says.

“What?”

“You’re sensitive.” He squeezes my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, gives it a gentle roll, and I feel a gush of moisture between my legs. Pooling there.

“Very sensitive,” he corrects, grinning. “Ever had an orgasm from someone sucking on your nipples?”

“No, but I’ve gotten pretty close,” I admit.

He brings his mouth to one breast and takes my nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. I swallow a moan and shift aimlessly in his lap.

“Horny little thing,” Shane mocks.

He chuckles against my flesh, vibrations pulsating through my body. Then he drags his mouth to my other nipple and sucks gently, while his palms cup my breasts, squeezing.

When I’m moving too much, rocking too hard, he plants a hand on my hip to steady me. “Fuck, you’re dying for it.”

I have trouble finding my voice. “I need…”

“Tell me what you need,” he mutters, lashing his tongue over my nipple.

“I need you to touch me.”

“Where?”

“Between my legs. Please. Touch me.”

My God, I’m actually begging for it. What’s happening to me?

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