Page 6 of Big Dix

Atticus Dixon is here, in the flesh, and he is so fuckable, it hurts. No, I can’t stop rubbing my thighs together just to get a bit of friction and some relief on my hyper-aware-of-his-presence clit. Good thing I kept my waxing appointment, or I’d be concerned I’d start a forest fire.

I carry another tray of pancetta, pear, and pecan puffs over to the table, stealing a glance at Atticus talking to Christina and Rim. He smiles at something Ti says, and I am enraptured as little lines crease around the corners of his full lips. From this vantage point, the charcoal-colored slacks he’s wearing hug his tight muscled ass perfectly. The blue sweater appears to be cashmere, and I just want to rub myself all over him to see if my guess is correct. Sleek dress shoes and a hint of a white collar complete his effortless style.

I, on the other hand, am dressed for work. My chef whites ensemble sports a bright red, half-a-foot-long stain, courtesy of the spilled cranberry dipping sauce accompanying the meatballs.

Totally my fault, too, because I was so distracted when I saw Atticus come in that I walked right into Ginger balancing the meatball cranberry tray in one hand and a tray of ham and spinach cups in the other. Had I not looked up when I did, the sauce would have landed on my head, and I would be sporting a cranberry tie-dyed toque. Luckily, Ti had a white apron that I stole and am now wearing that and it, thankfully, covers most of the stain.

Atticus catches me staring and gifts me with a smile. I stand stock-still, not acknowledging his friendly greeting in any way, deer in the headlights look upon my face. That smile has stopped my world.

Atticus Dixon knows I’m alive.Things just got real.

All my little joking fantasies flash before my eyes, ending with that video he sent me where he was masturbating. Of course, he has no idea I’m BigBoo…ks4BigDix. He couldn’t possibly know, could he?

Jesus. Does he know?

I mean, he’s wealthy, famous, and well connected. He could have his hands on any type of technology that people like me might not see for years, if ever.

Five seconds…

Ten seconds…

His brows rise in question, likely wondering why I’m frozen in place. I turn back to the table, closing my eyes to regain my composure. Looking at him that long is like staring into the sun. Bright and beautifully painful.

A hand touches my shoulder, and I jump as though I’ve been electrocuted. A small scream slips from my lips, accompanying the cacophony of the Caprese phyllo cups crashing to the floor.

I’m a walking disaster today.

“I’m sorry.” Atticus’s deep voice vibrates through me with his closeness. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Let me help get this cleaned up.”

I stand frozen as the literal man of my dreams squats down beside me, picking up my ruined Caprese phyllo cups.

Mortification doesn’t come close to describing this. Atticus’s big fingers move, flexing and plucking at the appetizers scattered across the floor. All I can do is watch, wishing that those skilled fingers were stroking my G-spot.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

He’s looking at me. Atticus Dixon’s face is level with my vagina, eyes trained on mine, talking to me, and all I can do is stare at his one blue eye and one green eye. Heterochromia iridium gives him two beautifully different colored eyes. How, in all my stalking, have I never noticed this? Blue like the sky on a clear spring day. Green like moss you’d find in a mystical, ancient forest. Beautiful. This man is fucking handsome.

Sweetheart?Oh, my gosh. He called mesweetheartwith that deep voice lilted in that sexy as sin southern accent.

Swoon.

I fight the urge to push my crotch onto his face. Now, I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure sitting on a stranger’s face in public without their permission is still illegal. I’ll consult the Googs later to make sure I didn’t just pass up a perfect opportunity, though.

A girl’s gotta be informed, you know?

And he’s still staring at me. The sea blue and forest green eye combo are seriously doing it for me—likereallydoing it for me. Not to mention, his prominent nose, tousled brown hair, and that angular jawline. It’s like he’s a sparkly vampire, and I’m the poor human hoping he wants to eat me… err… drink me, that is.

Okay, Evelyn. Speak. Say something. Don’t just stand here, face to vagina, staring like a moron!

“Um…” I sound brilliant. Jesus. “I’m fine.” I finally turn my brain back on. “Here, I can do that, sir. Please, let me get that.”

I called himsir. Suddenly, visions of me bent over his knees as he slaps my bare ass while simultaneously diddling me silly come to my mind. It could also be because I just finished aFiftymovie marathon this past weekend, so that kinky fuckery is fresh in my mind.

We both reach for the same pile of food, and our fingers touch. His thumb grazes the bottom of my palm—once, twice, a third time. I gasp at the contact, and I swear my nipples pebble.

Horny bitches, I know, I know. I can see him.

My eyes shoot to his in shock. Holy crap, I felt the jolt. You know the jolt—that spark that every romance novel ever written says happens when the hero and heroine first touch.

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