Page 75 of Wicked Dix

He abruptly charges toward me, gripping my upper arms and shaking me lightly. “I’m talking about the fact that when we get back to New York, I’m terrified you’re going to see the real me! You’re going to find out what I’ve done, and then you’ll hate me.”

“What?” I gasp, unable to hold back my tears a second longer. “No, I would never.”

He shakes his head firmly. “Yes, you will, Madison. I hate myself for it! And when that time comes, I will have to let you go. I’m surviving on borrowed time as it is.”

“Dixon—”

“I’m not who I say I am,” he sadly confesses, before releasing me and turning away.

But I chase after him, refusing to let him walk away. “You don’t get to say all those things and then just walk away!” I grip his bicep and spin him to face me. “Why would I hate you? What have you done that’s so bad?”

“What haven’t I done?” is his broken reply.

I don’t know what to say. My paradise has just been shit on and I don’t know why. I don’t understand what’s going on. When did this all go to hell?

“Madison, please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry.”

I’d hardly even realized that I’m crying. I’m too busy trying to decode everything he just shared with me. Although it was all a jumbled confession, it was a confession nonetheless.

What has he done?

Fingering the charm around my neck, the charm that meant so much to Dixon, I realize that whatever he’s done, I don’t care. The only thing I care about is losing him, and losing this feeling of being complete when by his side.

“I don’t care,” I state, digging my fingernails into his arms. “Whatever you’ve done, I don’t care.”

He turns his head like I’ve slapped him. “Don’t use words you don’t understand.”

“Well, if you stop talking in fucking riddles, maybe I can understand what the hell is going on! What has happened from the time I was upstairs to now to have you behaving like a lunatic?”

He lowers his eyes and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him admit defeat. But I won’t let him give up. Not on himself. Or on us. The thought of losing Dixon, of losing what we have punches a hole straight through my chest. I find it hard to breathe.

“Please don’t leave me.”

Dixon cups my cheeks roughly, his eyes frantically searching mine. “Don’t you understand?You’llbe the one leavingme.”

No. Fuckingno.

All of my emotions come roaring out of me and I act before I can think. I slap his hands off of me and watch him watch me in confusion for a split second, before I attack him. I slam my mouth onto his, knocking the breath from both our lungs. But the connection feels too good to worry about a trivial thing such as breathing.

We devour each other, the kiss frenzied, rushed and desperate, but it’s everything I need to confirm that I’m alive.

I pull at his soft hair, fisting the strands in both my hands because I need to feel as much of him as I can.

The adrenalin of the past five minutes pumps harder and faster through my veins, animating me to bite down on his lip and suck it hungrily into my mouth.

I whimper when I feel his massive erection nudge me, demanding entrance. I’ve never felt this crazed before. Never wanted him inside me more than I do right now. I need it. Nothing makes more sense than him being inside me.

Dixon must be able to read my desires because he tears his mouth away, leaving me gasping for air. I’m unable to catch my breath, however because he backs me up fiercely and slams me against the brick wall. He presses his chest to mine, trapping me with his stare as he avidly slides his hand underneath my dress and bunches my underwear into his fist. With one sharp tug, he tears them clean off me. I gasp, my heart pounding hysterically, the blood whooshing through my ears.

Looking down at his tenting jeans, I know what I have to do. With desperate fingers, I unsnap his button and yank down his fly, shoving my hand inside. The moment I feel his hard-on, we both groan, but it’s not enough. I need more.

“Suck,” he commands, thrusting two fingers into my mouth as he lifts up my skirt. I do as he demands, imagining it’s his length I’m sucking. He groans in approval.

He pulls them out before circling my center and then inserting them both into me. I cry out, the sharp intrusion exactly what I need. He searches his pockets but curses. “Fuck! I don’t have a condom.”

But I don’t care.

So I say something that I’ve not ever said before. “Fuck me anyway.”

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