Mama’s Boy by Avery Flynn
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Fiona
They must have set a land-speed record getting from Waterbury back to her neighborhood in Harbor City. It was Sunday afternoon, the sun was out, and the sidewalks were crowded even though a cold wind was sweeping in off the harbor.
Fiona, however, barely noticed. She was too focused on the fact that Dixon was holding her hand.
Seriously, the man had buried his face between her legs and made her scream his name in that tent, but the delightfully shivery and giddy-inducing feeling of holding hands in the back of his town car had hijacked all of her attention—well, most of it. What part of her wasn’t fascinated with staring at how her fingers looked intertwined with Dixon’s was practically electric with anticipation for what he was going to do with said fingers as soon as they got into her apartment.
Her tiny apartment that always kind of smelled like the coffee place right below her and had this week’s delicates hanging from the drying line that went from her bedroom door to the kitchen entry because her living room really was that teensy. Especially compared to the whole building he probably lived in, one of those ten-million-dollar restored brownstones near the park that probably had a parlor level and a garden level in its five floors and—
Dixon squeezed her hand. “What’s wrong?”
She pivoted in her seat, turning as much as the seat belt would allow so she could face him. “You’re coming to my house and that’s…well, it’s weird.”
“Would you rather go to my place?” he asked. “Or do you want to not do this at all?”
Date him or have sex? The answer was hell yes she wanted to do both, which was a problem. This was supposed to be for Nana only, not something she’d actually enjoy. Too bad the truth of it was that she did like hanging out with him, and maybe for an afternoon it was okay to want that. She just had to remember the rules. No attachments. No commitment. Just for fun.
Anyway, she was being silly about the apartment thing. She was a third-grade teacher; he was a billionaire. That hadn’t been a secret and it wasn’t like this was for keeps. It was for fun. It didn’t matter what he thought of her place. It wasn’t like he was going to be a regular there.
“Okay,” he said, his voice low and gruff. “Now you’ve got that look.”
Damn, that voice of his when he did that moved her from zero to one hundred. It was the tone he’d used in the tent when he was teasing her. It made her sizzle.
“What look?” she asked, surprising herself that she could even put literally two words together.
“The one you had on your face right before you extorted your brother—the one that says don’t fuck with me or I will end you.” He leaned over, dipping his head down so his mouth almost touched her ear. “It is fucking hot.”
“One,” she said with a little shiver, “I don’t have that face.” She bit down on her lip and let out a steadying breath. “Two, that wasn’t extortion.”
He nipped her ear, and she had to clench her thighs together. Desire, lust, raw need, it all whipped through her, making her ache for him.
“Blackmail?” He kissed her right behind the earlobe.
Oh my God. She needed that again—preferably when they were alone and naked. “That’s probably closer to the truth.”
And her truth now was that she was white knuckling his hand because it was the only way to stop herself from sliding it back up his thigh. She wanted to clock the way his jaw hardened right along with the rest of him, feel how he flexed the muscle under her hand, and then she wanted to slide it upward and lower his zipper.
The driver parked at the corner of her block, jerking her attention toward the car window. She could see the scuffed-up green door that opened to the small lobby that was really just a glorified mailbox area and the stairs that led up to her apartment on the fifth floor.
“So am I dropping you off,” he asked, letting go of her hand, “coming in with you, or are we going to my place?”
She gave one last glance at her door before turning to look at him. His hands were resting lightly on his thick, muscular thighs, the ones that no spoiled rich CEO should have. He didn’t reach for her to tease her with his touch. He didn’t do that thing with his mouth where he managed to make his cocky half grin into an invitation to remember all the things he could do with that mouth. He didn’t even try to state his case, pushing her one way or another. He just sat there waiting in all of his hotness. New Fiona forgive her, but there was only one answer she could give.
“You’re coming with,” she said finally, going with her gut and hormones.
Was this a mistake? Only if she let it be. She could do this. She wouldn’t allow herself to mistake the blissed-out postcoital hormone rush for being something more than it was.
This was just sex.
With Dixon.
Who wasn’t at all the guy she’d been expecting him to be.
But that didn’t mean this meant anything.
It didn’t. Not a thing.
