Page 161 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

DIXIE

I t's all very well telling myself that I’m not the kind of woman that has threesomes, but ever since Saturday night, I can do nothing other than think about Hunter and Eric. My brain has fixated on them, and it will not let go.

Sex dreams—I’m having them. Every morning, I wake up, my face flushed, my body poised on the knife-edge of release. It turns out that while I might be ‘missionary with the lights turned down,’ my subconscious isn’t. She fills my dreams with one explicit image after another.

One explicit, tempting image after another.

What do you fantasize about, Dixie? Hunter had asked me on Monday.

And it’s as if his words unlocked something in me.

It’s as if those words gave me permission to want more, to actually believe that it was okay to ask for what I wanted.

Years and years of repression have built up the pressure inside.

And now, the floodgates have opened, and I can’t think about anything else.

Worse than the sexually explicit dreams?

The hot flash of jealousy that slices through me every time Eric talks to a woman at work.

I’d been on my way to the kitchen yesterday when Hira and Eric had come out of a meeting room.

Eric had been laughing at something Hira said, and for a second, I saw red.

Hira’s my friend. I should be ashamed of myself.

I’m having a serious attack of the what-ifs. What if I invited Hunter and Eric to participate in my fantasy? What if I told them I wanted them? Would they turn me down?

Yes, Dixie. They would. Eric works with you, remember? And Hunter made it fairly clear Monday night that he wasn’t interested.

It doesn’t help that every single one of my girlfriends is, as Hunter pointed out, in a poly relationship.

Fiona. Avery. Kiera. Okay, I guess Kiera isn’t in a relationship with Nolan and Caleb, but I saw the way they looked at her on Saturday, and I saw the expression on her face when she talked about them.

It’s only a matter of time. Everyone around me is living their dreams, taunting me with their perfect sex lives, and I’m sitting by myself in my apartment.

Alone, without even a vibrator to keep me company.

I never thought I’d be the kind of person that would be attracted to the forbidden.

I’ve always been sensible. Reliable. Michael is the flighty one.

I’m the responsible eldest child. All my life, I’ve done everything society expects of me.

I’ve focused on my family and on my career.

My personal life is non-existent. I’ve forgotten how to have fun.

Forgotten how to go on a date. Forgotten what feels like to be desired by a man.

Forgotten to explore my own wants and needs.

Why does it have to be them?

I’m completely insane. Our first meeting was an epic disaster. Our second encounter wasn’t great either. You’d think that after that, I would want someone else. Anyone else.

But the third time I met Hunter, I told him my fantasy.

And today, Eric defended me against Kevin’s diatribe.

I hadn’t wanted him to ride to my rescue; I certainly hadn’t expected it. I knew Kevin would complain, and I’d been prepared with my counterarguments. But I hadn’t needed them. Eric had categorically shut Kevin down.

Pierre wouldn’t have defended me. Pierre had never once read my notes.

Eric had.

John Stone knocks on my door. “So,” he says. “You must be feeling pretty satisfied with yourself right now after that smackdown.”

Are we in high school? “This isn’t a game, John. We have the same goals.”

“Don’t give me that kumbaya bullshit,” he scoffs. “I should have guessed that Kane would back you up. You couldn’t get anywhere with Pierre, but Kane wants in your pants, and you’re not above using that to get your way.”

I look up at him, fighting the urge to smack him in the jaw. Under the table, I clench my hands into fists. I don’t swear, but I’ve never wanted to tell somebody to fuck off more. The words dance on the tip of my tongue, and it takes a massive amount of willpower to bite them back.

“You’ve just insulted my professionalism.

” I keep my voice calm. “You’ve also insulted Eric Kane’s professionalism, and as you saw in that meeting, Eric has Xavier’s trust. If I were you, I wouldn’t jump to defend Kevin Hughes.

Zephyrus’s revenues have grown twenty percent year over year, but the growth is the result of price increases, not because they’re finding new customers.

Quite the opposite: they lost more than ten percent of their customer base last year to Hertel.

Don’t put your career on the line for Kevin Hughes. He’s not worth it.”

Xavier walks up to us. John jumps like a startled cat. “Xavier,” he says with a weak smile. “I didn't see you there.”

How much of our conversation did Xavier overhear? It’s impossible to tell. His expression gives nothing away.

“I’m doing the rounds, making sure everyone heads to happy hour,” he says. “It’s been a long week. It’s a lovely day, I have the patio at El Trompo booked, and I’m buying the first couple of rounds.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” John says heartily.

Xavier transfers his attention to me. “Dixie?”

Saturday night, Eric Kane told me that I still had a shot at the COO job. John wants it too, and I’m competitive enough that I’m going to fight him for it. Plus, if Eric will be there, I should thank him for his support this afternoon.

Admit it, Dixie. You’re more than hoping Eric will be there. You're looking for an excuse to talk to him.

“I’ll be there.”

Eric is already at El Trompo when I arrive. To my surprise, so is Hunter. The two of them aren’t on the patio, where the rest of the Leforte crowd is gathered; they’re at the bar, chatting with the bartender.

My dream this morning had been particularly vivid.

I was at Club M again. Kiera was there, pouring drinks, and so were Fiona and Avery.

Eric and Hunter were at the bar. They’d said something to me; I can’t remember what it was, and it doesn’t matter.

What matters is what happened next. Hunter picked me up at the waist, and he hoisted me on the bar.

Eric had produced a pair of scissors out of nowhere—did Kiera hand them to him?

—and he’d methodically cut my dress, stripping me naked.

Then he’d pushed my knees apart. He’d positioned himself between my legs, and he’d eaten me out. Right there. With everyone watching.

I’d woken up sweating and shaking and aroused beyond belief.

They notice me arrive. I lift my hand in greeting, but I don’t go over. I don’t think I can look at the bar surface without blushing. Instead, I head to the patio, making a beeline for Leona, Nathan, and Reena. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Leona beams at me. “Not at all.” She gestures to the already half-empty margarita pitcher. “The boss is buying,” she says. “Elisa has taxi vouchers if you need one.”

“Oh, good.” Hira would approve of that. Come to think of it, she probably instituted the policy. She’s very good at her job.

My team resumes their conversation. They’re talking about one of John’s new analysts, who is annoying them for some inexplicable reason.

It takes me a few minutes to figure out the reason they’re cranky—it’s because Mindy copies me on every single email to Reena.

“As if I can’t do my job without my boss breathing down my neck,” Reena grumbles. “Such a passive-aggressive move.”

Oh. Leona has been on the team for far too long to be intimidated by me, but Nathan and Reena are only a couple of years out of law school.

They probably want to unwind on a Friday evening, drink some margaritas, and blow off some steam by griping about their boss.

Me. They don’t want to have to watch everything they’re saying, and with me around, they feel obligated to.

I’ve been in their shoes, and I feel their pain. There’s only one thing to do.

So much for avoiding Eric and Hunter.

“Oh look, there’s Eric,” I say, pretending as if I hadn’t seen him when I came in. Getting to my feet, I nod to my team. “I need to catch up with him. If I don’t see you again, have a great weekend.”

Hunter lifts his glass in greeting as I approach. “Hello again, Dixie.”

The last time I talked to him, I told him one of my most sinful fantasies. I could have lied to him. I could have avoided answering his question. But I hadn’t. I’d told him the truth.

I’d wanted him to volunteer to participate. I still want him to.

“Hunter,” I nod. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“You didn’t expect to see me Monday night either,” he replies with a lazy grin. “And yet, there I was.”

“Monday night?” Eric asks. There’s a slight edge in his voice. “What did I miss?”

Hunter’s grin broadens. “Dixie and I had dinner together.”

“You did?” Eric’s edge is more pronounced now. What’s going on with him? Hang on, is he jealous? I’ve spent all week getting myself into a snit every time a woman in the office smiles at him, and he’s jealous of Hunter?

“We did,” I confirm. We can’t be seen from the patio, and an evil desire to mess with Eric takes over. I step closer to Hunter and put my hand on his bicep. Wow, those are some seriously sculpted muscles. Not that I’m checking him out or anything. “We had a lovely time, didn’t we, Hunter?”

Hunter chuckles and puts his hand around my waist, tugging me closer. “Yes, we did.”

He touches me, and my body sparks to life.

My nerve endings tingle, and although all he’s doing is holding me lightly, my imagination, already primed by last night’s dream, fills in the rest. Hunter lifting me up, setting me down on the bar.

His big hands spreading my legs open. His mouth on my pussy.

Would his beard tickle me? Would it chafe?

Would it scratch the delicate skin between my legs?

I’ve had fantasies before. I’ve had sex dreams too. But until last Saturday, they were never about people I knew. They were always about celebrities—people I would never run into in my real life—acceptable objects of lust because I knew it would never come true.

Why are you flirting with Hunter? Why are you trying to make Eric jealous? What is the matter with you, Dix?

I should wriggle away from Hunter’s light grasp. I don’t. “I ran into Hunter at the Thai restaurant near the hospital,” I elaborate. “We ended up eating dinner together.”

Eric gives me a strange look. “You don’t need to explain.”

“We did more than eat dinner,” Hunter interjects wickedly. “Dixie told me one of her fantasies.” His eyes rest on mine, and for a split-second, the room vanishes, and it’s just the three of us, locked together in this moment. “It was hot.”

What is Hunter doing? I should run away, but my feet are frozen in place. I take a large gulp of my margarita. Wow, it’s strong. El Trompo’s drinks pack a punch, something I shouldn’t allow myself to forget.

Eric nearly chokes on his drink. “Your fantasy?”

At his reaction, a thrill shoots through me. “It’s not missionary with the lights turned down, if that’s what you were wondering.”

Eric winces. “Once again, I’m so sorry about that. I was an asshole.”

“Tell him your fantasy, Dixie,” Hunter cuts in. “You want to, don’t you?”

Warning bells ring in my ears. Eric works with me.

He’s not my boss—that’s Xavier—but he’ll be assessing my work.

He has the power to recommend me for the job I want, or he can shut down my ambitions with one well-placed word.

This is insane. I should leave. I should retreat to the safety of my apartment.

I can’t believe I’m still here. I can’t believe I’m contemplating doing this. It’s complete, utter folly.

Take the risk, Dixie.

A sudden recklessness fills me. When was the last time I did something daring? When was the last time I did something purely because I wanted to, no matter the consequences?

I take another sip of my drink for courage. “In my fantasy, I’m in the backseat of a car,” I whisper. “I’m making out with the guy I’m with. I’m grinding on his lap, naked, when someone spots us.”

Eric’s fingers tremble. He carefully sets down his drink on the bar. “Someone?”

“Another guy. He stares at us through the window. I know I should stop. Cover up. We should get out of there. But I don’t. He’s watching, and I want to put on a show for him.” I take a deep breath. “Then he joins in.”

Hunter is in the process of lifting his drink to his mouth. His hand freezes in place.

Nobody says anything. I could cut the tension in the air with a knife. And, while I’m not good at assessing these things, it feels like Eric Kane and Hunter Driesse are devouring me with their eyes.

I love it.

Tell them, a reckless voice inside me prompts. Tell them the rest. Tell them the whole truth.

“These men,” I whisper. “They’re not anonymous. When I’m fantasizing, I’m fantasizing about you.”