Initiative
“THAT’S WHAT YOU WORE OUT WITH HIM?” SHANE GROWLS WHEN HE opens his front door.
I stay rooted in the doorway. “Yes.”
“And you still insist it wasn’t a date?”
“It wasn’t. We just went to a nice restaurant.”
Shane can’t take his eyes off me. “Please tell me that’s the dress you’re wearing for our audition video.”
“No, that one is sheer so you can see the leotard underneath.”
“Fuck,” he groans. Then he notices I haven’t moved an inch. “Are you coming in?”
I don’t budge from the threshold. “Not until we discuss the Dixon rules.”
“You and your rules. Can we at least discuss them inside, so Niall doesn’t voice his opinion?”
Good point. I follow Shane into the living room, where I maintain some distance between us. He’s showered and changed since our rehearsal, because he smells like soap and is wearing a gray Eastwood College T-shirt and black sweatpants that ride low on his trim hips. One defined oblique is revealed, and my fingers tingle with the urge to touch it.
“Did you like my application?” His eyes are twinkling.
“It’s very well written,” I answer begrudgingly.
“I knew you’d enjoy it.” Winking, he takes a step toward me. “So let’s talk about the rules.”
I take a step back. “Only one rule. Respect.”
Shane is startled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we respect each other in all parts of this. Yes, it’s just sex. No, there won’t be feelings involved. But even a friends-with-benefits situation requires a level of respect. I’m not your sex toy.”
He reels. “Christ. Of course not.”
“And I don’t want you sleeping with other people.”
“I won’t.” Assurance rings in his tone. “I already told you I’m not interested in sleeping around anymore, and I’d never put you at any risk.”
“Okay, good. Oh. And condoms,” I finish.
“Obvs.”
“With that said, I’m on the pill, so if we both get tested, I’m cool going without.” I heave a sigh. “Because I kind of hate condoms.”
He groans again. “Are you seriously standing there telling me how badly you want to go bareback? Are you trying to make me ejaculate?”
“If there are two clean bills of health,” I reiterate.
He tips his head. “What was your favorite thing in the application? What made me stand out as a candidate?”
I hide a smile. “I’m not answering that.”
“Nah, I think you should. You know what I like. It’s only fair I know what you like. Did anything stand out?”
I hesitate. “I might have liked the part about you calling the shots.”
His lips curve. “Yeah. I had a feeling. Why is that?”
It’s a very easy question to answer. Because in every aspect of my life, I’m always in full control. I became cheer captain in sophomore year, which is unheard of. I call the shots at practices and I run my squad like a well-oiled machine. To my dad and brother, I’m an unstoppable force of nature. I go after what I want. I throw myself 100% into every project I undertake.
This isn’t to say I’m inflexible. I like control, but I’m not a control freak—I can easily give up the reins if needed. I’m a perfectionist, but I don’t break down if something isn’t perfect.
And when it comes to sex, there’s nothing I’d like more than to be ordered around.
Respectfully, of course.
“Because I’m more often in control than out of it. And the guys I’ve dated never took much initiative in the bedroom,” I confess to Shane.
“That’s what you want to see? Initiative?”
I nod slowly.
“Okay then. Go to the bedroom,” he says in a low voice. “Wait for me there.”
“Wait for you,” I echo uneasily, swallowing hard.
He stands there, taunting me with that tall, broad body. I can see the thick ridge of his dick straining beneath his pants. They’re black, so it’s hard to tell if he’s fully hard. Thanks to his application, I now know precisely how big it is, and my thighs clench at the thought of him inside me.
“Bedroom,” he repeats, tone sharpening.
I take a breath. Then I go to his bedroom without a word.
I examine my surroundings, eyeing the neatly made bed, soft gray area rug, and shiny mahogany dresser. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Why am I in Shane Lindley’s bedroom? What’s wrong with me?
And where the hell is he?
I hear him moving around the kitchen. I hear running water. Is he pouring himself a glass of water? Indignation rises inside me, quickening my pulse. I worry he’s playing me for a fool, but at the same time, the anticipation he’s building is excruciating. There’s an actual pain between my legs. A knot of agony. Everything feels hot and tight, my entire body clenching with need as I wait for him to return.
Finally, Shane fills the doorway. He watches me for a moment, eyes growing heavy lidded. Then he pulls his T-shirt off by the collar, every muscle of his chest rippling as he tosses the shirt on an upholstered chair in the corner.
“Take your hair down,” he says brusquely.
I gulp again. I did not expect my night to end like this. Or that I would be following Shane Lindley’s orders and not fighting back. Not arguing or quarrelling with him, or telling him to do it for me.
Without a word, I pull on the elastic that’s keeping my bun secured. I slide it onto my wrist and shake my hair out. Brush it out with my fingers, so it’s streaming down my shoulders.
Heat flares in Shane’s eyes. He strides past me to sit on the foot of the bed, muscular thighs splayed open. “Come here.”
I stand in front of him. One large hand reaches out and touches my knee, then moves higher, slipping beneath the hem of my dress, pulling the material up with it until he reveals the waistband of my thong. He dips a finger underneath the strap, tugs on it teasingly, but doesn’t take it off.
He peers up at me. With the ceiling light fixture shining down on his face, I suddenly realize that his eyes aren’t just brown. They’re a dark hazel, deep-green flecks in his irises, like a lush rainforest at night.
I stand there silently. Waiting.
He laughs. A low, husky sound. Approval flickers in those gorgeous eyes.
“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?
“No.” Shane pats my ass. “Get up.”
I slide off his lap. My knees are shaking. Pulse racing. I can feel my heartbeat in my temples. In my throat. Throbbing in my clit.
He smiles knowingly, fully aware of what’s happening to my body.
“Take my pants off.”
My fingers tremble as I reach for his waistband. This is the hottest sexual encounter I’ve ever had, and I’m not even naked. He’s not even naked—yet. He is a second later, when I pull his pants down.
I’m robbed of breath at the sight of his dick. It’s as substantial as I expected it to be. And it elicits a peculiar, agitated sensation that travels through my body and throbs between my legs. I want him in me. I need him in me. Though to be honest, I don’t know if he’s even going to fit.
Shane gives his erection a slow, deliberate stroke. Then he locks our gazes and says, “Get on your knees, Diana.”
