Dirty Dix (Hard Love Romance #1) (3 page)

T
his week has been
an absolute disaster. So when 6 p.m. Friday night ticks over, I’m out the door, happily bidding
sayonara
to the week from hell.

I’m meeting with Hunter and his parents, Marie and Ralph, who are in town for the weekend.

Walking into a popular bar and grill, I spot them sitting at a booth in the corner of the room. Hunter gives me a quick wave and I make my way over to them, dodging a lingering waitress who gives me a sultry smile.

After the fucked-up week of jacking off with zero satisfaction, I’ve decided to steer clear of all women, because at the moment, two women are more than I can handle. I shouldn’t even be thinking about Juliet Harte because it’s wrong on all counts, the kind of wrong that would send me straight to hell. Yes, I’ve bagged a few of my clients, which I know is ethically and morally
and
professionally wrong. But they weren’t genuine clients; they never really needed my help.

But Juliet, she is someone with genuine issues, and the doctor in me wants to help her. However, the horny male in me wants to help her by screwing her six ways to Sunday.

Pushing these inappropriate thoughts from my mind, I give Marie a double cheek kiss and a warm hug as I approach their booth.

“Hello, Dixon. Oh my, I love your hair,” she says, playfully running a hand through my messy locks.

My hair at the moment most likely resembles a bird’s nest, as I’ve been yanking at it in frustration all week.

“Nice to see you, Ralph.” I extend my hand.

“You too, son,” he replies, shaking it.

We all take our seats and I snatch the menu from Hunter, who bumps me playfully with his shoulder.

“So how was traffic?” I ask, my eyes perusing the menu uselessly, as food will not satisfy my current hunger.

“Ah, it was awful, as usual. It’s so much better on our side of the river.”

I give Marie a small smile, as I know she’ll be forever loyal to New Jersey.

“You look tired, Dixon. Are you unwell?” She reaches across the table and feels my forehead.

Usually, I would shy away from such motherly tendencies, but it’s Marie, and I’m used to her babying me.

“Yeah, Dix, you do look a bit off-color. Everything okay?” Hunter teases, looking at my lap. “Is everything where it should be?”

I roll my eyes at his idiocy and ignore him.

“I’m fine, Marie. Work is just crazy at the moment.”

“Yeah, lots of loons out there, that’s why,” Ralph innocently says, taking a sip of his ice tea.

“Ralph!” Marie scolds, throwing a reprimanding look his way.

“What?” he asks with a shrug.

Her eyes dart my way discreetly, and I know she’s subtly attempting to play facial charades, drawing attention to the fact that one of those loons is my father.

“It’s fine, Marie,” I insist with a wave of my hand.

I haven’t seen my father since the day I admitted him, which was close to four months ago. Seeing my once healthy, vibrant father wither away into a shell of his former self is a sight I can’t stand. Call me a bastard, but I would rather remember my dad being happy and well, as opposed to the medicated zombie he most likely resembles nowadays.

Marie must read my expression as she softly says, “I saw your father the other week. He’s looking better.”

Better? Better than what? Better than the drooling basket case he was when I admitted him? I hate to break it to Marie, but being dead is the only “better” in this scenario.

But I give her a small nod, and try to appear unmoved, as I don’t want to hurt her feelings. “That’s great. I’ve been meaning to go see him, but I’ve just…work has been busy,” I conclude unconvincingly.

She smiles. “I understand.”

Clearing my throat, I propose, “Maybe you could tell him I said hi? Next time you see him?”

“Of course. I can do that. You know, maybe you could call? I think he’d like that,” she softly suggests.

“Yeah, maybe,” I reply, not meaning a word.

Thankfully, the waitress interrupts our awkward conversation and puts an end to me justifying why I’m not a terrible son.

T
he evening is still young
, so we decide to walk down to Central Park.

Ralph and Marie are at a vendor’s cart buying pretzels when Hunter pulls me aside and asks, “What’s up with you?”

“Care to be a little more specific?” I say, while reading through the emails on my phone.

“You haven’t checked out one single girl all night. That pixie waitress was basically offering her tits as a plate for your steak, and you hardly noticed. What’s up, dude? I’m worried. You’re not about to go ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca,’ are ya?” he asks seriously, and I can’t help but chuckle, as Hunter is never one to mince his words.

“First of all,” I state, holding up a finger. “You call me a man-whore. And now—” I add a second finger “—you’re questioning my sexuality. Hunter, your overactive imagination never ceases to amaze me. Maybe you’re in the wrong profession. I heard Walt Disney is hiring,” I say with a grin.

“Joke all you want, but I know something is up. So spit it out.”

Sighing, I run a hand through my disheveled hair, and I know the only way to shut him up is to tell him the truth. “I met this chick at work. Actually, I met two chicks,” I correct.

“You do remember your workplace isn’t a brothel, right?”

“Ha, very funny. I met girl number one, Madison, on Friday night,” I explain, unable to keep the affection from my voice.

“I thought she was just a random hook-up?”

I pull a grossed-out face when I realize he’s talking about the blonde. “No, not her. I fucked her to get Madison out of my system.”

Hunter grins. “But I’m guessing it didn’t work?”

“You guessed right. She was so incredibly…sweet.”

“And girl number two?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest.

I sigh. “Girl number two is the complete opposite to Madison. For starters, I met her at work.”

“Uh oh,” Hunter butts in, but I hold up my hand, telling him to zip it. Thankfully he complies.

“She’s a patient, and before you start with the third degree, I didn’t do anything.”

Hunter nods, his lips pulled in tight.

“She’s trouble, man, I know it, but I can’t stop thinking about her. She wrote her fucking number in bright red lipstick across my bathroom mirror,” I confess.

“She what?” Hunter says incredulously. “No way!’

“Yes way,” I counter, because it’s very true.

“So, what’s she seeing you for?” he asks, totally ignoring patient/doctor confidentiality.

“I can’t tell you. That’s between my patient and me,” I reply, half serious.

“Oh, bullshit! If you’re thinking about screwing her, then I think that rule is entirely void.”

He’s right, so I sheepishly reply, “She’s addicted to sex.”

Hunter’s mouth pops open. He shakes his head animatedly and jams his finger into my chest. “You need to stay away from this little nympho, Dix. With your man-whoring tendencies, and her out-of-control libido, you’ll end up fucking one another to death. Not to mention, she is your patient,
Dr.
Mathews.”

“I know, I know. And you’re right. But Hunt, I’m intrigued by her.”

“You’re intrigued by her zeal to fuck anything in sight more like it,” he replies with a smirk.

“That’s not it. This isn’t about sex.”

Hunter raises an unconvinced eyebrow.

“Okay, it’s a little about sex. But there is something more to her. There is something more to both. I haven’t been interested in a chick since…” but I remain mute, not wanting, or needing, to finish that sentence.

Hunter runs a hand down his face and blows out a breath. “Look, bro, this nympho sounds like trouble. Personally, I would refer her to another doctor and forget you ever met her. This will get sticky, and I mean that in every literal sense there is.”

I nod, defeated, and also, disappointed. I don’t want there to be any truth in what he says, but there is. I need to stop this before things spiral out of control. “You’re right. That’s what I’ll do,” I say with a firm nod. “Treating her is not good for either of us.”

“’Attaboy,” he says, playfully punching me on the arm. “You’ll forget you ever met this little sexual deviant in no time.”

“Dr. Mathews,” a voice says from behind us.

Both Hunter and I turn around and are faced with Juliet Harte. My memories of her have paid her no justice at all, and with the super tight jogging outfit she’s currently wearing, I’ve just made new memories, which I plan on revisiting later tonight.

“Ms. Harte,” I reply, hoping I appear calm while I check out her gorgeous rack in the white crop top she’s sporting.

Hunter clears his throat loudly, ruining my ogling, and I sigh. “Hunter, this is Ms. Harte. Ms. Harte, Hunter,” I say, waving my hand between the two.

“Please, call me Juliet,” she says with a small smile.

“Very well.” I nod.

And then, there is silence.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Juliet,” Hunter says, totally saving my ass, as I have no idea what to say to her. “O Romeo
,
Romeo
,
wherefore art thou, Romeo?” he teases, placing a hand over his heart dramatically.

Juliet giggles, while I shake my head at my friend’s stupidity.

The Chihuahua at her feet begins yapping, thankfully cutting through the silence, and Juliet sighs. “I better go. Marcia gets cranky if her walk gets interrupted.” The Chihuahua yaps in agreement. “I’ll see you Monday?” she says, but it actually sounds more like a question.

“Yes. Monday it is,” I reply stiffly.

Juliet looks overjoyed by my response. “Okay, well, it was nice meeting you, Hunter. Awesome name, by the way,” she says with a playful wink, before re-inserting her ear buds and taking off into a slow sprint.

Hunter and I eagerly watch, mesmerized by how amazing her ass looks in those tight spandex pants.

Once she’s out of sight, Hunter mumbles, “
That’s
the nympho?”

“The one and only,” I reply with a sigh.

“Change of plans. Fuck finding her another doctor. Send her my way. Make up some excuse as to why she needs to buy stocks.”

I don’t reply and only shake my head because I know once Monday rolls over, I’m a goner.

As we wait in silence for Marie and Ralph to hurry up and buy their damn pretzels, Hunter lightheartedly mutters, “It’s a lot about sex, you lying bastard.”

A
nother uneventful weekend
has passed where I stayed indoors and steered clear of all females. Bumping into Juliet on Friday night has thrown me, because I can’t stop thinking about her. What I told Hunter was true. Yes, I am ridiculously attracted to her, but it’s not just the physical attraction. She really
does
intrigue me.

Although I’ve been lost in my Juliet spell, I haven’t forgotten about another woman I found just as intriguing as Juliet. Madison. It’s uncanny that I have met two women in the span of a week. I say uncanny because I couldn’t even find
one
woman after Lily who remotely sparked my interest, but now I have two.

These two women are polar opposites, yet I find myself attracted to both. From the brief minutes spent with her, I could tell Madison was sweet, innocent, and pure. But Juliet, there’s nothing sweet nor innocent about her. They truly represent the stereotypical devil and angel icons.

“Dr. Mathews, Ms. Harte is here to see you. She’s a little early. Is it okay to send her in?” Susanna says through the intercom, jolting me from my thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, I push down on the button. “Thank you, Ms. Vale. Please send her in.”

Looking at the clock on my laptop, I see that Juliet is fifteen minutes early, and knowing this sly vixen, there’s a reason why. I remain seated as the door opens, and in strolls the devil.

Juliet looks out-of-this-world hot, and irony has once again decided to play with my emotions, as she’s wearing a bright red dress, totally dressed for her hellish part.

“Ms. Harte,” I address her, clearing my throat.

She knows I’m checking her out, but she doesn’t shy away—she simply reaches around her lithe torso and locks my door. Turning around to meet my stunned eyes, she grins, her glossy lips looking good enough to eat.

“Ms. Harte?” I repeat, attempting to sound stern, but I’m so pathetically turned on, my voice betrays my awakening.

“May I call you Dixon?” she calmly says, taking a small step toward me.

“I don’t think that would be wise. I’m your doctor,” I reply, my eyes briefly dropping to her cleavage.

“I thought about you last night,” she confesses with a grin.

I calmly nod, ignoring my rampant libido. “It’s not unusual for one to think of their doctor when they start treatment. Therapy evokes new feelings in everyone.”

Without pause, she shakes her head and evenly states, “No. I thought of you while touching my pussy.”

Holy…shit. I nearly fall out of my seat at her confession. I’m beyond stunned, but more so, I’m incredibly turned on by her sexual aggression.

“I was imagining it was your hand fingering me, coaxing my body to come. I think your fingers could make me come with a single touch,” she declares, licking her wet bottom lip as she takes another step toward me.

I really should be backing away from her, demanding she get out of my office, as this is utterly unethical. But if I stood, my hard-on would really make my Good Samaritan act void.

“Ms. Harte.”

“I thought I told you to call me Juliet,” she purrs with seduction.

“Well, when you’re in my office, I think it’s best we stick to formalities. Now please, would you be so kind as to unlock my door?” I say, barely holding onto whatever wisdom is animating me right now.

“I may be in your office,
Dr.
Mathews,” she replies, “but we’re technically off the clock. I mean, my session doesn’t start for another thirteen minutes. Couldn’t we just be Dixon and Juliet for those thirteen minutes? Not doctor and patient?”

No, we most positively should not be Dixon and Juliet, because Dixon wants to violently clear his desk and throw Juliet onto it while he fucks her into next week. But my resolve is slowly slipping away and Juliet can see it.

I want this woman more than I want air itself, but I have a feeling that if I let her in, she’ll destroy me. She’ll consume every part of my entire being, and I don’t want to lose myself that way ever again.

“Dixon,” she moans, gliding a hand down her body.

I visibly swallow, my eyes not believing what they’re witnessing as her fingers begin lifting the hem of her dress until it bunches mid-thigh. All that creamy, supple skin on display has my dick punching a hole through my pants, but I try my best not to give in.

“Do you want me to show you how much I want you?” she asks, her big blue eyes widening in yearning.

I refuse to reply, because yes, fuck yes; I want to see everything she has to offer. So I remain mute, as this is totally Juliet’s show.

She saunters over and rounds my desk, while I push back in my chair, leaving room for her small frame to fit between me and the desk. The movement has revealed my tenting erection, and Juliet’s eyes smolder with the sight.

“I knew you’d be big. Watch me.”

That’s definitely not going to be a problem, as I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.

Juliet leans back and presses her ass against the edge of my desk as she slides her dress up until it bunches around her waist. I’m instantly hit with her smell of desire, and I almost come in my pants at the mouth-watering scent. Her tiny black thong barely covers her pussy, and as she slips her fingers inside, I can appreciate the phrase “less is more.”

Tiny moans escape her parted lips as she seeks refuge inside herself, and my eyes remain transfixed on the jerking movements her hungry fingers are making as she begins pleasuring herself.

“Hmm…I’m so wet,” she pants, and I swallow hard. “Here, let me show you.”

Before I can object, Juliet removes her fingers and reaches forward, rubbing her pointer along my bottom lip. A knowing grin spreads across her lips as she watches me struggle with my self-control. My tongue instantly darts out, lapping up what Juliet so kindly offered, and the mere taste is enough to have me salivating in need. It takes all my diminishing willpower not to bury my face between her legs and take over. As much as I want to do that, the vision of watching her touch herself is far more appealing than me helping her along.

Her shallow breaths tell me she’s close, and as she unsteadily leans further back, needing to gain deeper access into the cavern of her body, I do the only thing a gentleman can do. I wrap a firm hand around her waist and anchor her so she can really reach her climax with no restrictions. The moment we make contact, she groans in the back of her throat and tosses her head back, her eyes shut tight. She extends one hand behind her, resting it on my desk for extra support, while the other never ceases from the frenzied movement inside her thong. Her hips pump forward violently as she almost attains her goal.

It’s nearly too much, and I just about come in my pants like a pubescent teenage boy. But I refuse to look like an inexperienced child and blow my load just by watching Juliet touch herself. I dig deeper into her waist, my fingers betraying how turned on I am by watching this wicked sight before me, and my firm pressure sends Juliet wild. As her frantic rhythm becomes untamed and wild, she unexpectedly falls onto her back, as the hand supporting her slips out from under her.

She’s now lying on her back on my desk, her legs dangling over the edge, while her fingers are recklessly coaxing her to come. As her back bows, she lets out a low growl and her body undulates as I watch her explode. It takes every ounce of self-control to not flip her over and make her mine.

I’m not sure how long she lies sprawled out on my desk, breathless and totally spent. But I don’t attempt to make a single move, because watching this profound creature is akin to discovering a hidden treasure. I take her in, appreciating the way her lissome body comes down from its high, and I know I’m screwed. I’m utterly enchanted by Juliet Harte, and we haven’t even fucked.

Juliet turns her head, looking at the clock above the mantel. With a sated sigh, she slowly slips down her dress. I try not to weep, as I preferred her barely clothed. Ever so slowly, she rises to full height, but remains seated, her legs hanging over the edge of my desk. She places one stilettoed foot between my parted legs, and rolls my chair toward her. Of course I don’t hesitate and allow her to draw me closer to her body, curious as to what comes next.

My chest is pressed against her legs, and my eyes are now crotch level. My restraint really is commendable.

“Thank you, Dr. Mathews,” she says, and leans forward, placing a single kiss on the corner of my mouth.

Before I can even think of a response, she hops down from my desk and smoothes out her dress before taking a seat on the sofa. I stare, stunned, needing a second to process what the hell just happened. She just called me Dr. Mathews, therefore, does she expect our session to go on like nothing happened?

As she reaches for her bag and pulls out a compact to check her reflection, I know that’s exactly what she expects.

I just watched the hottest woman I have ever met come all over my desk, and now I’m expected to play the role of therapist, ignoring the fact my hard-on is about ready to blind anyone who walks through that door.

This is seriously fucked up, and suddenly I think I might be the one in need of therapy.

W
e never have
drinks on a Monday. What with Finch’s daddy duties and Hunter’s shiatsu, it’s fair to say Mondays are usually off limits, but when Hunter called me and heard the disbelief in my voice after Ms. Harte’s session, he called an emergency catch-up, and that’s what brings us to now.

If my day wasn’t uncomplicated enough, I’ve organized to meet up at The Pony Bar—Madison’s place of employment. Yup, I’m a masochist.

“So, how’d it go?” Hunter asks, reaching for his beer, awaiting my bombshell.

“Well…” I commence, lost for words. “Finch, do you want to block your ears?”

Finch holds both hands up, shaking his head bravely. “No, give it to me. It can’t be that bad.”

If only he knew.

Lowering my voice, I lean forward, and my friends do the same. “She got herself off…on my desk…in my office. And I watched.”

Jesus, that sounded dirty. It certainly didn’t feel dirty when I watched it happen, but saying it aloud makes it sound like a kinky peepshow.

There is dead silence. I look at my friends, needing them to say something, anything, because the silence is killing me.

“Guys?” I say, waiting for one of them to tell me I’m not as perverted as I feel.

Hunter’s mouth is hanging open, but a half smile mars his features, as he’s no doubt visualizing the very graphic picture I just painted.

“Finch?” I ask, looking at my best friend, who has paled whiter than a ghost.

“She m-masturbated…on your… desk?” he shrieks, breaking the silence a little louder than anticipated.

“Shh!” I whisper, gesturing with my hand for him to lower his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes with a frown. “But Dix, oh my God, who
is
this woman? Who goes around jerking off on their psychiatrist’s desk?”

“Apparently Juliet Harte does,” Hunter says with a chuckle.

“Dixon, Gabriella has been in your office. Oh dear lord, my baby daughter has been subjected to a bordello!” shouts Finch. I groan, as his volume control is nonexistent tonight.

Totally ignoring his melodramatics, Hunter asks with a wink, “So did you, ya know?”

“No, I did not,” I reply, reaching for my scotch, failing to mention that she didn’t even offer.

“So what happened?”

“Nothing. We had our session…”

“Hold up,” Hunter interrupts, brushing his hair from his face, as it’s slipped free from his manbun. “You still went through with the session?”

I pathetically nod because the situation is as ridiculous as it sounds.

“You are either the smartest, or stupidest motherfucker alive!” He laughs, slapping his hand on the tabletop.

“He’s definitely the smartest. Good on you, Dix,” Finch says, nodding his head in encouragement.

“Thanks, man. At least
you’re
a good friend.” I look pointedly at Hunter.

“Hey, don’t be hating on me. I told you to handball her to another doctor. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

I sigh because he’s right. It was absolutely ludicrous attempting to act professional. The session was a total disaster, and I should be ashamed of myself for allowing it to ever get that far.

“You’re not seeing her next week, are you?” Hunter asks with an incredulous look.

“Well…” I reply, guiltily chugging down my scotch.

“Are you insane?” Finch cries, sitting tall in his seat. “Dixon, this person is a dirty, dirty, slutty slut from the planet ‘I’m a big whore who masturbates in offices where babies have been!’ You need to never see her again, and you need to buy a new desk!”

I can’t help the laugh that rumbles from my chest; Finch is utterly entertaining when riled up. Hunter joins in and Finch runs a hand over his full beard.

“You guys are sick bastards.”

And just like that, I instantly feel better.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” I say, pushing back my chair.

“Make sure you don’t bump into any masturbating nymphos on your way out,” Hunter playfully chides while I flip him off.

Walking through the packed restaurant, my thoughts drift to Juliet and the predicament I find myself in. The right and smart thing to do would be to tell Ms. Harte I can no longer treat her. But that thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I have no idea why.

My mother was a devout Catholic, and in times of crisis she would tell me to pray to the Lord, and apparently he was supposed to give me some magical answer. I really could do with some answers right about now, so God, if you’re listening, how ’bout you cut me some slack and give me a sign. Please?

“Oh, shit!” a voice from beneath me—yes, beneath me—yelps.

I jolt back, part in shock, part in horror, as I blindly walked straight into someone. Now that poor person is sprawled out on the floor on her stomach.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” I say in a rushed breath, quickly dropping to a squat.

“It’s okay,” she replies, laughing quietly.