Dix (Elite 8 Studios, #1)

by Emmy Sanders

Do you believe in hate at first sight? Neither did I, until Niko fucking Adamos strides into Studio 1 like he owns the goddamn place.

I don’t do mushy love scenes. I’m one of Elite 8 Studio’s most popular tops, and I fuck. Plain and simple.

He looks like a modern day Greek god, and I hate him instantly.

“You’re okay with this? Acting like my doting boyfriend?” Niko lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh, sure, love,” he says in a saccharine-sweet voice that instantly grates on my nerves. “I’m looking forward to waiting on you hand and foot. Sounds like a dream come true. Although I’ll need to consult with one of your exes to find out what brand of oil you prefer having rubbed over that big head of yours.”

I’m not used to people disliking me. Everyone likes me. I’m a likable guy. I smile a lot. I listen. I care. But Dixon? Wow, that man does not like me.

“What’s he like?” she asks, dishing food onto her plate. I think about it. Hot is the first word that comes to mind. He’s tall, a bit taller than my six-foot frame. Beautiful, Black, muscles for days, thighs the size of tree trunks, sharp brown eyes. “Grumpy,” I answer instead. “Seems like a bit of a dick.” Cass raises an eyebrow, looking at me knowingly. “So you’re attracted to him?” I groan. “Maybe a smidge.”

Honestly, it sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. I can’t see Dixon being tender. The man is like a giant block of granite, cold and unyielding. But he claims he can do it, so I guess we’ll see what happens. I, for one, hope I’m proved wrong.

Dixon gives me a look. “I don’t bottom.” “Right,” I say slowly, nodding my head. “Makes sense. No room up there with that stick firmly lodged in place.”

It’s a ridiculous trait of mine, that I like trying to cozy up to cold men. But it’s fun. It keeps me on my toes, and it’s oh-so-satisfying when they finally thaw.

How are we possibly supposed to develop chemistry and sell these boyfriend videos if my costar can’t even stand to be around me? “This is going to be a disaster.”

For as much as Niko’s cockiness infuriates me the rest of the time, right now, it’s infectious. He kisses in the same way, exuberantly and a little sure of himself, like he knows he’s good at it.

I bet it looks amazing, the way his big dick is stretching me.

Dixon’s not taking it easy, but he’s also not slamming into me as hard as I expected him to. Although the truth is I didn’t quite know what to expect of rough Dixon, but even though his hips are slapping my ass and his balls are slapping my balls, and even though his pace is punishing, it’s like he’s pulling his punches just so. And whereas some guys would want him to unleash that last ten percent, I’m not that guy. To me, it’s much more intense without the edge of pain, and the fact that, perhaps, Dixon is holding back because I told him I didn’t like pain is a heady thought.

Christ, I don’t know what to do about my coworker.

The guy continues to stare at me, and I wonder—is there an etiquette for this sort of thing? Interacting with fans 101? I make a mental note to ask some of my coworkers what they do in these situations.

But I don’t need to enter a room and have all eyes on me. That’s not something that bothers me if it does happen, but it’s not the reason I enjoy being around people, either. I just enjoy people, plain and simple. I like hearing their stories and seeing their eyes light up when they talk about things they appreciate. I like making them feel good because everybody deserves to feel good. And I like the energy I get back when that happens, like karma kickback. Because even after someone leaves with a smile on their face, I can still feel the reverberation of our interaction, like a tangible marker that I was here in this world. That maybe I made a difference, even if it was a small one each day.

Oh gag me

“Who made the sweet, crispy triangle things?” Dixon asks as he licks the flakes from his fingers. I turn to him slowly, a wide grin on my face, and he immediately scowls. “Did you like them?” I ask sweetly, blinking a few times for effect. “They were fine,” he grumbles, looking away and taking a drink of his mulled wine.

Marley lowers her voice. “Sure. But Dixon, you know I don’t mean this in a flirtatious way, but you are fine. And now that I’ve seen the goods, I’m not sure I can ever imagine you as a mere mortal.”

The earthy scent of damp clay hangs in the air, but more than that is Niko himself. How he smells, spicy and warm. How he tastes, a little minty underneath the edge of hops, like he took the time to brush his teeth before he came here. How he sighs gently against my lips in a way that feels like home.

Niko grins. “You bet your ass.” “You two are adorable. Ugh! I hate you. See you tomorrow,”

“Griniári mou,” Niko whispers fondly into the breeze, as if he’s thanking the endless horizon in front of us for bringing him me, his grump. As if he’s the lucky one, when I know, for a fact, that’s me. To have found this whirlwind of a man who loves me just the way I am, who’s endlessly patient and resoundingly happy. Whose family brought me into the fold like I’d been there all along. This man who challenges me, who pushes me when I need it, but who knows exactly when to back off and is equally adept at handling me with care. He’s beautiful and he’s funny and he makes me happy every single day. I’m definitely the lucky one. I know that. Nevertheless, I reply in kind, whispering my own benediction into the salty air. A quiet thank you. A gentle reminder of what I’ve gained. “Agápi mou,” I say. ‘My love.’