This was the best part of my life. By far. And I never intended to give it up.
Chuck Richard was one of the gentlemen who attended these parties as often as I did, and he was well aware of my rules. We’d played plenty of times in the past, and he’d never minded my strict adherence to these self-imposed ordinances. We’d had fun despite the no-penetration rule. He was great with his mouth, and generous too, and I could give a hand job better than anyone in the room.
Chuck was also very into exhibitionism, which was one of my favorite kinks. He’d let anybody watch or touch me, while he sucked on my tits and fingered me to orgasm. That was why we had a small audience tonight as I sat on his lap, his hand under the silk of my gray gown so he could fondle my breasts.
There were reasons I never wore a bra to these things, and Chuck Richard’s gifted hands were reasons number one and two.
But tonight his hands weren’t doing it for me. I was feeling antsy. I was having fun, and I was also…bored. Despite my love of the parties and the sex and the company, I just couldn’t quite get into the groove. It was probably a hormonal thing. Or a weather thing. Or a too-preoccupied-with-work thing.
Whatever it was, Chuck’s insistence that I go home with him meant that it was time for me to go. On my own.
“It’s getting late.” I began my exit routine.
Chuck rocked his hips against my ass. “Oh, baby. Just this once. If not my house, let’s go into the bathroom. I want to know what it feels like to be inside you.”
Nope, nope, nope. I wasn’t breaking my rule. I’d never been tempted—not since I’d made it, and if I was ever going to be tempted, it wasn’t going to be by Chuck Richard. The only reason I was even the slightest bit aroused tonight was because of that green-eyed stranger. He’d also been the only reason I’d stayed as long as I had. That chiseled jaw. His manicured hands. Right now he was watching the Greek lovefest going on in the corner. Earlier he’d been watching a petite masked vixen getting spanked by a guy I knew as Rudolpho.
I wondered what it would be like if it were the stranger doing the spanking instead.
If I were the masked vixen in his lap.
I really had to get out of there.
“Sorry.” Not sorry. “But I’m out for the night. I’ll tell you what, boys,” I said as they collectively groaned. “I will give one of you a kiss goodnight. All you have to do to earn that kiss is whisper in my ear. Whichever one of you makes me wet will get the honor.”
Whoops. I realized only after I’d announced the contest that I’d just admitted that Chuck’s fondling hadn’t done the job already. It was clear he’d gotten the point since he changed tactics and one hand was now stroking my thigh at the slit of my gown, creeping higher along my skin, trying to tantalize me.
“I’ll go first,” he said, not letting go of me.
“It’s only fair you have the first shot.” Since he was the reason I was leaving, after all.
“I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” he whispered. He rubbed his length between the cheeks of my ass. “Can you feel me? I’d make you come. So fucking hard. If you let me be inside you.”
“Oh my!” I fanned myself, feigning interest in his remarks. On another night they might have done the trick, or at least earned him a blowjob. Tonight they just felt crude.
“I want to try next.” Kennedy was already inching toward me. That was all I knew of him—his last name, I believed. He wore a mask as well, one of the few men who kept his on. Most of the men who didn’t take them off were politicians hiding from the limelight, or husbands afraid of their wives catching them out.
If I had to place a bet, I’d guess Kennedy was the latter. But with a last name like that, he wanted us to believe he was the former.
“What have you got, Kennedy?” I didn’t get up off of Chuck’s lap. Kennedy rose up to his knees to whisper. Chuck continued to caress me—a move that wasn’t in his best interest, considering that if he got me wet while Kennedy was whispering, it would be Kennedy who earned the kiss.
“You’re really pretty,” he said. All the confidence he’d had on the floor in front of me was fading into shyness. “I want to see under your mask.” I should have seen that coming a mile away. He asked me at least once every time I saw him.
Pretty ironic for a man who never shed his own disguise.
“Aw, well, that’s not up for grabs, sweetheart. But if you’re a good boy, maybe you’ll win the contest and get a kiss instead.” I’d kissed him before. Plenty. He was a good kisser. He smiled up at me, excited by the offer.
“Hold on a second, doll,” Andrew said, gently pushing his lover off his cock. “Don’t go anywhere with those lips. I definitely want more. But first I’m going to try to earn a kiss.”
Andrew maneuvered over to me, awkward as it was with his erection hanging out. “T, I want you to kiss me while I come in Betsy’s mouth. You gotta let it happen.”
I rubbed my thighs together. I wasn’t quite wet, but the idea was actually a turn-on. Kissing a guy while another woman sucked him off…
Yeah. That was the kind of kinky shit I was into. Andrew was definitely in the lead.
I glanced around to see if there were any other entrants, ready to announce him as the winner, when another voice piped up.
“I’d like a try.” It was the stranger with the green eyes.
Hot damn.
Of course the night would ramp up right when I announced I was leaving. I looked up at him expectantly, but he didn’t approach. I realized he was waiting for my invitation. He was definitely new. Everyone else knew Miss T was one of the most ready and willing participants in the room—to the point where some tried to take advantage of it. I never needed to issue invitations, but I often needed to reinforce boundaries.
“What are you waiting for, then?” I sat up straighter, ignoring Chuck’s grunt of complaint.
The stranger came forward with slow, swaggering steps. When he reached me, he loosened his bowtie a little before lowering himself to one knee at my side. He placed his arm next to mine on the chair, his fingers barely grazing my skin. Goosebumps sprouted up my forearm all the way to my neck, and he hadn’t even bent in to whisper yet.
And then he did. His breath skated over the shell of my ear, and my heart tripped unexpectedly in my chest.
How long had it been since that had happened from just the feel of someone breathing against me?
“I’m going to kiss you one way or another tonight,” he said, low and with such surety a shiver ran down my spine. “It’s your decision whether it’s now or later.”
So. Not just a voyeur then.
He sat back to study my features. My jaw was slack, and I scanned his expression, searching for a hidden motivation. My body tingled from head to toe. I was used to men—strangers—wanting me. I was used to them approaching me. I was used to them telling me how much they desired me.
Why was this man so different?
Maybe it was because those other men always looked everywhere in the room. When their eyes landed on me, I knew I was just one of many options.
This man…
He’d looked around the room. I’d watched him throughout the night. But nothing had interested him. I could tell by the way he was still wearing his jacket, by the way his eyes were only now beginning to dilate as they stared into mine.
He’d studied the room and decided nothing here had interested him but me.
That was definitely not the kink that usually got me off. That was Cinderella-story kind of kink. The fairytale kink with a happy ending was traditional, but a kink all the same—being chased. Being placed on a gilded pedestal. I never wanted to be somebody’s Only One in the Room. I liked having my own space. I liked being able to disappear when I wanted. I liked not having chains or boundaries. I was turning thirty-five soon. I wasn’t a starry-eyed teenager anymore. I knew what I wanted from life and love and relationships and sex. And it wasn’t a pedestal.
But the stranger whose lips were just full enoug
h to nibble on... Fuck, he was so damn hot.
And I was entranced. Because he wanted me.
Somehow he knew that, knew that he’d won, even without me announcing it.
Without me delivering the proclamation, he bent forward. Eagerly, I tilted my face up toward him.
Our lips met.
And though I’d been the one who’d offered the kiss, it was the stranger who gave. Slowly introducing himself, he pressed his upper lip between mine. He tasted me, as though he were deciding if I were poisonous. And then, when he determined I was safe—or perhaps despite determining that I wasn’t—he moved in more aggressively, his tongue sliding into my mouth as his hand reached behind my neck and pulled me closer to him.
I grabbed the lapels of his tux and pulled him closer to me as well, wishing I could be pressed tighter against him, wishing I could feel his chest against the tight beads of my tits, wishing it were his hands stroking my thigh and my breast instead of Chuck’s, wishing it were his erection I felt pulsing against me instead of the man whose lap I was sitting on.
He tasted good. Like all the other men in the room, he tasted like money and secrets. Like power and sex. But he tasted like something new too. Like fresh air and California. Like a salty breeze. Like the deep of the jungle. Like places I’d never been, but somehow recognized.
We kissed for what felt like a long time. I could have kissed him for hours. I could’ve stretched my body long against his and made out with him like I had back in high school in my father’s Chevrolet, when I’d been content to just kiss and fondle, never taking off a bit of clothing.
I could do that with this man—just kiss him.
That scared me.
I broke off the kiss abruptly, moving my face away from his. Only then did I register the calls that had come from the men around me.
“I guess he won,” Kennedy complained. He was jerking himself off through his briefs, obviously too turned on and too frustrated to wait any longer for someone else to help him with the situation. Or maybe that’s exactly what he’d wanted all along this evening—to whack off while watching.
“Yeah, kiss him,” Andrew directed. “Kiss him, but let me touch you.” Betsy was now sucking him off again, and I knew he was enjoying watching me kiss the stranger while she did.
Chuck was moaning as he kissed along my neck. Had he been doing that the whole time I’d been kissing this man? I hadn’t even noticed.
The stranger was still on his knees beside me, still staring at me. “Let me walk you out,” he offered quietly.
An innocent offer, but I knew where those offers led. He’d take me to the door, and then he’d stay while I waited for my cab. Soon he’d offer to drive me home, and the next thing I knew I’d be waking up in his bed. I’d been going to these parties for a long time, and I had my rules, but they hadn’t been born from nothing. I’d made mistakes in my younger days.
I knew exactly the answer I had to give, though I’d never been as tempted to give a different one than I was at that moment.
“Let me just get my coat,” I said. It was code for I’m slipping out while you’re not looking.
The sexy stranger stood first, offering his hand to me, which I ignored.
Chuck, as preoccupied as he was with his aching hard-on, laughed quietly behind me. He was familiar with my tactics. I guess I was a bit into the fairytale kink after all—and the clock was striking midnight. Only, I didn’t ever want the prince coming after me.
It was the first time in a long time, though, that I gave the prince a second glance before slipping away into the night.
Chapter Two
“Oh, goodness,” I exclaimed, hurrying to clean up the hot water I’d spilled while pouring it for Mr. Stoker’s tea. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know why I was distracted.”
That was a lie. I knew exactly why I was distracted. I’d been thinking about that green-eyed stranger even though I was clearly supposed to be focused on my job. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. The taste of salt and sunshine had lingered into my Monday, and as I’d stared at the stream of water flowing from the teapot, I’d wondered if there was any way to capture that exact flavor.
But it hadn’t been the first time thoughts of the new Open Door guest had preoccupied my mind that day. As I’d scratched my name down to collect the inter-office files from the financial department, I’d remembered the scrape of the stranger’s beard against my skin. As I answered the phones, my cheery greeting professional as always, “Hudson Pierce’s office, how may I help you?” it was the stranger’s voice I imagined on the other end of the line. When Hudson’s wife wheeled in her newborn twins in the double stroller at lunch, I was thinking of...
Well, I wasn’t thinking of having babies with the man. It had just been a kiss, and I was pretty sure I could only be fond of children that weren’t my own.
But I did fantasize for a moment that I had my own lunch date, that the mysterious bearded man would walk in with two cups of espresso in place of the babies and take me to Marea for strozzapreti. Instead, I’d sat at my desk and eaten homemade chicken salad while I caught up on my digital filing.
And now I’d made a mess in front of one of my boss’s biggest investors.
“It’s all right, darling,” Mr. Stoker said, sneaking a peek down my blouse as I mopped hot water from the table beside him. I glanced up at my boss, Hudson Pierce, who smiled apologetically for the demeaning darling.
Honestly, I didn’t mind. It wasn’t the first time one of his business associates had been sexist, and it wouldn’t be the last time. As long as the men didn’t touch me or say anything that was outright crude, I had no complaints. And if anyone did either of those things, I knew Hudson would have them thrown out of his office immediately. He was a great boss and a respectable man. The looks of longing and the covert sexual glances from the business partners—they were simply part of the job.
It hadn’t actually been Hudson who had hired me to be his secretary. Almost nine years ago now, soon after I started going to the Open Door, Human Resources had selected me for the position. While I knew my skills were exceptional and that I’d shown up for my interview with an unprecedented resume, there was no question that I was also hired for my looks. Pierce Industries was one of the top firms in the city—in the world, even. Hudson Pierce, a young billionaire following in his father’s footsteps at the time, was on track to be the next big thing. Only the smartest and the richest, the wealthiest and most innovative, crossed into his space. And I was their first contact with the man. I was the one who answered his phones. I was the one who greeted them at the door. I had to be capable and competent, and attractive.
Maybe it was a terrible expectation of the world, that my face or my figure should matter at all when these captains of industry were making important tech deals and arguing media space or real estate. But even if it offended my modern sensibilities, it was realistic. Powerful men believed they should be surrounded by beauty at all times. I wasn’t naïve to that, and neither was Human Resources.
And though he hadn’t chosen me himself, neither was Hudson Pierce. He knew what the men he dealt with wanted from me. And I made sure to give it.
But the reason I was able to tolerate it had nothing to do with my naïveté and everything to do with the Open Door.
In my mind, my job went hand-in-hand with the parties. I doubted I’d find Saturday nights at the Open Door as thrilling and as sensational if there weren’t five full days of buildup beforehand. Working as Hudson Pierce’s secretary, I met and greeted the same rich and powerful men who came to the parties. I served them, I giggled at their bad pickup lines, I flirted with them quietly as they not-so-discreetly checked out my legs. Every day, the senators, the wealthy tycoons, the CEOs were strolling in and out of the doors right past me, never realizing I was the same woman who sucked them off on the weekends.
It was a hell of a power trip to be the one who served them all day, every day, attending to their every whim and need, orga
nizing their businesses, shuffling the details of their lives, all while knowing that they stared at my ass as I walked by. Knowing they’d go home and fantasize about bending me over the desk, devastated they’d never have the thrill of touching me.
I was the only one who knew that when I showed up on the weekends with my mask on and my hair down, those men were still thinking about Trish Bisceglia. Still imagining the secretary they’d flirted with, even while they sucked and teased the masked stranger called T.
The secrecy and the role reversal the situation provided gave me so much power. It put me in control of their desire, unbeknownst to them. In many ways it was the best part of the kink life. Saturdays might have been when the parties took place. But Monday through Friday? That was the foreplay.
I liked the foreplay best when I was the one directing the show.
For some reason, the new guy with the delicious kisses had me feeling like he was the one in the director’s chair.
I had to get myself together.
“I think I got it all, Mr. Stoker. Again, very sorry. Won’t happen again.” I looked to Hudson to make sure he didn’t need anything before I slipped out of his office and back to my desk in the lobby.
Once I was safely seated in my own chair, I let out a long exhale and gave myself a much-needed pep talk. “They think about you. You don’t think about them,” I muttered to myself with my eyes closed until I felt prepared to go on with my work.
When I opened them again, Hudson’s next appointment was standing in front of me. He was ten minutes early, and I swear to God, what I saw when I looked up his tall, muscular frame, was the face of the stranger.
I blinked and shook my head. This was getting ridiculous. It was one thing to imagine his voice, to remember the sexy, delicious taste of his lips, but quite another to fantasize that he was standing right in front of me.
But even after blinking my eyes, it was still his face staring down at me.
“How…” I paused, forgetting how words worked, which wasn’t how this usually went. I saw men all the time in the office after they’d been at the Open Door, and never ever got flustered. I shook my head again. “I apologize, sir. How may I help you?”
Dirty Filthy Fix Page 2
