I freshened my lipstick quickly. Then, like the week before, I retrieved a bottle of water and a glass of ice. With a knock on the door, I entered Hudson’s sanctum and delivered the items to his guest.
“Would you like me to pour for you, Mr. Sinclair?” I asked, standing a little closer to the gentleman than I needed to. It was a move that had garnered me many lascivious glances in the past from businessmen in this office.
I stared at him in anticipation.
Damn, he was dreamy. He had a scar near his ear. And his cologne… I’d memorized it so clearly from the last time I’d seen him that it felt as familiar as my grandma’s tiramisu—and just as decadent.
“I can manage. In fact—” He handed the glass back to me. “—I don’t need the glass at all. Save that ice for yourself, why don’t you?” He raised those sea-green eyes up to mine, a wicked gleam sparkling right behind them.
And though I hadn’t caught him checking out my chest or my legs, hadn’t felt his eyes on my ass as I left the office, I knew he’d definitely meant his parting line to be seductive. I could just imagine all the dirty things Nathan Sinclair could do to a woman with a piece of cold, melting ice. He wanted me thinking about it, that rat.
Well, two could play that game. My plan was definitely on.
I waited a few moments after I was back at my desk before getting to it. Waited long enough for Hudson to really get involved with his conversation with Nathan Sinclair, waited for Nathan to pull out whatever was in his portfolio and spread it all over Hudson’s desk. Long enough to imagine him pulling it out and spreading me on my boss’s desk…
Focus, Trish, focus.
Then I dug my cell phone out of the purse that I kept in the lower drawer of my desk and called the office. Without hanging up, I set my cell down. I answered the office phone with my usual spiel, even though I knew it was just me on the other line, then I put the desk phone on hold. Once the line was blinking, once Hudson could see that there was a phone call waiting, I dialed into his office.
“Mr. Pierce, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a phone call for Mr. Sinclair from his office. His assistant says she needs to speak with him immediately.” I suddenly felt guilty about the lie. I hadn’t really thought this part through, the part where I would make up something completely untrue and probably worrisome about somebody else’s place of employment.
He deserves this, I reminded myself. Because he’d messed with my work, with my ability to do my job well.
“I’ll just put him on the line then,” Hudson said. I waited as he clicked the handset down on his desktop. “Nathan,” I could faintly hear Hudson saying to his guest, “your office is trying to reach you. Would you like to take the call?”
There was a beat of silence, of rustling, maybe Hudson had put the phone against his suit and I couldn’t hear what was going on, and for a moment I wondered if I’d screwed up. Perhaps Nathan’s office was closed for the day. Maybe there was no way that his office would be calling him, ever, and now I’d be found out by both him and my employer.
But then I heard him, heard that sexy voice.
“I suppose I turned my phone off when I arrived. Sure, I’ll take it.”
Another rustle and some shuffling, Hudson probably giving up his chair. Hudson likely handing over the phone across the desk and then there was his voice right at my ear. “This is Nathan Sinclair.”
I had to put my hand to my chest to hold my breath steady.
“You and I both know that your office hasn’t really called,” I said quietly, deliberately. “You can choose to leave them a message now, and I’ll hang up and the blinking light will go away. Or you can stay on the line while I connect you. Your choice.”
Because I believed in consent and everything.
“I’ll…take the call. Thank you.” There was a hint of humor in his response, an underlying rumble of curiosity, and the thread through it—plain old sensuality.
This man oozed sex.
My belly did somersaults.
“All right then. Hold please.”
I patched the call through, then picked up my cell phone and ran into the back room where I could talk privately.
“Nathan here,” he said again, and I had to bite back a laugh because of the barely disguised amusement in his tone.
“Hi,” I said breathlessly, almost forgetting everything I planned to say. The moment, having arrived, was making me so nervous I could barely think. I had to get a grip. This was too good a moment to waste. I’d been looking forward to telling this story way too much to blow it now.
“I mean,” I twirled a strand of hair around my finger coyly, even though he couldn’t see me, just to get into the groove. “You asked me a question the last time you were here. Asked me to have an answer for you when you came back.”
“I did.” He cleared his throat. “Have you got that for me now?”
I closed my eyes so I could fully put myself into the scene, so that I wouldn’t freak out and fuck it up. “I have. I’ve called to tell you my answer, actually.”
I could picture him crossing his legs, shifting in his chair, possibly angling his hard body away from Hudson. “And you think now’s the best time for this?” He wasn’t challenging me. Rather, it felt like he was making sure I was sure.
And I was. I was very sure. His permission made it even easier for me to go on.
“Definitely. This is the best time to tell you, in fact.” Best time for me, anyway. “I’ve had lots of different scenarios in mind. I wish I could tell them all to you, but really, they all end the same way, so I thought that’s what I’d share with you today. The happy ending.”
“Go on.” His voice still had a hint of a smile, but had roughened a bit too.
I could picture him, trying to look anywhere but at Hudson, trying to sound as though this conversation were very businesslike, another important emergency that he just had to be involved with right away.
“Well, they all end with your pants down and your cock out. Your left hand would be wrapped around my panties—I noticed you’re a lefty—your fingers would poke through one leg hole and come out the other. The crotch of my underwear would lie across the palm of your hand. And you would wrap the silk lace around the length of yourself, all up and down, up and down along your cock. You’d love the feel of it, the slinky feel of silk with the cotton lining inside the crotch panel. It would get you even harder as it stroked along your thick cock because it’s so soft. But the thing that would turn you on most would be the knowledge that my pussy lips had sat against the same material, that my own juice had soaked that very same cotton lining. And everything about it, every time you let your mind dwell on the fact that my sex had touched the same spot your sex was now touching, you have to fight not to come, to hold on a little bit longer, fight not to erupt right there all over yourself. Eventually you wouldn’t be able to control it any longer, you wouldn’t be able to keep it in, and then it would be there, spilling all over your fingers, all over the material of my panties. Soaking them.
“I bet you got yourself off like that the first night you went home with your prize in your pocket. They’re still wadded up in a mess because you haven’t brought yourself to wash them. Because if you wanted to clean your cum, you’d have to wash my scent off as well. And you didn’t want to do that. Did you?”
I’d gotten so lost in the description, so lost in the fantasy I was spinning, I could barely remember where I was. My thighs tingled. My panties were wet. My heart was in the back of my throat, pounding, clamoring to get out. I opened my eyes and peeked out of the stock room, suddenly remembering anyone could have walked in, and I might not be alone any longer.
Thank God, I was.
The other end of the line, though, was quiet. All I could hear was Nathan Sinclair’s breathing. It was steady. Even. I couldn’t read anything from it.
Was he turned on? Was he as aroused as I was? Had this had any effect on him at all, or was it a stupid ploy? Was he angry, ev
en?
I couldn’t tell.
Eventually he’d been silent so long I decided I’d better nudge him. “Mr. Sinclair?”
“That sounds good,” he said abruptly, as if suddenly remembering himself. “I will catch up with you about that later. Thank you. For bringing that to my attention.”
Before I could say anything else he passed the phone back to Hudson and hung up. The line went silent. I listened to the flat dull tone for several seconds, stunned that I’d actually done it. That I’d actually played a sex game. At work. With a stranger. In front of my boss.
Who the fuck was I?
Whoever I was, I needed to get back to being Trish Bisceglia.
I quickly fixed my hair, wiped the damn sweat off my brow, reapplied my lipstick, and returned to my desk, where I tossed my phone back inside my purse and slammed the drawer shut. Thank goodness it was late on the last day of the week before the holiday. There was no one in the office, and by now, probably hardly anyone in the building.
Then I bent my head over the desk and groaned.
Why had I done that?
Nathan could be telling my boss all about it right now. When the two of them came out, I could be called straight into Hudson’s office and promptly fired. This could be the end of my job. Nate might’ve made my week miserable, but it wasn’t like he’d done anything to actually threaten my career. No, I’d done that all on my own by playing a stupid sex game.
A really hot sex game, but that was beside the point.
My behavior had been immature and reactionary. Years, years of balancing my professional life against my very active kink life, and I’d fucked it all up over one green-eyed hottie. At least I’d have the long weekend to touch up my resume, and my mother’s amazing Thanksgiving dinner to drown all my woes in.
I was still wallowing when the door to Hudson’s office opened. I jumped in my seat, unprepared to see either Nathan Sinclair or Hudson Pierce. I couldn’t look either of them in the eye, and so I pretended to be really engrossed in something on my computer when they came out.
“I’ll look these over this weekend, Nathan, and get back to you after the holiday. Have a good Thanksgiving.”
“You too. Tell your wife and family that I hope they have a lovely holiday as well. Oh, before I go, might your secretary show me to the restroom?”
I froze. Secretary meant me.
“It’s just around—” I started.
“I’d really rather you show me,” he said, not giving me a chance to direct him any other way.
I swallowed, and goosebumps rose on my skin. I couldn’t decide if I was actually afraid to show him the restroom or excited.
“I have one in my office,” Hudson began to offer.
“No bother,” Nathan said dismissively. “You’re ready to close up and leave. The public restroom will be fine. Trish?”
I stepped out of the office and into the hallway, ultra-conscious of the man behind me. He didn’t say a word to me, and I didn’t say a word to him.
When I reached the bathroom in the hall, I half turned toward him and gestured. “Here’s the men’s room.”
He opened the door, but he didn’t go in. “After you.”
I paused, not sure if I wanted to do what he said just because he’d said it, but even more sure I didn’t want to not do what he said. I looked down the hallway both ways. There was no one watching.
“I’m not going to force you. You have to walk through this door on your own,” he said when I didn’t walk in.
Apparently he believed in consent and all, too.
Good man.
I peeked into the restroom. It was empty. It was after five on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Who would be here at this time? I stepped inside, my heels echoing loudly on the tiled floor.
The door closed with a bang behind me, and I jumped. I turned around to face him.
Nathan did the same scan of the room, making sure the stalls were all open and empty before stalking toward me.
Without consciously thinking about it, I backed up until I hit the wall behind me. Still, he approached until he was no more than a foot away. He put his arms on either side of me, caging me in, but touching me absolutely nowhere.
“I finished that meeting with the biggest fucking hard-on of my life,” he said, his voice ragged and worn.
I took a shuddering breath, wishing I had the nerve to glance down to see if he was still hard. Wishing I had the nerve to put my hand forward and brush against the crotch of his pants.
But I was too entranced by his green, green eyes. Plus, he’d left the door unlocked.
“While Hudson looked over my designs,” Nate went on, “I kept thinking all I wanted to do was walk out to your desk, bend you over, and spank you. Make you pay for leaving me so aroused. So fucking aroused and miserable.”
His eyes darted down to my lips, darted lower. My breasts ached, my back arched forward to move them toward him.
“But you said it yourself—we crossed the line. Business and pleasure. They can’t mix.”
I let out a sigh of frustration. Here I was thinking he was about to touch me, about to kiss me. I was about to lose myself in my yearning for him. And now he was saying that it wasn’t an option?
“If you want to play, I’ll play. Show up this Saturday.” He leaned in toward me, brushed his nose near mine. Just close enough to feel the tickle as it edged against my bridge. His mouth hovered just above mine. But he didn’t partake of my lips. He didn’t let himself have even one little taste. “Show up,” he said. I could feel his breath skid across my mouth.
Then he straightened, and as he had last time, he disappeared before I had a chance to gather my wits enough to respond.
Seemed I wasn’t the only one who liked the Cinderella kink. Only Nathan Sinclair apparently did want to be chased.
And for once, I was ready to play along.
Chapter Four
I wore satin that Saturday night, a long blue slip dress with slits up both sides. I never wore underwear to the parties. They were too much of an inconvenience, and the few times I had worn them, I’d just ended up giving them away as souvenirs. I liked nice lingerie. I preferred to keep most of it.
The shoes I wore—simple heels, easy to slip off—were also standard for an evening at the Open Door. But somehow I felt simultaneously more dressed up and more naked than I had in a long time. I left my hair down, and it fell long past my shoulders in dark, nearly black waves. It felt less like I was going to a weekly party and more like I was going on a date. A glamorous date.
It was a signal that I should not go.
But I went. Nothing could have kept me away.
I spent the beginning of the night as a voyeur, camped out on the settee watching as the Doms paraded their submissives around the room, entertaining everyone with their tricks and commands.
I had a few invitations to play from the regulars—Andrew, who’d shown up with a girl I’d never met before. Of course, Chuck Richard was there, wanting to fondle and stroke my skin. But I shooed them all away, feigning an introverted mood, when really I was just looking and waiting for one person in particular.
An hour went by. Then an hour and a half. After two hours, I kicked myself internally a bunch of times before realizing that I was in a place where people would gladly do that for me. So when Andrew suggested a game, an adult version of Spin-the-Bottle, I decided to join in.
An oddly shaped circle was created, some people choosing to sit on the floor, some on the furniture. I curled up with my knees to one side on the floor, and when I finished straightening my gown around me, I looked up to find that the man sitting on the ottoman across from me was Nathan.
And suddenly the room felt so much brighter than it had a few minutes before. Like there’d been too many plugs shoved into one outlet and finally someone had tugged one free, the power had surged, and the lights glowed.
Everyone disappeared around me and the only face I could see was his, handsome and
rugged, his grin directed at me. His eyes lit up like they were the source of the glow, and they were the only things I could see.
Somehow I was sure I’d just broken one of my rules. I didn’t know which one, and I didn’t even care.
The game began as Andrew spun the bottle, an empty Pinot Noir that somebody had guzzled within the first half-hour of our arrival. It landed on another gentleman, someone I didn’t know by name, and that man was told to take a slip of paper from one of the gender specific bags—there was one for female anatomy, one for male anatomy.
Andrew took one from the male bag and read aloud, “Back massage.”
Now the person who’d spun the bottle was to indulge in the activity listed on the paper for two minutes, the length of time allotted to each turn. There was even an hourglass someone had found hidden away in a board game in a closet somewhere that was tipped over at the beginning of each of the sensual delights.
“Can I take off my shirt?” the man I didn’t know asked.
“You can take off whatever you’d like,” Betsy called, cheering him on.
His jacket was off. He was already missing his tie. Now his shirt was quickly unbuttoned. We all watched as the timer was turned, and Andrew stroked the bare back of the new gentleman, his hands moving centrally up the long spine, playing across his shoulder blades, around his neck, down along his ribs, around his waist to the top of his ass, up again.
It was riveting to watch, but I stole glances at Nathan, who was wearing a tux again, this time with a traditional tie instead of a bow. As Andrew’s hands soared across the landscape of this new man, I wondered, if they were my hands, what would they feel like roaming across the landscape of Nathan Sinclair? Across the dips and planes of his body, over the peaks and valleys up to his neck and low, low, down so low…
“Time!” Betsy yelled, obviously taking the position of timekeeper. “George, you get to spin next.”
George—whether it was his first name or his last, I wasn’t sure—took his turn sucking on the toe of one of the Doms. Then there was a spin that involved two minutes of spanking. Then a spin and some kissing. Then a spin and a masturbation show.
Dirty Filthy Fix Page 4
