Dirty Filthy Fix

by Laurelin Paige

  With each spin, my heart leapt in anticipation, wondering if it would land on me, with that same weight of eagerness that I’d had when I’d played the game as a teenager. And in that same vein of hopefulness, I begged and prayed that fate would allow the game to line me up with the boy I wanted to make out with, that the bottle would give me “seven minutes in heaven” with Nathan Sinclair—or in this case, two minutes in heaven.

  But the bottle never landed on me, and it never landed on him, and the odds that it would land on either of us and then the other were so long…

  I really should just enjoy the game, enjoy the night with no attachments like I always did. This was the problem with having my eyes set on something in particular. Everything else paled in comparison.

  But then finally, one of the cougars spun the bottle and it landed on Nathan.

  He drew from the men’s bag. “Crown play,” he read aloud, his eyes on me the entire time, and I swear to God, my mouth watered—actually watered—at the thought of his cock, even just the tip, between my lips.

  I’d never been so jealous of a cougar in my life.

  “Lucky bitch,” Betsy said, stealing the words from my mouth.

  “You better show the goods to all of us, watcher boy. We’ve been waiting,” another woman yelled. A few others joined in, the encouragement from men and women alike. It was part of the game. I was rapt.

  “Sure thing,” he said.

  I couldn’t look away as he stood, undid his dress pants, pulled them down just far enough for his head to stick out, and then sat down again on the footstool. He was mostly hard—pretty much all the men in the room were at this point. After the activities that had been taking place, it was impossible not to be.

  But I couldn’t help wondering, how hard was he because of this party? And how hard was he because of me?

  As he had done all night, he kept his eyes trained in my direction as his game partner crawled up between his legs. The hourglass was turned over, the time began, and she took his round thick crown between her lips, sucking, swirling her tongue across the head, teasing him. It was so fucking hot, so erotic to watch her hands dig into his thighs, wishing she had permission to hold onto the base of his cock, knowing she was only allowed to touch the tip. Such a turn-on from a voyeur’s point of view.

  I wanted to be her.

  But I also didn’t, because I had the better view of his face. Every bit of delight, every twist of pleasure that erupted on his features—I got to see that. And because he never looked away from me, even as his hands tangled in her hair, I felt every one of those details was meant for me.

  It made me so hot, I had a hard time not slipping my hand under my dress.

  By the time the hourglass had run out, my thighs were slippery and I could smell my own arousal.

  “Your turn to spin, handsome,” Betsy said.

  Again, I hoped beyond all hope and prayed for the first time in years—my mother would be so pleased, perhaps not with the circumstances, but at least with knowing I prayed. I closed my eyes, unable to watch, but I could hear the spin on the wood floor, the distinctive sound as it rotated and slowed and finally stopped.

  And when I opened my eyes, by God, it was pointing right at me.

  I hoped that didn’t mean I had to start going back to church.

  I stood up with my knees shaking. I was grateful for the long dress to hide them. Carefully, I walked over and slipped my hand into the linen sackcloth and pulled out my directions.

  “Nipple play,” I read out loud. Immediately, my nipples beaded into tight peaks, straining against the thin material of my dress. God, I was already so aroused. Now Nathan Sinclair was going to play with my breasts?

  There was every chance I was going to come all over him.

  Night. Made.

  I strutted toward him, intending to sit on his lap, but before I made it there he stopped me.

  “Lay on the floor,” he commanded.

  I froze, taken a bit by surprise. I hadn’t expected him to be so demanding, and though I was deeply disappointed about not straddling him, I liked this tone.

  I did as he said, lying down in the center of the circle and propping my torso up on my elbows. “Shall I undo the top of my dress?” I was eager to be naked for him.

  “No need,” he said. And again, I tried not to be disappointed. He’d promised play in the office on Wednesday, and the way he’d looked at me all evening, there was no way he wasn’t as eager to devour me as I was to devour him.

  I had to trust him.

  “Okay.” I lay down fully on my back and waited.

  It seemed like it took forever, but eventually he stood and strolled over next to me. Then he kneeled, and nudged in between my legs.

  And I was so, so grateful for the slits in my dress so that I could spread my legs apart and accommodate him.

  “Hey,” someone called, “the only thing you’re allowed to touch is her tits.”

  “I know.” Just as he’d promised, he didn’t touch me anywhere else when he bent down and sucked one nipple into his mouth.

  I heard someone quickly turn the hourglass over, like they’d forgotten to start the timer, and now they were all watching with hushed reverence as Nate slowly teased and taunted my nipple, first with his tongue flicking around in circles, wetting the material of my dress so thoroughly I could feel the dampness through to my skin.

  I let out a moan. My body arched up to meet him—he was hovering so close to me. I could feel him all along my length, just an inch above me, as though if I took a deep enough breath, I would touch him. But even when I arched to reach him he knew enough to bend away from me, as though he could read my body, so connected was he with my every move.

  He finished worshipping one nipple and then slowly moved to the other, where he nipped and took me by surprise. I yelped, but then I let out another groan of ecstasy. I had to put my hands beneath my ass so that I wouldn’t reach up and touch him. I wanted to so badly. Wanted to thread my hands through his hair and direct him, push him harder to show him where I wanted him more, show him where I wanted him next. I was a mess of wanton desire, and so unused to this stranger’s ways of playing. I didn’t know how to react, how to sit still. I felt like a virgin, inexperienced with that tight tug in my lower belly, unaware of what it was for, why it was happening to me, why it was winding so tightly. It was pulling all my fibers and twisting them into a braid and knotting them so carefully. I just knew that any second it would fall apart. It would unwind like a top and spin spin spin and I would be out of control. But…

  “Time!”

  Fucking Betsy seemed so gleeful to end my pleasure.

  I was flustered. I could feel my cheeks were heated, and my body was on the verge of orgasm. I couldn’t sit still anymore, couldn’t play the game. Couldn’t be there anymore.

  “I have to go. Someone take my turn.”

  I couldn’t look at Nathan Sinclair as I stood up, but I heard him, right behind me as I fled toward the door. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  The same offer as last time, and this time I didn’t even turn to deny him, because if I turned, I was going to smash into him in front of everyone.

  And I didn’t even care anymore enough to stop the inevitable.

  I walked as fast as I could, knowing that everyone knew exactly where we were going. That was the point of these things, after all. It was only my own rules that were in danger. I made it out of the room and around the corner into the foyer before he grabbed my elbow.

  I turned into him, and our lips crashed together.

  We were frenzied, frantic. I couldn’t get my mouth wide enough around his, couldn’t get my lips to move fast enough across his. His hands were around my hips and on my ass and then we were backing up two steps, three, and then I’d hit a wall, and that was better because I could put my weight against it. I was eager for him, desperate. I had to come, and it had to be him who made me do it. If I didn’t come now, I knew what was going to happen.
I was going to take him home. I was going to break every rule.

  I stroked him through his pants. The tight bulge was heavy in my hands even with the material between us, and I knew that the minute he moved his mouth from mine he’d want to go into another room to fuck. Want me to go home with him.

  And I was going to say yes because that was how badly I needed him.

  As I stroked him, he found my clit, even through my dress. He didn’t even bother to go underneath. We were both too desperate. I wrapped one leg around his waist and kept rubbing and stroking him as he used two fingers to press against that sensitive bundle of nerves buried between my thighs.

  My God, I was going to come just like this. I was already spinning and crying out. My eyes were watering, and I was begging him for something, I didn’t know what because I couldn’t even understand myself. His mouth was pressed so tightly against mine, his lips swallowing my sounds before they were uttered into the air. I was shaking, shaking, a bottle rocket in his hands with a lit fuse, and somehow, my hand still stroked him until he let out a groan. His body stiffened, then he came too. Both of us fully dressed, so horny for each other that we’d never even needed to get naked.

  My chest was heaving as he pulled away to study my features. He wiped a tear from under my eye. “Go home with me.”

  My throat was dry, but I managed to stammer, “I can’t. I have rules.”

  “Break them.”

  Then, maybe because I’d already broken rules with him—because he already knew more than just the mystery of my name, he knew where I worked, because he had my panties at his house—or maybe just because I wanted to so badly, because I was interested in a different story than the one I’d been living for so many years...

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Five

  As soon as we got outside, I worried I was making a huge mistake.

  It hadn’t been so long since I’d gone home with a man. I wasn’t nervous about that.

  Okay, it had been at least a year, so maybe it had been a while. The last time had been a friend of someone I knew in the office. It had been even longer since I went home with someone from the Open Door—at least six years—and that had ended in a clingy month-long relationship with a man who thought that an invitation to my bed was an invitation to tell me what to do with the rest of my life.

  I’d had to stop going to the parties for three months until he found a girlfriend and my body belonged once again to me.

  He hadn’t been the first man to be possessive. It hadn’t been the first time my ideas about relationships clashed with traditional society.

  And that was why I knew I should tell Nathan I’d changed my mind, that I’d been caught up in the moment and that I really needed to call it a night.

  But every time I snuck a glance at him as we waited for a cab, the desert in my throat disappeared and every concern, every worry, felt small and trivial, like the mole I fretted about on the back of my hand but that no one else ever noticed.

  I liked this guy. I liked how he looked. I liked how he moved. I certainly liked how he kissed. I liked how he knew the dirty things I wanted him to say and do to me. If this was a mistake, it was going to be worth it.

  So I banished my anxiety and committed to the decision.

  Once inside the cab, I slid right up next to him. I pushed my mask to the top of my head and placed my hand high on his thigh. Perhaps too high for polite company. Not that our cab driver was polite company. In the first two minutes of driving with him, he’d sworn more than my Brooklyn-born grandfather and used his hands to make as many rude gestures as my Italian grandmother. He was a true New Yorker, and I had a feeling he expected his customers to be fooling around in the backseat. Working the Saturday night shift, he probably preferred the hanky-panky to the drunks who threw up all over the worn interior.

  With my guilt reconciled, I slipped my fingers toward Nathan’s inseam.

  “What are you doing there, baby?” he asked, his lips hovering near mine now.

  “Keeping my hands warm.” I wrapped my other hand around his neck, my palm instantly soaking in the heat of his body.

  His eyes flicked to the driver and back to me. “Are you wearing panties right now?”

  I shook my head, a coy smile on my lips.

  His features wrinkled with mischief. “Then how about you warm up those hands by playing with yourself? If you can make yourself come before we get to my place, and if you can do it quietly, then I’ll let you come again as soon as we get in the door of my apartment.”

  My glance darted to the driver. Nathan hadn’t been exactly whispering, but to tell the truth, I didn’t really care what the cabbie had overheard. I was just interested in his reaction if he had heard. It made everything hotter to have an audience.

  The driver met my gaze in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide with curious excitement. Then, quickly, he turned his attention back to the road just in time to swerve before hitting someone in the street. The cabbie laid his fist on the horn while yelling at the pedestrian, who couldn’t possibly hear him through the blare and the windows.

  Maybe that would teach the driver to keep his eyes where they should be.

  But probably not.

  This was going to be fun.

  I’d listened to Nathan as he’d given the address when we’d first gotten in the car. His apartment was over on the West Side, overlooking the Hudson River, which meant we didn’t have very long before we’d be there. Luckily, I knew how to make myself come quickly—that wasn’t going to be the problem.

  The problem was going to be keeping myself quiet.

  I’d played the silent game in sex before—and I could do it—but it was difficult for me. I was well known for being a screamer.

  Could anyone blame me? I liked sex. And I didn’t mind letting people know about it.

  I was definitely up for the challenge, though. I moved my hand through one of the slits in my dress and found the swollen nub buried in my folds. With two fingers, I began massaging my clit, rubbing it in just the right way; the way that I knew would get me off fast.

  It was only a couple of minutes before I was fighting the hum that came when I was near orgasm, the steady mmm behind my lips, the vibration that mirrored the vibration going on lower in my body. My mouth fell open, a cry about to roll off my tongue when I remembered I needed to swallow it. I bit my lip to keep the next gasp silent.

  Just when I thought I’d figured out the path to mastering my sounds, just as I was about to go over the edge, Nathan raised the stakes.

  “Don’t just rub yourself off. Push your fingers inside for me. I want you clenching around them, imagining what it’s going to be like when it’s me.”

  Holy mother of hotness.

  I practically squealed right then. There was no way I was going to survive this.

  But I was determined to try.

  I slid two long fingers deep inside my wet pussy and rubbed along the inside wall. With just a brush of my thumb against my clit, my whole body started trembling. Then my climax hit, so forcefully I almost yelped, but I caught myself just in time and turned to bite Nathan’s shoulder instead. I clamped down so hard I would have drawn blood had he not been wearing clothing.

  Before my orgasm had finished wrecking havoc on my body, Nathan yanked my hair so my head tilted back and my mouth met his. He kissed my lips forcefully. Punishingly.

  “That was perfect,” he said, taking one wet finger and licking it clean. “Really perfect.” He sucked my other finger into his mouth, all the way past the second knuckle. “You’re going to get a reward for that.”

  I’d just come, and already I couldn’t wait.

  At his apartment, Nathan paid the driver, then scooted out of the car, holding the door open for me. We didn’t touch. We barely talked as he pressed the button for the elevator.

  “So you’re not one of those pretentious types with your own driver?” I asked when I couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

  Nath
an Sinclair wasn’t just the creative director for Reach. He was also one of the owners. Certainly he could afford a full-time employee to escort him around town.

  “No, I’m one of those asshole types who’d have you on the back of my bike for a ride if it wasn’t November.” He stared at me with famished eyes, and I had to wonder at what kind of ride he meant he’d give me.

  Biker sex. Mm. Now that was something I’d never tried.

  I spent the entire ride up to the twelfth floor thinking about it.

  The walk from the elevator to his apartment was short—thank God—and Nathan had the door open in a matter of seconds. He held it for me, and I stepped in, glancing around. But I didn’t get a chance to really assess much other than the fact that there was a large open space in front of me, because as soon as the door shut behind him, the man was on me. And though we hadn’t been apart for so much as a few minutes between the party and his apartment, I was on him the same way.

  His lips crushed against mine, pressing into me with urgent, wild desire as he pushed my coat off my shoulders. It fell to the floor, discarded. My mask was still on the top of my head, and now he removed it altogether, tossing it aside so his hands dug into my hair, tangling in my long dark tresses. He yanked my head back and kissed along the length of my neck, down my throat, growling as my moan pulsated underneath his lips.

  “I can’t get enough of the taste of you,” he said. “And lucky for me, you earned your reward so I get to taste all of you now.”

  Before I knew what was happening, he picked me up and set me on top of a cabinet that sat against the wall near the door. He pulled my legs toward him and scooted my dress up, spreading my thighs apart with his hands. Then he bent down and buried his face in my pussy.

  He wasn’t a man who teased, or delicately warmed me up. He lavished me with long aggressive laves of his tongue, licking up and down the length of my slit like he was painting a wall and his tongue was the roller. Wide, thick, bold strokes that wet me everywhere. I wiggled and writhed underneath him, and he hadn’t even touched my clit—just everywhere around it.