Dirty Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (Fixed #5.5)
Laurelin Paige
Chapter One
I drew Andrew’s fingers into my mouth, pressing my lips past his knuckles, all the way, until I couldn’t take them in anymore. The whole time, my eyes watched his, taking in the dilation of his pupils as my tongue ran along his digits.
He moaned in ecstasy and my stomach fluttered.
“I’m imagining that’s my cock,” Chuck whispered in my ear. I was sitting in his lap—my ear was easy access. “I know how good your mouth feels. I’m imagining it on my cock right now.” He did know how my mouth felt; I’d had my mouth on him before. Not tonight. At previous events.
Chuck’s hands gripped my waist and moved my ass so it would rub against his erection, giving him some relief. I squealed, even though it was somewhat forced. The guys liked it when I squealed.
For that matter, so did the women.
“You’ve inflated me like a balloon, T.” Andrew was on the floor in front of me, his jacket off and his shirt unbuttoned.
“I’ll take care of you, baby,” a pretty woman I’d never met before said, crawling up to him to undo his pants. At least he had somebody taking care of him. Not that I was going to feel responsible for the condition he was in.
Kennedy laughed as he stroked himself through his boxer briefs. The tip of his dick poked out above the waistband, and I could see a bead of pre-cum gathering on the top of his crown.
This was the crowd that had gathered around me tonight. This was what I dreamed about all week, every week. This was my idea of a perfect Saturday night.
The rest of the party had divided itself into the normal cliques and circles of activity. I scanned the penthouse apartment. The layout was open and the party guests took up every bit of space they could. In one corner, a bunch of men were having an orgy, classic Greek style, on the divan. In the center of the room, a beautiful woman was stripped and tied up in Shibari style, with plenty of spectators watching. To our left, a dominatrix in a black gown and leather boots had not one, but two gentlemen on their knees in front of her.
Most of the faces—and bodies—were familiar. They usually were. We were a club of sorts, after all. But there were always those I didn’t recognize. Like the gentleman who’d been watching the activities surrounding my group for most of the evening. Green eyes, six foot tall at least. His face had a naturally rough look to it, even though his beard was trimmed and cleaned up well. His eyes had wrinkles around them, his lips as well. He was probably older than me by a decade, but he wore his age well. Probably even better than he’d worn his youth, if I had to guess. The biggest tell about him, though, was his tux. It was pristine, not a button undone. The party had been going on for three hours now, and he’d first caught my eye at least an hour in, and he still wasn’t even ruffled. Obviously he was strictly a voyeur.
Too bad. He was hot.
“Come home with me, T,” Chuck pleaded as he nibbled on my neck, distracting me from the green-eyed stranger. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked this evening. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked me ever.
I wiggled on his lap, trying to make myself more comfortable without further arousing his already hard cock.
“You know that’s against the rules,” I murmured. I was good at that, I had to admit. It was one of my talents. To be flirtatious and uncommitted all at once.
“Your rules,” Chuck said. His grip tightened on my hips. I stiffened ever so slightly.
“But my rules count.” They weren’t new rules. I’d had them the whole time I’d been coming to these parties. The whole time I’d been a member of the Open Door. They weren’t hard to remember—there were only four of them. Never go home with anyone. Never take off my mask. Never give any personal info besides my first initial. And no penetration. I’d been coming to these events for almost ten years, and these rules had been the only thing that kept me safe and STD free, not to mention partner free.
And honestly, it was probably the thing that kept the parties so interesting.
If Stanley Kubrick hadn’t been a member of the Open Door, he’d certainly attended one of their events. The parties themselves only had one official rule—even the masks were optional and most people took them off after a few minutes. What wasn’t optional was the rule that a password was required to attend. The words and location were changed every week, and only people in the club were informed. The password and location was emailed out immediately after the last party to every member of the Open Door, and if you neglected to RSVP that you were attending any events for three months, your name was purged from the system.
I wasn’t in the club officially. I wasn’t wealthy enough. It was too hefty a fee to join. I’m talking a membership cost well above my annual salary. No, I got the password from my best friend, Rebecca. If anyone ever discovered that she was sharing it with me, we’d both be kicked out. Hence the reason I never took off the mask.
Nowadays, since Rebecca had graduated from mistress to wife of the senator that had introduced her to the club, I attended more often than she did, which was fine by me. The parties had always been more important to me than to her. They were one of the most exciting parts of my life. They weren’t something I could live without, the way Rebecca could. She was completely content to find a single person who would play, give good sex, and also a home and babies. Once she got those things, she had no reason to come out.