Dirty Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (Fixed #5.5)(16)

Then he stepped forward, still dressed in his tuxedo shirt, his tie now hanging loose and his pants around his ankles. He smacked my outer thigh, then lined himself up between my legs. His head slid along my damp slit a couple of times and then he nudged his crown into my pussy—just barely.

I pushed back, urging him to move forward. But he grabbed my hips, stilling me. “Hold on, gorgeous. You need to be ready for me.” But he said it with gritted teeth, and I didn’t know if it was really me he was preparing or himself.

After a minute that felt like a lifetime, he went deeper, steadily, so I could feel each new inch of him, and when he was all the way in, I could have sworn he was touching the inside of my belly button.

It was fucking amazing.

He fit tight inside me, but I clenched down around him, wanting to feel as full as I could. Wanting to grip him with every part of my pussy so that when he moved, I might feel him everywhere.

“Yes, baby. Just like that.” He moved his hips in a circle then began rocking in and out.

And fuck, I did feel him everywhere. Every bit of my insides experienced the massage of his cock.

I moved with him, inching back to meet him when he thrust forward, stretching away as he pulled out. Each move was ecstasy, a new exquisite friction with every stroke. It had been too long since I’d done this. Too long since I’d let a man put his cock inside me. I’d forgotten how incredible it was to feel the slap of flesh against my thighs and the hot pulse of an erection, so different from the toys and fingers that had invaded my pussy in the last year.

I reached down between my legs to rub my clit and moaned with pleasure. Then I reached further to where we were joined so I could feel him glide in and out.

“Do that again,” he ordered, his voice frayed. “Touch yourself. Then touch my cock as I fuck you.”

I did. He groaned. The sound throbbed through to where his body met mine.

“I’m going to come soon, Trish, baby,” he said. “You make yourself come first. I want to feel what it feels like to have you coming around me. And then I’m going to pull out and come on your ass.”

Fuck. That almost did it for me right there.

I worked my clit quickly, my insides getting tighter with each flick of my finger. I was almost there, almost to that place that I’d been so many times, but never got tired of going. That wonderful, euphoric orgasmic heaven. I imagined what it must look like to him—me bent over his drafting table, my ass in the air, his dick getting lost inside me. If I weren’t the one he was fucking, I would have wanted to watch. It had to look so erotic, so sexy, so goddamned filthy from the outside.

Imagining it sent me flying. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God.”

He spit out a string of praises about how beautiful I was, how tight I was when I came, how hard I made him, how he was going to paint me in his cum. Then he pulled out abruptly and barely a handful of seconds passed before I felt the hot, sticky flow of his cum seeping between my ass cheeks.

“You’re beautiful,” he commended in a low rumble. “A masterpiece.”

I pictured him staring at me like I was a piece of art, like I was one of the pieces that his team in Creative handed to him for approval, for his careful inspection.

It made me feel even more sexy and satiated. And something else. Beautiful. Like the kind of beautiful that belonged to itself. The kind of beautiful that no one tried to own.

Which was stupid, because we were just talking about his cum on my backside, and there wasn’t anything that made a guy feel like he owned a woman like when he’d jerked off on her.

But anyway, it was hot. And I liked that he thought it was hot too.

“Take a picture,” I suggested. Because that idea made me hot as well.

“Can I?” He didn’t disguise his excitement, and he was already digging out his phone from his abandoned tuxedo pants. I looked down to make sure he didn’t get my face in the shot. A moment later a flash lit up the room. Another one followed, and then he tossed his phone on the drafting table next to me.

“Take a look,” he said. “I’ll get something to clean you up while you do.”

I stared at the picture on his phone. The angle, the way he’d framed my body in the shot—Nathan had a good eye. I did look like art. If he didn’t jack off to that image later, I certainly would.

He came back from the bathroom a minute later with a warm washcloth. He wiped me off quickly, and wasn’t too sweet about it, which I appreciated. I hated it when men got all gentle and careful after sex, as though I were fragile, as though I wanted them to be tender with me. I didn’t like tender sex, as a rule, and I didn’t want tender aftercare.

When he was finished, he tossed the washrag to the floor. I turned around to face him, perching myself on the edge of the drafting table. He was still wearing his shirt, though he’d abandoned his pants completely. His socks were gone now as well, I noticed. He must’ve lost those when I wasn’t looking.

I pulled his shirttail, tugging him closer to me. “Do I get to unwrap the rest of the package?”

He ran his hand through my hair, brushing a long curl out of my face. “I’d like that.”

I unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off his shoulders, revealing an incredible torso with barely an ounce of fat on it and a couple of large tattoos. A three-quarter sleeve tattoo decorated one arm with koi fish and waves in crisp black ink. On his chest on the opposite side of his body was a symbol I didn’t recognize. It looked like a pinwheel of sorts, or a flower with six petals. I studied it, trying to work out its intricacies, trying to figure out exactly what it might mean, and came up empty.