Dirty Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (Fixed #5.5)(22)
I rolled my neck to one side. He was right. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do for the night. My only plans were to attend my regular party, and I’d already decided that wasn’t going to be any fun without him.
His hand skimmed higher, sloping toward the sensitive area between my legs. “And maybe we’ll get done early enough that we can go to the Open Door afterward.”
“You’re going to wear a tux?” I asked, as though that were the deciding factor. As though I wasn’t distracted by the pathway of his touch.
“I am. We’ll have to stop by my place and pick it up so I can change.”
I chewed on one side of my lip as I wondered if I had anything clean and appropriate to wear to a formal work event. It would be the first time I’d attended one of those things in ages. For the most part, Pierce Industries didn’t include executive assistants at events that weren’t simply office parties, like the one later this month for the holidays.
“What if I don’t have anything to wear?” Everything fancy I owned was made for easy access. They were gowns, yes, but all of them had long slits and plunging necklines designed to show lots of skin.
Nate was already jumping off the bed, headed toward my closet, which made me tense automatically. “What are you doing?”
“Checking out your dresses.” He opened my closet and started moving hangers. “Oh, you have plenty here that would be appropriate. How about this one?” He pulled out a ruched chiffon gown in burgundy with a deep V-neck. It was floor length and pretty modest as far as my evening dresses went.
“Is that what you’d like me to wear?” For some reason the idea of him choosing my dress made me all sorts of tingly and on fire with desire.
“Yeah.” He hung the dress back up then sauntered toward me. My eyes flickered toward his cock, which was semi-aroused. “Will you let me choose the rest of your clothes, too? I’d love to dress you up.”
God, I was wet. Usually, I got wet at the idea of a man taking my clothes off, not putting them on.
Though if I said yes, it would mean he’d be messing around in more of my things. Learning even more about me, creating more entanglements.
But what excuse could I give him not to? “Uh, sure.”
I scooted to the edge of the bed and sat there wringing my hands as I watched him go through my drawers, my heart beating with an unsettled meter. Normally the sight of a naked man would be the cause of my distraction, especially the sight of this naked man. Nate Sinclair had one of the best-looking backsides I’d ever seen. But I was fretting too much to enjoy it, too anxious about him touching my belongings, even though I had nothing that really mattered in my clothes drawers.
It felt like so personal. Almost like a violation. No man—no person—had touched my private things since… I couldn’t even remember when. The last time I could remember was when my sister Francesca found the deck of Chippendale’s playing cards I’d gotten from a girl at school and she’d told my father. My ass had been spanked raw afterward, and, worse, the cards had been confiscated.
Even though I didn’t have anything to hide from Nate now, memories of other physical secrets I’d tried to keep from my siblings were stirred by his rummaging. The sexy lingerie I liked to wear that my mother would have decked me for. My secret dildo I’d hidden under my mattress. The diary I’d kept in my jeans drawer.
I’d lived with a constant ball of anxiety.
To this day, I hated people touching my things. Hated it.
I watched, apprehensive, as he pulled out one bra and then another, then put the first one back and pulled out several more. Finally, he settled on black lace, then moved to my garter drawer. He picked something out there and then found my panty drawer and stalled for a moment, which made me nervous. Well, more nervous than I’d been before.
“Is there a problem?” Did he not like my panties?
He looked over his shoulder at me. “Just trying to decide if I want you wearing panties or not. I think I’m going with not.” He dumped the handful back into the drawer and shut it with his hip. “Where do you keep your stockings?”
“Um. Bottom drawer on the left.”
A few minutes later he had a pair of hose picked out for me as well. Then he urged me into the shower, which he thankfully accompanied me into. I couldn’t have borne the thought of him roaming around my space while I washed. Plus, Nate, it turned out, was really good at cleaning a woman up. Almost as good as he was at getting her dirty in the first place.
After our shower, he was back to directing me again. With a towel slung around his waist, he wrapped me in a robe and set me at my vanity.
“I’d like smoky eyes, gray eyeliner. Pale pink cheeks. Bright red lips.”
I tried to concentrate on my makeup while he rustled through my jewelry box, which was nearly impossible. The spool of tension inside me that had relaxed under the heat of the hot water wound tight again as his fingers rearranged items and moved them from their designated places. After selecting a pair of crystal chandelier earrings and a matching crystal pendant necklace, he got dressed in his clothes from the night before. Finally able to breathe easily again, I made up my face the way he’d instructed.
Once he deemed my makeup perfect, he brought the items he’d pulled for me earlier and helped me dress in them one by one. First the garter belt, and then the bra. Then he helped me roll lace-topped stockings up each leg, attaching them to the clips of the garter belt. When I was done, he stood me in front of him so he could look me over.