Dirty Filthy Fix: A Fixed Trilogy Novella (Fixed #5.5)(29)

So I didn’t text him back.





“Your skin is so soft,” a sultry alto said.

“Right there, yeah, right there.”

Grunts and sighs interwove with gasps and moans, all of it underscored with the quick-paced breaths of desire.

These were the familiar sounds of a make-out session.

I was at the center of this one. I’d long lost my dress and was naked in the middle of the plush rug on the floor of some bigwig’s penthouse overlooking a snow-capped Central Park.

It was glorious. Complete divinity. My raison de vivre.

I was dizzy in leisured lust, high on endorphins and sweat. Everywhere I put my hand, there was a body to touch and feel and fondle and kiss. My blood hummed with sensation and my belly knotted in a warm bow.

Behind me, Chuck Richard rubbed his cock between the cheeks of my ass. He was teasing, taking his time, but eventually, he would make himself come this way.

While he thrust up and down, his legs entwined with mine, he stroked my arms with long, feathery movements. It felt so good to be stroked and caressed. Occasionally, he would move his hand in front to palm my breast, play with my nipple, squeeze the ample flesh.

But my tits had others attending to them. A beautiful middle-aged woman I’d just met had made them her treasures. She was Persian and her short black hair had a streak of gray that had to be natural but was so perfectly set that it looked like it had been dyed. She was bare from the waist up and came at me from the other direction, her mouth meeting mine upside down, kissing me while her hands played with my breasts, and my hands played with hers.

I was fascinated with her more than almost everyone else in our group. With her teardrop breasts and dark peaks. With her soft lips and the sensuous slide of her tongue. Imagining what we looked like while we petted and kissed, imagining that Nate would be hard and in awe if he were there watching.

Nate.

His name whispered in and out of my pleasure-filled haze, always at the back of my mind, even as I was sucked and stroked by the hands and mouths of others.

Kennedy was between my thighs, his face buried there for so long that I was sure it would be red with a rash when he came up. I lost count of how many orgasms he’d given me, how many times he’d put his fingers inside and manually fucked me until I was shaking and trembling, until I was shouting and writhing.

I was sure there were other hands and other caresses going on, other people getting attention that I was unaware of. The Persian woman had another man nuzzling at her neck. Who even knew what was going on with Kennedy and his cock? Someone was attending to it, surely. It wasn’t my concern at this meal. I was the main course of this particular feast, for no special reason other than that was how the kisses had turned tonight, and the main course didn’t look at the other servings to see if they were being enjoyed.

But I did keep coming back to Nate. Wondering if he’d make an appearance. Wanting to see his face at my feet, between my legs. Just in the room watching, even.

My mouth was swollen and the scent of sex was heavy in the air when I finally heard his voice.

“Perfect. Always so perfect.”

I opened my eyes from the haze of ecstasy. Could it really be…? It was what a junkie must feel like coming down from a high. Or maybe I was the junkie, desperate for another fix of the man I knew was bad for me? I had to swim through a cloud of indecision before I could focus on my surroundings.

My eyes found him, and it felt like finding myself, like finding home.

Had I missed him this much, or was everyone else just so pale in comparison to his colorful life, his sexual prowess, his surprising answers?

Like that first night, he didn’t get too near. Just stood watching. A voyeur.

But this time his tuxedo pants were pulled down, and his cock was in his hands. He fisted himself tightly, jerking off while his eyes stayed pinned on me, on the beautiful display of my sex being adored in front of him. I stretched, opening up in front of him, as though I were a flower and he were the sun. I wanted him to see all of me, wanted him to see me being admired like this. Wanted him to see me being alternately used and served.

I saw him watch as Chuck rolled one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, saw Nate’s expression when my mouth curved into an O, as Kennedy brought me to yet another orgasm, and my back arched up, up away from the man behind me and into the mouth of the Persian woman waiting to suck on my lower lip, on my jaw.

“Fuck, you’re killing me,” Nate said, and I could tell from the tightness in his tone that he was close to his own release. We’d only been with each other a few times, but it was enough for me to learn his cues, and I wanted to see him, I wanted to be there for him.

The closure we’d never had could be turned into a new beginning, if he’d just come with me. Come for me.

I pulled away from the touches of other arms, other legs. I untangled myself and bent my knees in front of Nate.

“I’m your canvas,” I said. “Make me your art.”

Nate’s eyes hooded as he tugged harder on his cock and stepped closer. God, he was beautiful. He was a work of art. His body strong and finely chiseled, his jewel-green eyes arresting.

Behind me, Chuck followed to where I knelt so he could wrap his arms around my tits, one in each hand. He pushed them together, making perfect cleavage for the man in front of me.

“So hot. So fucking sexy.” Nate began muttering a string of words, dirty, filthy words, and then he shot his cum all over me—all over my breasts, over Chuck’s hands—painting me with his bliss.