Page 7 of Dirty Sweet Valentine
Four
Lost in the enjoyment of Chuck’s breast play, I didn’t notice that Justice had finished up with her spanking session.
“On this Saturday before Valentine’s Day, I also have a declaration,” she said. “One better shown than spoken.”
Justice too? What the hell?
When I lifted my head to look, she was on the ground crawling toward me, her naked full breasts bouncing as she moved across the floor. Chuck eased up on the nipple play as we both stared.
Then Justice was between my legs, her hands sweeping down my inner thighs before settling on my pussy. Here, her thumbs traced my slit, one going up to lift the skin hiding my clit, the other going lower, lower still. Using my own juices as lube, she slid the digit into my back entrance as her mouth lowered to suck the swollen bundle of nerves.
“Holy shit,” I cried out, feeling an orgasm begin to churn deep inside me. Justice was a pussy-licking goddess. Who knew? I certainly didn’t. I’d had my face between her thighs plenty of times myself, and been spanked by her a few times as well, but she wasn’t a domme who was very generous with giving out pleasure. Which was fine—she doled out punishment with mastery. I’d never wanted anything more from her.
Turned out she was a woman of many skills. How fortunate was I?
While Justice feasted, Chuck did as well, moving to kneel at my side so he could suck on my breasts as well as play with them. At first, he adored them through the material of my dress, but soon he pushed my dress up higher so he could lick and suck my bare skin.
I came as soon as he used his teeth.
It was then that Kennedy made his declaration. “On this Saturday before Valentine’s Day…” He trailed off. “Hell, you know the spiel by now.”
He came around behind me and wrapped his hand in my hair. With a sharp yank, he tugged my head back. Then he bent down and began to kiss me, his nose pressing against my chin, his tongue plundering deep into my mouth. He kissed me and kissed me, one hand holding my head where he wanted it, the other reaching up to fondle the breast that Chuck was neglecting.
And as I surrendered to the abundance of pleasure, with so many mouths and hands and tongues and teeth all focused on me, I was still clearly aware of Nate across the room, watching me, probably holding his cock at this point. My eyes were closed, but I could picture him stroking himself, could picture him getting off on my enjoyment, and with sudden distinct clarity, I knew that he was behind this. That this pleasure orgy centered on me was all him.
The realization sent another full-blown orgasm ricocheting through my body, turning my skin into fire and making my body shake with the intensity.
Kennedy released my mouth so I could properly vocalize my rapture, so when I’d settled and the spots had cleared from my eyes, I could see that Nate was no longer across the room, but standing at my side, opposite Chuck. His cock was indeed out, his fist pumping swiftly up and down the length, his face scrunched up in that expression that said he was about to come.
With a jagged moan, he released, spilling his cum over my chest in hot white ribbons. It was hot and it was kinky and so many men had come on me at these parties without it meaning anything, but I had no doubt that this particular marking was all about claiming me as his.
And, to my surprise, I didn’t mind.
I didn’t only not mind, it thrilled me.
Suddenly needing to stand, I thrashed against my restraints. “Help me up?” I said to no one specific.
Kennedy moved to undo my hands while Justice and Chuck released my feet. Nate grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned me off and was done and had retreated back to the side by the time I was free and standing again.
“Thank you, guys. Kennedy, Justice, Chuck. I’ll pay you all back, I swear.” But right now I had other priorities.
I crossed to Nate and, grabbing him by the lapels, I yanked him into me. My mouth crashed against his, devouring him like a sex-starved woman rather than a woman who had just gotten off multiple times in a crowd.
When our kiss had progressed to the point that we needed to either cut it off or move to a prone position, I pulled away, and, without taking even a second to think about it, I said the words I never thought I’d tell a man, especially not in public. “I love you.”
Nate’s eyes went wide. He shook his head in surprise. “Whoa.”
Heat spread across my face, and I was a girl who only ever flushed during sexual activities, never from embarrassment. “I mean…I didn’t mean...I shouldn’t have...” Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Nate cupped a large hand around my face. “Hey. It’s all good. You surprised me is all. I love you, too.”
I drew in a breath and blinked back whatever was happening in my tear ducts. “It is good, isn’t it? This is good. It’s all good.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I think it is. We’re good.”
“I love you, and we’re good.” Geez, now I couldn’t stop saying it.
He nodded, his face growing solemn. “I love you, and we’re good.”
He kissed me again, slower this time, his lips reassuring me, his tongue tethering me then releasing me again. It mirrored the way we were together, two balloons soaring in the sky, tied together at the strings, pulling away and coming back together, over and over in the wind.
He pulled away this time. With a swat on my ass, he nudged me back toward the others. “You owe some people some paybacks. Go play. Give me a show.”
Later, it would be just me and him, in this room, maybe, or in a bedroom upstairs or back at one of our apartments. We’d be naked together, our skin pressing everywhere, as he fucked me, his measured thrusts taking me to places I could never reach with anyone but him.
But for now, he would watch.
And I would play, sure in his love and certain that he’d always be there for me when I returned.
Read more about Trish and Nate and their adventures at the Open Door in
Dirty Filthy Fix, a 1001 Dark Nights novella.
* * *
For more stories featuring the Open Door,
check out these titles:
The Open Door, a 1001 Dark Nights novella
and
Rivalry
Dirty Sweet Valentine
Dirty Sweet Valentine
I’d imagined Harrington Steele on my doorstep countless times.
How he looked varied in my fantasies over the years, changing based on trends and the current whims of my heart. Sometimes the stubbled jaw that I’d loved so much became a full beard. Sometimes the lines by his mouth had deepened. Sometimes he wore a fitted suit like he’d donned that night we saw Carmen at the opera. Most times he wore a pair of jeans and a Henley, the look I remember on him most. Sometimes he’d changed so much I barely recognized him, and I had to squint and ask in an unsteady voice, “Harrington?”
Sometimes I knew him immediately, but pretended I didn’t. I fancied it gave me somewhat of an upper hand to play ignorant. To play detached and unaffected. Showing him that I had been just fine without him, that he hadn’t altered my very DNA by leaving and taking my heart with him.
/> And sometimes there were no games, no pretenses, only jubilation. Only pure bliss. Those times I fell silently into his arms and kissed him with all the emotions I’d kept pent up since he’d said goodbye that winter evening one and a half decades ago.
Nothing I’d imagined, however, compares to the reality. Nothing I’d imagined prepared me in the least, and after opening the door and finding him here in the flesh—on Valentine’s Day, no less—the most prevalent emotion inside me is relief.
Relief because I always knew he’d come back. Relief because I can finally stop waiting, stop questioning, stop wondering when. Relief because I can set down this weight of longing I’ve carried for so long, roll my shoulders back, and stand tall like the strong woman I’ve been pretending I am.
I did know him immediately. Of course I did. There wasn’t even a second’s pause before recognition. Even with the new creases by his eyes. Even with the receding hairline. He’s still ruggedly handsome and devastatingly perfect. He’s still my Harrington, and he still destroys me with a single glance. My knees have lost their steadiness. My breathing stutters as my chest rises and falls. My heart gallops away from me, and if he keeps studying me the way I’m studying him, like I’m a precious jewel that he’s spent his lifetime searching for, then I’m going to collapse in a heap at his feet.
“Amelia,” he says roughly, and I’m practically undone. I thought I’d remembered exactly how sweet the word sounds on his tongue, but I was wrong. I’d forgotten it was this delicious. Forgotten how he can make four simple syllables sound like a prayer. How he can make me feel not just loved but revered. As though it were the name of a saint instead of plain old boring me.
