Page 25 of Fiona and the Fixer

In my slut-induced haze, I could only nod. I hadn’t been with a guy since long before my neuroma was diagnosed. My brain was shutting down all crucial thoughts. My hearing, it wasn’t focused on anything. Only bits of noise and voices were processing.

A car horn. A toilet flushing–there was always a flushing toilet somewhere. Various voices somewhere within a one block range.

“She’s ten months.”

“Toss the pickles.”

“–tent that fits six and has–”

“–shipment–”

He looked left, then right then–with his hand still at the back of my neck–guided me around one of the long rows of books so we were hidden from anyone on the sidewalk and pressed me against it. With his hard body. I didn’t hear anything after that but his words, “I gotta make you come.” Because with deft hands, he went to the button on my jeans.

I nodded again when he got my zipper down, becauseyes, please.“Okay.”

When his hand slid beneath my panties and cupped me, I whimpered. My skin flushed hot.

He groaned. “Fucking perfect.”

Fingers slipped over my clit, and I rolled my hips. The way he was touching me, he might have been fucking perfect, too.

With those piercing blue eyes, he watched me closely, seemingly taking in every gasp, every back arch, whimper, clench as a sign for what I liked. When he slid not one, but two thick fingers into me, I gripped his forearm, not to pull him away, but to hold him there. I went up onto my toes. I was so full. And that was just his fingers. If he was as big as he boasted, I wasn’t sure if I could take him.

“That’s it. Ride my hand. Fuck, you’re dripping all over it.”

Every dirty thing he said got me closer and closer to coming, which wasn’t that far off. He was just that good. I should hate him for it because he was arrogant enough, but I didn’t dare do anything that would get him to stop.

My eyes flared when I was right on the edge. Held my breath.

He knew. “Good girl.”

Two words. Those two words were my kink. Not BDSM or whatever else the yoga instructor wanted to do with him. I wanted to be his good girl so fucking bad.

Ha! Take that bendy lady. It wasmypussy he was fingering.

“Yes!” I whimpered, coming hard. I couldn’t stop my hips from rocking, riding his hand exactly like he said. “So good. So good. So good.”

Only when I flopped my head back against a row of books while trying to catch my breath did he slide his fingers from me. When he put them in his mouth and licked them clean, I went feral.

Yeah, me.

“More. Now.”

He arched a brow. The turn of his lips indicated he was amused.

It was my turn to undo his jeans, flicking the button fly open with ease, then reaching in.

Good God, he was as big as he boasted.

He gave a cursory glance around, then removed my hands from his pants and tugged me down with him to thefloor. He sat on the hardwood, his back against the bookshelf and shifted enough to get his dick out.

He was a sight. Gorgeous, casual. Completely dressed except for his long, thick, veiny, hard dick ready to go.

“Condom,” I said, running my tongue over my lower lip.

He pulled one from his wallet and slid it on as I tried to get my jeans off. I almost face planted into a short stack of books titledCall Me Daddyand got one leg free. Then I gave up because there was… whatever his name was, Mr. Suit, stroking himself and watching me with hooded eyes. And a hell of a lot of mirth.

I straddled his lap, my knees on either side of his thighs. My jeans and panties were a tangled clump on my left calf.

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