Page 31 of Filthy Sweet

I blink and turn away. “Was I staring?”

He shrugs. “They’re doing it in the middle of the party. Staring is probably appreciated.”

“Uh, no,” I answer. “I don’t think I’ve ever stumbled across a fisting scene before.” My skin tingles. “It kind of looks painful, honestly. I’m sure this isn’t your first encounter?”

Fox shrugs, his eyes on the fisting. “Personally, it’s not really my thing. But I appreciate the view.”

Relief washes through me. It’s not like anything is happening between us right now, but for the sake of my fantasies, I’d rather not wrestle with the concept of fitting a hand inside of me.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure it’s not my thing, either.” I sip my drink, something Fox picked, brown with a cherry. “Pretty impressive, though.”

Fox chuckles. “Yeah. I’d say so.”

All of the good, excited feelings I get around Fox rise up. I never thought I’d go somewhere like this, and it’s intimidating as hell, but in a way I actually like. A part of me feels more inexperienced and naïve than ever, but being with Fox, it’s possible to push those insecurities aside.

I’m super confused about how Fox sees me, but right now, in this moment, I’m just so happy to be with him.

A man in a sleek black suit appears in front of us, an empty tray in his hand. “Good evening,” he says, his voice low and steady, and looks directly at me. “The gentleman by the glass vases would like to send you a cocktail. Will you oblige him?”

Fox and I both cast our eyes out over the party, and I spot the man. He’s probably in his mid-forties, strikingly handsome in that rugged way, and dressed in a plain white button-up, the sleeves rolled to his beefy biceps.

“Oh, I’m here with someone,” I say quickly to the man, then inch a little closer to Fox. “But thank you.”

“You can accept a drink,” Fox says, a strain in his voice, “if you want.”

The man with the tray gives us a slight nod. “Let me know when you’ve made your decision,” he says and disappears.

I turn to Fox. “We’re on a fake date, though,” I say, confused. “I can’t accept a drink from someone else.” Although what I really feel is that he shouldn’t want me to accept a drink from someone else.

Fox shrugs, avoiding my eyes. “We’re at a sex party. And I don’t exactly have a monogamous reputation.” He looks out over the party. “I’m not going to meet anyone tonight. But if you decide there’s someone you like, I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Oh.” I shift my weight to the side. “Thanks.”

That’s nice of Fox to be thinking of me that way. Except it doesn’t actually feel nice because I’d rather Fox wanted me all to himself, but every time I start to believe that’s true, he does something like this.

Maybe my brain is broken.

“You’re polyamorous?” I ask.

Fox upends his drink, finishing it. “Not exactly. It’s more like I haven’t done monogamous, if that makes sense.” He sets his empty glass on a tall table behind us, then meets my eyes again. “Honestly, I’d love it if I didn’t have to seek out new partners all the time. It’s fucking exhausting.”

I laugh. “I’m sure it is.”

“What about you? You’re looking for a relationship, but do you know what kind?”

“I think so. I want something stable and committed and monogamous. Like a partner, someone who is really in it with me.” I sip my drink and glance around the sex party. “I’ve never really thought much beyond that. Does that sound boring?”

“For all you know,” Fox points out, “those fist-loving ladies could be married and monogamous.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s a good point.”

“Stable sounds nice,” Fox agrees. “Something to rely on doesn’t have to be boring. It can be a fucking thrill, actually.”

“Like the bird migration,” I say, then bite my lip. Fox is genuinely interested in my work, but it feels dorky to bring that up now.

My insecurity instantly melts away when Fox smiles. “Exactly.”

Okay, cool. Fox is potentially open to a monogamous relationship. That’s interesting.

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