Page 64 of The Fixer

“You think there’s anyone watching you? Watching you squirm as I play with you? Do you think they like what they see? A little girl, too scared to use words like fuck? You think they’re out there getting off watching you get off on me?”

Heat fluttered and flared, zipping up my throat beneath his hand, warming my cold chest, scorching my backside where his still-clothed member pressed. I couldn’t think through the embarrassment. Couldn’t speak through the pleasure coursing through my veins. Every scrape of his long fingers had something pulling at my stomach, tightening at my core, my body revolting at the feeling between my legs.

But he wouldn’t stop. He hoisted me up, pressed me harder into the window, hand at my throat, lifting me as his hips held me in place. His hand worked harder, faster, sliding in and out of me, so tight it had me wanting to cry, fingers so thick I couldn’t take anymore. That didn’t stop him. Didn’t stop him from gathering my juices, from squeezing one more finger inside of me, making the pleasure unbearable, the pain ripping through my stomach and up my spine.

“Jet,” I whimpered, every muscle inside of me fluttering, pulsing, my body weeping as I came.

I came. I came and I came and I came. Lord, I didn’t think it’d ever stop. Didn’t think the pounding could possibly wrench one more ounce of pleasure from me. But it did, his thumb pressing against my clit. It did, fingers curling into a spot that made fireworks flash behind my eyes.

My body slumped as his hand slowed, every bit of energy inside of me zapped. Jet lowered me to the ground, his hand at my throat sliding down to grip my hip, the thick fingers inside of me holding still, holding me up.

A quiet cry tore through my throat, and Jet pulled me closer, draping my limp body over his chest. My head lulled and his nose nudged at my cheek. Nudging to keep my head up.

“So fucking gorgeous,” Jet murmured against my face. “So goddamn beautiful it hurts.”

His fingers slipped from me, and he lifted his hand to my lips. Touching me, pressing against the seam as he hummed, pure pleasure rumbling from his chest.

“Taste what I did to you, sweet girl,” he said, slipping the tip of his finger between my lips. “Taste the mess you made all over my hand.”

Though I’d never done such a thing before, I let him in, let the taste of me coat my tongue. Gathering courage with a quick breath, I curled my tongue around his finger, lapping at the musky wetness before closing my lips.

Another hum rumbled through him as I sucked him deeper into my mouth. He tightened his grip at my hip, then slid his palm across my stomach, pulling me back into him until I could feel every inch of his erection against my backside. Dampened by its covering, but no less menacing.

“Fuck, Eliza,” he hissed as I nearly choked on his finger. Without warning, he spun me around, shoving my bare back against the window, his eyes dripping like molten lava across every inch of my exposed body.

Nipples peaked against the cold.

Breasts and stomach heaving with every breath.

The wet patch of cloth between my legs, soaking up the mess this man had caused with just his presence, his fingers leaving me throbbing yet spent.

His eyes flicked to mine for a moment, then lowered to my open mouth. To where my tongue darted out, desperate for moisture, for a drink, for a taste of this man.

He didn’t make me wait. Jet lowered his face, lips touching mine for the first time, and I gasped. His own mouth opened, his tongue sweeping out in an urgent rush. As if he couldn’t wait to taste me, to taste the musky flavor that coated my mouth. With long strokes, he coaxed me to meet him, to roll over him as he swirled his tongue around mine. Then he was stroking the roof of my mouth, his hands gripping my hips as he pressed his own hips into me. His hard length was pinned between us, not moving, not being pushed and prodded into me the way I expected. Not causing me pain.

Not causing me pleasure.

His focus was my mouth, his only thrusts, the only prodding, all done with his tongue. I’d never felt this, never in my life had someone showered me with this kind of attention. Where I expected rough hands and bodies exposed, Jet gave me calm. While I awaited hurried sex while I laid still, taking whatever was given to me, Jet stood there, hard and untouched, as he gave me more pleasure with his fingers than I’d had my entire life.

And his words. His dirty, dirty words. Making me feel wanted as he spoke them, telling me I was beautiful as if he meant it. There was no tearing at my heart, tearing at my soul, tearing me to pieces like I’d come to expect.

He built me up.

Made me feel whole.

“Jet,” I whimpered, sucking in a shaky breath. And only then did the man move. With his mouth still stealing my attention, slanting against my own, his hands slid down my hips. Over my butt. Tugging at my thighs, lifting me up. He pressed his hips harder into mine, pinning me against the window as he wrapped my legs around his waist. The cold press of the glass against my back fought against the raging heat of the man at my front.

Finally, Jet granted me a reprieve. His mouth slowed, the press and prod of his tongue stopping, his warm lips gentle cushions against my own. With one last kiss, the man dropped his forehead to mine, breath coming in ragged drags across those plush lips.

“What do you want, Eliza?” he murmured into the narrow space between us. And all I could think about was the hard bulge pressing between my legs.

“You,” I whispered, a quiet cry from my soul. “Inside me.”

“I just was,” he said, nudging my nose with his.

“No.” I swallowed at the lump rising in my throat, my hands splaying across his chest. “Not your fingers. I want…”

“You want me to fuck you?”