Page 66 of The Fixer

“Like what?” I countered, chills racing my spine.

“I want to eat you.” His retort came quick, as if it’d been sitting on the tip of his tongue. “I want to lick every inch of your skin and see if you taste like the cinnamon cookies I’ve been dreaming about since we first met. I want to tie you up and fuck you until the only word on your lips is my name. I want to squeeze every ounce of sweetness out of you while you’re sucking my dick.”

He grabbed himself, stroking as he watched me, the red tip weeping liquid onto the skin of his hand.

“I want to spank you until you’re dripping,” he continued, “then claim your gorgeous ass. And when I’m done, I want to do it all over again.”

Was it wrong that his crass words had me clenching my thighs? My mouth dropped open as he closed his eyes, getting lost in some vision in his head while I got lost in the vision of him. His hand pumping, flexing over his hard shaft. His head lolling against the wall, his face a picture of pain, as if he was holding back.

I licked my lips. Gathered my courage. Then told him, “I want that.”

“Want what?” His eyes popped open, blazing a path up my body, from my legs to my breasts.

“I want you to do those things to me. Make me forget every word but your name. I want…”

He stood and prowled toward me, hands zipping through the buttons on his shirt, dropping it to the floor along with his pants. He crawled over me, hoisted me up with one arm as he pulled me up to the center of the bed. His hand gripped my throat, and those mercurial eyes stared down into mine.

“I want to make you come,” I whispered. “I want you to forget everything but my name.”

“Eliza.” He closed his eyes. Shook his head. Then he bent down and crushed his lips to mine. It was brutal, punishing, his tongue stroking inside my mouth as his thumb pressed at my throat. He lowered his big body over mine, pushing me down into the soft mattress, cocooning me in his warmth and his strength. He kissed me senseless, his hips pressed to mine. I could feel the hard length of him, and it was torture for me, knowing he was there, knowing I hadn’t given him the pleasure he deserved.

As if I wasn’t enough for him.

As if I could never be.

But I couldn't believe that. Especially not when his hips rolled against me, an ocean wave wrapped up in his body, looking to break free. He told me he wanted me. Told me he wanted to do all those horrible, wonderful, crazy things. And I wanted him to.

I slid my hand between our bodies, and he froze, pulling back and tensing when my hand wrapped around him. His eyes caught mine, and the man tilted his head, looking at me like I was a puzzle to him. Then that gaze dropped, down my breasts, past my stomach, to where I held him in my hand. To where I moved him, guiding him to the empty space between my legs.

He looked back up at me, silver eyes wide and searching. And I told him the only word I could think to say: “Jet.”

His tension melted away and he shuddered as he pressed into my core, body rocking slowly as if he were savoring every single feeling that swept through him. His eyes rolled back, his mouth dropped open, and I saw the ecstasy he’d been chasing written in the lines of his face. His arms shook, and he lowered himself to me. I wrapped my arms around him, lifting my hips with every quick thrust of his. And he gave me the greatest gift I’d ever received. He let me hold him while he made love to me.

17

Jet

Hands gripping my hair, I pulled hard, as if the ache could possibly make the rest of my pain disappear. I couldn’t believe I did that. Taken her the way I did. Fucked into her as if she were mine and brought her into my own bed.

I’d promised myself, this kind of thing would never happen. I’d never touch her, never hurt her. And yet there she was, splayed on my bed. Wrists bound to the headboard, ankles tied to the bottom of the bed. She was naked, the way she’d been all night. The way she’d been after she fell asleep in my arms, the girl too precious to let go.

I couldn’t let her go.

Thus, the bindings, keeping her here.

She roused, gently. A deep breath. The roll of her head. And the ache in my scalp turned to a sharp lance through my heart as she tried to draw her hands down her sides.

This was it. The moment I lost her.

“Jet?” She blinked in the dim light of the room, the curtains only pulled open a foot. Letting in a little of the early morning sun, but blocking out the rest of the world. “What’s going on?”

Fear and panic should have been racing across her face, the girl being subjected to one more horror to add to the mountain she’d been carrying the past few years. But I couldn’t bring myself to look at her, couldn’t draw my gaze from the floor.

My head shook. My hands yanked. I’d done this to her. Had promised I never would after what’d been done to me. If I were in her place, I would have run. Would have sped out of the apartment as fast as I could. But I couldn’t let her do that. My heart was wound up in her, woven into her being the way she was woven into mine. I was addicted before I’d even had a taste.

“Jet, sweetie?” she tried, her innocence rife. “Please, look at me. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t,” I rasped, dropping my hands and pulling my gaze up to her.