THE FIXER

I mean, completely naked-no towel wrapped around her, just her pale skin and-aw fuck-the most beautiful pair of tits I’ve ever seen. I get fully hard before my gaze has even traveled lower, past the soft mound of her belly to glimpse her-Gospodi-bare sex.

Either she shaved for me in there, or she’s been recently waxed.

Fuck. Me.

“What are you doing?” I ask as she walks over to the bed and pulls the covers down to climb in.

“I sleep naked,” she says.

First of all-bullshit. Yerunda. Second, she’s not going to play this sex manipulation game with me. Not again. It ends now.

“Sugar, you climb in this bed naked, I will fuck you so hard and so well you won’t walk right tomorrow.”

She freezes. Her nipples tighten like bolts, and I see goosebumps race across her skin. She straightens and cocks a hip, one hand on her waist. “You said you wouldn’t force me.”

I shrug. “If you want me to hold back, caxapok, you keep your clothes on. That’s all I’m going to say.”

We lock gazes. Her perfect breasts lift and lower with her rapid breathing. Whatever she sees in my face must tell her I’m not fucking around because she turns away. “Fine.”

I watch the twitch of her gorgeous ass as she struts to the dresser. I think she’s going to open her suitcase, but instead, she opens and shuts my drawers until she finds one with my t-shirts. She pulls on a soft cotton undershirt and comes to bed. No panties. Just my fucking white shirt. She crawls in with her back to me.

All I can think about is that bare fucking pussy within reaching distance. How much I want to push open her knees and lick her until she screams. Give her everything she wanted from me all those years ago.

I flick off the lamp. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Sasha.”

“It’s the only one I know,” she says into the darkness.

Her words pierce through my irritation at her cock-tease, the haze of testosterone, to land somewhere in my chest with a sharp jab. The honesty of her answer cuts me off at the knees. Of course, it’s the only one she knows.

Sex is the only weapon she’s been taught to wield.

This is why I need to work harder to disarm her. I roll on my side and loop an arm around her waist, dragging her backward until her ass meets my lap. With great effort, I will my erection down as she stiffens and stops breathing.

I kiss her shoulder. “You’re mine now,” I tell her softly. “Which means we’re on the same team. Stop fighting me.”

She continues to hold her breath. I feel her belly flex against my arm, and then she lets out her breath on a sob.

I pull her tighter. Aw, fuck. She just lost her father, with whom she had a complicated relationship with at best. She got married off like a medieval bride to a guy she doesn’t trust not to break her.

She sucks in her breath and holds it again.

“Let it out,” I murmur against her nape. “You’ve had a hell of a week.”

She doesn’t breathe, though. She keeps holding it until my own lungs feel like they’ll burst out of sympathy, and then she wallops me in the eye with her elbow.

“Blyat.” I release her, but she turns in the darkness and strikes out at me again.

My reflexes fire too quickly, and I catch her wrists, holding her captive before I realize she needs this tantrum. I let her go, and she attacks me, sobbing as she pummels me with her fists. She must not want to hurt me, though, because she picks up a pillow and uses it, instead, to whack me over the head and shoulders.

I let the blows fall, listen to her sobbing breath and whimpers until they slow, then I take the pillow from her. “Enough.” I pin her wrists down beside her head, my body blanketing hers.

She whimpers again, an angry sob. My mouth crashes down on hers. She tastes of tears and toothpaste. I slide my lips over her softer ones, dragging her lower lip into my mouth, then going at it again, flicking my tongue between her lips.

She kisses me back, moaning softly into my mouth.

I catch myself grinding in the notch between her legs, and I stop myself. This isn’t about sex. I’m not going to force that issue. I just want to give her the connection she craves. Bind the two of us together with something besides bitter words and an ugly past.

Our lips twist and tangle. I slow the claiming.

“Enough,” I murmur again, possibly more to myself than her, and force myself off of her. I slide once more to her side, rolling her to face away from me and looping an arm around her waist. “Go to sleep, caxapok. We can fight more in the morning.”

Her breath rasps quick and frantic for a few more minutes then slows to normal and eventually into slumber.

Only then do I let myself drift into a much-needed sleep.

Sasha

MAXIM GETS UP FIRST, waking me as he climbs out of bed. I pretend to be asleep. I don’t know why-I guess because I’m not ready to face him.

Not after last night.

The way I broke down in front of him. The way he kissed me. At least it was dark. I didn’t have to look into his handsome face after he’s seen so much of me.

The real me, I mean. Not just the naked me.

I hear the shower turn on, and the urge to run comes over me.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

It’s a literal urge-I’m a morning jogger-but also an emotional one.

I’m not running away from Maxim permanently. That would accomplish nothing. He controls my cash. And my mother’s. I wish I could say I’m one of those girls who gives the middle finger to money and walks away, but I’m not ready for that. And my mom needs me to do this.