Fix It Up - Mary Calmes Page 0,71

kissed me.

I liked to kiss. I did a lot of it, and I was good at it, enjoyed it and could deliver one that led directly to bed. The thing was, that was on me, my decision, my timeline, my desire. More than that, I had actually never been kissed by someone who wanted me for more than just screwing. First kisses I’d had in the past were from strangers, or people I knew a bit, like Brann, before we hit the sheets. I’d never been kissed by anyone in my life, for the first time, who I had been with day in and day out, who I’d lived with, fought with, worked with, and kept my hands off of for as long as I had Nick Madison. So when his lips met mine and he kissed me, opening my mouth, his tongue thrusting deep, claiming with almost brutal possessiveness, all I could do was let him in.

He knocked me back into the side of the house and kissed me frantically, fervently, the heat building as he took and ravaged, and when I clutched at him, taking him in my arms, my hand on the small of his back, pressing him close, the other fisted in his hair, I heard the moan deep in his throat. I felt his submission and took control, sucking on his tongue, making him writhe in my arms as I turned him, shoving him up against the wall and kissing him hard.

The bite was a surprise, and I broke the kiss, panting, to stare at him.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he growled, his voice all sensual, simmering heat as he stared into my eyes. “Kiss me some more.”

I pulled free, hand on his chest, holding him still.

Those full lips of his were swollen now, and red, curled into a decadent grin. “Come here. I’m gonna kiss you all over.”

I didn’t feel in control, not when he was looking at me like I was prey.

“Nick,” I breathed his name, trying to figure out what I was going to say. He could not waste his health and sobriety on me, I wouldn’t allow that. I was not who he needed, and I wasn’t a permanent fixture in his life, anyway. “Listen to me,” I demanded, brushing his hand away when he tried to touch me. “You have no––”

“All I’ve been doing is listening to you,” he said, giving me a trace of a smile as he grabbed my wrist, and yanked me forward, pivoting at the last second and putting me against the wall.

The power so effortlessly displayed, the manhandling, the way he moved, sent a throb of arousal to my cock that was hard to hide.

“Loc,” he said, having discovered, in seconds, more than I wanted him to know. “I thought maybe, because I see how you look at me, but you never did anything about it.”

“I’m your fixer and––”

“Talk, talk, talk,” he whispered, pressing his thigh between mine, widening my stance as he leaned in and kissed the base of my throat. “It’s all you do,” he whispered, kissing behind my ear, nuzzling as both hands gripped my hips and squeezed tight. “And I’ve followed every rule, done everything you asked, and it was good, and I’m glad I did, and I’m so thankful and very grateful, but now, Loc, I want my fuckin’ reward.”

I met his gaze and glared at him. “This is why I’m leaving as soon as we get back home. Now that you’re all fixed up, suddenly you’re thinking I’m, what, some piece of ass that you get because you finished the goddamn program?” I yelled at him.

“God, you’re an idiot,” he said indulgently, grinning at me lazily, hands lifting to the sides of my neck. “I don’t mean that you’re a prize for me getting my life together. I mean I want the reward of having you, all of you, in my bed, yes, but that’s only part of it. The reward is you being with me, in my life, period.”

I shook my head. “Your judgment is clouded, and I know because this has happened to me before. Clients get confused because when a fixer does their job, the clients tend to get attached.”

“I am not attached,” he assured me, quickly working open my damp belt and then the top button of my wet jeans, reaching under the elastic waistband of my briefs to take hold of my dick. “Or I should say, I’m way more than just attached.”

I bucked forward into