Page 63 of The Fixer

“You shouldn’t even be near me,” Jet hissed, his voice filled with the kind of vehemence he’d thrown at Zee. I spun, thumping against the window as I tried to step back from the menacing man who had silently crept up behind me. “My life is nothing but violence. Death after death, the people I love getting hurt. That motorbike gang could have killed you. It could have been you in that SUV, upside down and hurt. It could have been you with a bullet through your heart. I won’t let that happen to you.”

“Did you forget?” I asked, body trembling even as I tried to stand still. “Everything that’s happened this past week is because of me, Jet, not you. This gang—whoever they are—they aren’t after you. They didn’t break into your apartment. They only tried to kill you because of me. So don’t you dare give me that nonsense.”

In a flash, his hand was at my throat, his tight grip pressing me into the glass. My hands splayed against the window. I was too shocked to do anything but blink. “You think that violence doesn’t live in me, too?” His eyes dropped to where his thumb pressed into my flesh, where he slid it along my jaw and against the side of my neck.

“I don’t think you could ever hurt me,” I told him, forcing the sound over the solid press of his hand against my throat. “I don’t think you’d allow yourself to.”

“You don’t know that,” he rasped, gaze dragging down, down, dropping to my breasts, to the low dip of my dress. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Neither do you.”

His eyes flared as they flashed back up and caught mine. They darkened as I wetted my dry lips. I ached under his gaze, my blood pulsing beneath his thumb as every inch of my body grew warm. With my muscles trembling, I lifted my hands, settling them on Jet’s stomach before sliding them up his chest.

In an instant, he’d let me go. Spun me around and boxed me in against the window. Big body hovering over me, heat emanating in waves, electrical energy arching between us and begging me to close the distance, to press my body backward into his.

If only I had the courage.

“What do you want, Eliza?” he asked, voice rough and raw, gravel in his throat. His hands spread wide against the glass, the muscles of his arms bulging on either side of my head.

“You,” I whispered, the word barely squeaking out.

“What about me?”

“I want…” Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. The heat that flooded my body rose to my cheeks. “I want you to touch me. I want…”

“Where?” he demanded, face close to my ear. “How?”

“Everywhere.” I shifted on my feet, thighs clenching as I squirmed. Pictures flashed behind my eyelids, my desires strong and heady and locked inside my head. I swallowed and my stomach dropped, the impulse to burst into tears, to run away, as strong as my desire to stay. “I want…”

I couldn’t say it.

I couldn’t—

“I want you to…”

Lord, help me.

“... touch me. Everywhere.”

A cool breeze whipped by, chilling my skin before Jet’s hands were on me. One grabbing my throat, the other sliding down my bare body into the pale, lacy panties I’d put on under my dress.

My dress, which now lay in shreds at my feet.

“Like this?” Jet asked, long fingers snaking beneath the lace. And I whimpered as those fingers slid against my clit. Whimpered again as I felt the rough intrusion of him pressing into me, a pain so blissful ripping through me as he thrust.

A cry tumbled from my throat.

“You like that, sweet girl?” Jet murmured against my neck, his fingers pulsing inside of me, hand still clenched at my throat. I couldn’t do anything but whimper again, dragging in a shaky breath. Unable to do anything other than feel him against me, inside of me, an ocean wave crashing into me and burying me in his depths.

It had been so long. So long since I’d done anything like this. But no. No. What I’d done wasn’t even remotely close. There’d been no passion in my life. No throbbing pleasure or biting pain. Not like this. Not like the feel of Jet’s fingers pressed deep inside of me, his big, hot body holding me in place.

Jet pressed his stomach into my back, his heat a blazing fury compared to the cold glass against my bare breasts. My nipples pebbled against the chill, my body rocking in time with each thrust of his hand.

“Jet,” I said, just a whisper. Just a whimper, because what else could I do?

“Does that feel good, sweet girl,” he asked, his lips a gruff whisper at my throat. “You like being on display? Being fucked by my hand with your tits pressed to the glass?”

“Oh,” I whimpered as he rocked his hips into my butt, the hard ridge of his erection prodding too close to my crack.