Page 63 of The Fixer

“I’m fucking done with him. He’s disrespected you for the last time and now I’ll rip him to shreds instead of beating his ass. What exactly did he say?” I growl.

“That he told Papà the night I was made that I didn’t belong in Nuova Notte. That I’m not cut out for this life. And he called my judgment into question.”

“I can’t stand by anymore and hope you two will rectify this yourselves. I’ll have Max investigate whether he was directly involved, although I doubt he’d be that stupid. When this is put to rest and Papà is ready for mediation, we’ll sit and hash this out.”

She thanks him before he leaves, grabbing my hand and walking toward the door. I pull her back to me, unable to help myself. I need to let my little brat know that she’s in trouble.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask her, a devious tone to my voice. “Lock the door.”

Maddalena

Garrix’s deep, commanding tone is impossible to ignore. The possibility of what that voice entails makes my skin erupt into goosebumps. I back up against the door, reaching behind me to lock it. He stands at the other end of the room, his stance powerful and his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes narrow on me, as if thinking of the perfect way to punish me. He’s the epitome of male beauty, even in a creased white dress shirt with bloodstains and a loosened tie.

“Come here.” His desire for me is so thick, I can feel it pressing on me from across the room.

I take a step toward him.

“Little killer, come to me.” He points to the spot directly in front of him, and I shake my head. “You’re going to be a handful, huh? Can’t make anything easy for me.”

“Of course not.” I take off the black henley Lola, one of the old ladies leant me, and place it on an empty part of the shelf. At the sight of my hard nipples pebbling the plain white bra beneath it, he grins.

“You look so innocent in a cotton bra and jeans. No lace or thrills. Like some good little suburban housewife getting undressed after a long day.” His smirk is a mix of mischief and pure lust.

“Yeah, it was a long day, and I have the feeling it’s about to get harder,” I play along.

“It definitely will for you if you don’t get your ass over here.” He takes a step toward me, starting to close the distance.

I shake my head, opting to slip my hands under my bra and massage my aching breast instead. Garrix watches me intently as I trail my thumbs over my nipples, alternating between flicking them and squeezing the soft flesh. He licks his lips, his hunger evident.

“I thought good wives listened to their husbands?” he teases me. “I told you to come here.”

A small moan slips free, and I bite my lip to stifle it. “I never vowed I’d be a good wife…”

He slowly closes the distance between us, his steps deliberate as he holds eye contact with me. Every second I peer into his smoldering eyes makes me feel like I’m melting. When he reaches me, there’s no space between us. His forearm is pressed to the door above my head and his other arm cages me in. His lips hover over mine.

“I like it when you’re bad, kitten. It makes playing with you much more fun.” He licks my lips, demanding entrance that I grant him without even thinking.

He owns my mouth, claiming me with each delve of his tongue and slide of his lips over mine. My fingers thread through his hair, and he bites down on my bottom lip. I gasp in surprise, pulling away from him.

“You don’t get to touch me,” he rasps, his fingers trailing past the fly on my borrowed jeans. He rubs his fingers against my seam. “You lost that privilege when you brought up your bestie. Turn around and put your hands on the door, so you’re not tempted.”

I slowly turn around, taking my time placing my hands on the door above my head. His chest brushes behind me, and I feel his hard length press into me. Taking my hands, he ties them together with his tie and loops the fabric over a hook at the top of the door.

“If you can’t come to me when I ask you, I’m not sure you should be coming at all,” he muses, as he unbuttons my jeans and works them down my thighs. He kicks my legs as far apart as the denim will allow, then swipes his fingers through my wetness.

I exhale, fighting the urge to beg for his touch. He wants to bend me until I break. For me to beg and plead for him to get me off. Two of his fingertips feather over my clit in slow circles, and my shaky, hitched breath gives me away.

“Don’t play with fire, little killer. That’s how you get burned.”

He drops to his knees behind me, then pulls my hips back so my breasts rub against the grain of the wooden door. The flat of his tongue swipes over me, from my clit to my entrance.

“You taste so sweet when you’re desperate for release,” he says in a mischievous tone.

His tongue laps at my clit in slow, deep motions. His hands roughly grasp my hips, pulling me toward him until my arms stretch against my restraints. My orgasm bubbles inside me, threatening to break free. He lightly sucks on it and my knees shake. He stops, darkly chuckling to himself as my climax fades away. I huff in frustration.

“Huff and pout all you want,” he says before nipping at my inner thigh. “But you’re not coming until I hear you beg for it. And if anyone outside this room hears you and comes knocking, I stop all together.”

I clamp my lips shut when he works a rough, thick digit inside me, then a second. He pumps them deeply in a torturously slow rhythm. His thumb presses into my clit, giving me just enough that I’m desperate to beg him for more, hanging onto my dignity by a thread.

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