Page 41 of The Fix

No means she’s coming for me.

Yes means she already came for me.

Grunting, I reach into my shorts and tuck my stiff dick beneath the elastic mere seconds before Anna enters the kitchen. In a cute little off-white frilly top that stops just beneath her tits and pants that mold to her ass, leaving a peek of porcelain smooth skin between the two pieces.

Her hair flows in waves around her shoulders, the red strands a bright contrast against her pale skin, and I can’t help but picture the way my hand would look wrapped up in her locks.

I’ve never seen her so relaxed.

My dick pulses at the thought—well, at everything about her—begging for attention.

“Is it done?” Anna calls, her back to me with the teasing little patch of skin calling to me like a siren in the night, while she retrieves the serving spoon I abandoned.

“Yeah.” Even I hear it in my voice, the gravel so thick that it almost comes out like a growl, when she glances over her shoulder in my direction, a slight pink tinting her pretty face.

There it is.

I groan when she shoots an innocent smile my way, then goes about stirring and fucking with shit in the kitchen.

It takes two full length deep breaths and a countdown from ten to get my feet to move me back across the living room and into the kitchen instead of up the stairs to the box of liquor stashed on the dusty floor. I lean against the island, my hands clutching the surface, the height a perfect cover for the boner that’s refusing to settle.

But then Anna bends into the fridge, her perfect ass pushing up into the air, and it takes every bit of my control to white-knuckle the counter instead of vaulting over it.

I need a fucking drink.

Shaking the thought that keeps resurfacing in my head, I puff out a breath and run a hand through my hair.

After what happened last night, I’ve been doing my damnedest to ignore that niggle in the back of my mind, refusing that urge to pick up the bottle. It’s been tormenting me all day, tempting me, calling me to take just one sip to ease the anxiety it’s caused.

I was on my way to do just that.

The way her eyes looked up at me, all sad and puffy and full of fucking pity, is exactly why I’ve kept that night to myself for twelve goddamned years.

I never want her, or anyone, to look at me like that again.

Even the boys don’t know the truth of the whole deal and even if they’ve figured it out, they don’t talk about it because I don’t talk about it.

Talking about it hurts.

“Jeffers.” The snapping tone draws me back to another look I’m adding to the list of shit I don’t want to see on Anna’s face when it comes to me.

Worry.

“Yeah, Mama?” I meet her gaze, ignoring the little crinkle between her brows, and give her a nod of reassurance. “What’d you need?”

At least my dick calmed down.

“I asked you …” She pauses to lick her lips, the pink of her tongue drawing my eyes and tempting my dick all over again. “I asked how you liked your chili.”

I take in the way her mouth entrances me to the proud cleavage dipping into the low neckline of her top. “In a bowl like a normal person.”

She leans into the counter, the light illuminating the freckles that adorn her skin, light and barely there, yet enough to outline the tops of her tits all the way around to her exposed shoulders. It’s an irritated stance, and somehow, it’s sexy as fuck. I’m ready to get her on this countertop, beneath these lights, just to see what other colors I’d find on her body.

And how rosy she’d let me get that ass from my palm.

“Jeffers.”

“Yeah?” Slowly, so very slowly, I trail my gaze down her, pausing at the peaked nipples behind the lace. “Need me to show you how to eat good?”

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