Page 177 of Fixation
Curling a hand around the nape of my neck, his teeth toy with the idea of biting my earlobe.
“Kitten. What’s this?” He gestures to my workbench.
Toward my scattered tools. The spread-out gemstones in black and crimson red.
The last piece of my summer collection.
I’m all done, basically. I’ll be sending it to Emersyn later today.
Though this isn’t really what he’s asking. About my progress.
His presence is hot on my back. A menacing shadow.
My nipples pull tight. I gulp around the lump in my throat.
The groan that rumbles in his chest makes my breath hitch. His mouth traces barely-there kisses on my cheek. My jaw. My neck.
“I asked, what’s this?”
Of course he’d choose my chasing hammer as a threat. He picks it up, holding it in front of my face. Letting me know I’ve been a brat.
I like it. Testing him.
I like that he cares so much that he’d punish me for this. For killing myself over work.
“Because it can’t be work.” He taps the hammer’s smooth, rounded face to my already hard nipple. “I instructed you to stay in bed for another two hours.”
My head tips back against his solid shoulder. His scrub top is warm and smells ofhim, not of blood and antiseptic. It isn’t the one he left with earlier. He’s changed to a clean one for me.
“It’s just a couple of hours,” I whine, knowing it upsets him. Knowing it gets his dick hard. “I’m a big girl. I can work if I want. And I need this.”
“Rest is what you need.” A tap to my other nipple. Harder.
I gasp. Then shriek as more come, grinding my hips on the chair.
“This”—more, more, and oh my God—“isn’t”—he doesn’t hold back anymore, and I can’t stop fucking the chair—“resting.”
“I’m not sorry.” I reach back for his hand, guiding it to my throat. Begging him to choke me. To hurt me.
He does it exceptionally well, and I’m dripping for it. My panties are a mess.
“That was the last piece from my new collection. I had to get it done.” I don’t thank him for it. I already did a few times. “My ankle is better. Everything’s fine and?—”
A feral growl kills the rest of my argument. The hammer clinks on the surface of my workbench.
I’m being scooped into Anderson’s arms.
“Brat.” His kiss is as feral as his growl, both of them commanding my attention. My life. Every last breath I have in me. “Going behind my back. You figured I’d be out for the rest of the day, didn’t you?”
What’s the use of lying? Nothing gets past him. My feelings. My needs. My stubbornness.
I lift my chin. A tiny show of strength. A flower daring the hurricane to pluck it off the ground.
“I did.”
Anderson makes a low sound in the back of his throat. We descend the steps, his eyes reminding me of the abyss.
Even the darkest gems in my collection aren’t as dark.
