The Fixer Read online Jessica Gadziala (Professionals #1)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Professionals Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
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Aven worked hard and kept her head above water, but had long since accepted that she would never know what it was like to drive a luxury car or live in a house that cost closer to a million than half.

I had bought the place on a whim when I got tired of living out of a suitcase in the hotel in town as my office was being renovated. I had taken the ride with the agent to the first house on her list, walked around, and made an offer before I even left the property.

It was a place I hung my hat.

But I hadn't even had much of a hand in decorating it aside from telling Jules to tell the designer to not put any frilly chick shit in it.

"Shut up," she said when we walked in through the entryway into the kitchen that was easily bigger than her entire lower floor with quartz countertops, white cabinets, and flat slate fronted appliances. "I could actually have space to spread out ingredients here," she declared, moving over to the island, spreading her arms on it until her chest was resting on it, making her ass stick out.

And, well, I wasn't about to pass on that opportunity, was I?

I moved over toward her, feet silent across the tile floor, so when my hands grabbed at the waistbands of her yoga pants and panties, and dragged them down to expose her ass to me, her air whooshed out of her in a surprised Oh.

My hand slid between her thighs, finding her clit as I undid my button and zip with my other hand, freeing my cock, and stroking it as I felt her pussy get wet with need.

She was always wet for me, always greedy for me inside her. It didn't matter if I just got done fucking her ten minutes before, making her come three times, if I brushed my fingers over her again, she was writhing with need once more.

We'd had the talk the night before after she fumbled in her nightstand for condoms she didn't have. The tests and Pill talk, unsexy as it might be to have it in the heat of the moment, still necessary, still something we needed to get out of the way.

And after that, I got the gift of having her raw, nothing between us, getting to feel her slick heat wrapped tight around me.

I grabbed my cock when her pussy was wet enough to coat my palm, stroking her velvety desire over me before taking it by the base, and leading it between her thighs, slamming hard and deep before she could even anticipate it, making her body jolt forward hard, her hands slapping down on the counter as she let out a whimper.

My hand tracked up her spine to slip into the hair at the base of her neck, sinking in and twisting, yanking until she arched back toward me to ease the pull on her scalp.

And then I fucked her, the sound of my hips slamming into her ass and thighs filling the open, silent space, met with the moans that made my balls feel like they were in a goddamn vice grip.

"Touch your pussy for me," I demanded, watching as she didn't even hesitate, just moved her hand between her thighs to work her clit. "Good girl," I growled, feeling her walls tighten around me as she got close.

It was hardly even a couple seconds later when she tightened almost enough that I couldn't keep thrusting, then started pulsating around me as she cried out my name, her hand slipping on the counter. If I hadn't had her by the hair, she would have fallen forward with the intensity of her orgasm.

I found my own a couple seconds later, filling her with my cum, something that had never appealed to me before, but seemed somehow important now, significant, right.

But then again, every damn thing with her so far felt right.

Aven - 3 months

"I said no, Quin," I snapped, waving a hand full of romaine hearts out in his kitchen.

See, we didn't fight often. In fact, rarely. But it was unavoidable sometimes, both of us being too damn stubborn for our own good.

"Why not?" he asked, leaning back against the fridge, face impassive.

"Oh, gee, I don't know. Because it costs seventy-five-thousand dollars. How about that?" I asked, putting the lettuce down on the cutting board, and steadily chopping it with one of his fancy ass knives. Too good for Bed, Bath, and Beyond knives, apparently.

Okay.

I was maybe being a bit of a shrew about it.

But it was going against so much of what I had built my life around - bootstrapping and elbow grease. Everything I had in my life I had because I worked my ass off for it. Nothing had ever come easily. And certainly nothing had ever been given to me.



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