Fix You: Bash and Olivia, Book 2 of 3 (McDaniels Brothers) (8 page)

"Mission accomplished,” I said, flipping on the light and holding out my fist for a bump.

He set the key card down on my bookshelf and said, “Not quite,” tugging me flush against him, reminding me of the reason we went through the whole thing in the first place. With his broad shoulders and intense gaze, it felt like he took up most of the room. Him and me. Nothing but the two of us and the pounding of my heart in my ears whenever I looked at him and the taste on his lips when they were pressed to mine. And tonight?

Tonight there was no world outside my door.

He kissed me gently at first. Sweet brushes of his firm lips. Short bursts of warmth that spread through my whole body and made me all the more aware of how he affected me. The kiss deepened and my tongue met his in a swirl of want and need that captivated me. Slowly, he reached for the hem of my shirt and we separated only long enough for him to pull the fabric up and away. When he kissed me again, I closed my eyes and savored every inch of his warm mouth, my breathing falling into rhythm with his. With every teasing stroke of his tongue, the ache between my thighs built. I wanted to touch him, to taste every inch of him. I needed to know if each time with him would be as incredible as the first time we’d touched. Suddenly, I needed to make him feel as wild and as lost in me as I was in in him, and I reached for his fly. His throat worked as I pulled down his jeans and he reached for mine, but I shook my head.

"No." I dropped to my knees before him, pulling his boxers down in the same movement and then yanking off his shoes.

He didn't protest, and he didn’t look away. Instead, his already-dilated pupils smoldered with a heat I hadn't seen there before and his beautiful lips parted as he waited for my touch.

And I delivered. I held his gaze as I took him deep into my mouth, plunging as far as I could before pulling back and sucking long against his shaft again. I took him in deep, pushing myself further each time as his groans sent electric pulses of lust straight to my core. He was long and thick and gloriously stiff, and I could never taste him all no matter how hard I tried. Instead, I pulled away and licked the entire length of him, swirling my tongue around his base before sucking on the swollen head again, loving the smooth, soft skin there.

"Good Christ, Olivia." His voice was a husky growl and I plunged forward again, humming low and sweet, hoping to show him how much I was enjoying myself. And I was. Licking him and watching him arch against the wall made me wetter by the second and I dipped further, until I felt the head of his cock bump the tender flesh at the back of my throat. He speared his hands into my hair and swore under his breath, muscular thighs quaking with need for me.

I wanted him inside me so bad, but that would have to wait. For now, I was hell-bent on fulfilling his every fantasy.

"I need you," he breathed and gripped my shoulders hard to pull me away from him.

"Are you sure you don’t want to"—I licked my swollen lips, working up my courage in spite of my flaming cheeks—“fuck my mouth?”

His jaw worked violently as he pulled me up to standing again and slipped his fingers gently around my throat, tracing the skin directly over my pulse. “You’re a witch. And believe me, that’s going to happen sometime very soon, if you’re down. But if I don’t get inside you, I’m going to lose my fucking mind."

So strange, the last time a guy had his hands around my neck it had been Andy, the very night Bash had saved me. This was nothing like that. This was the caress of a skilled lover. The touch of a guy who knew exactly how to touch, and I relished it.

He released me and dragged his shirt off before making quick work of my bra, all while crowding me backward toward the bed. He kissed me again, but these weren’t the sweet, stolen kisses from before. This time it was nothing but desire. A desperate hunger that swallowed me whole. He reached for my pants and tugged them away before grasping my hips and lifting me onto the bed.

I scuttled back against the wooden headboard and banged my shoulder in the process, but I didn't feel a thing. Blood pounded in my ears, and the desire that had been building reached a fever pitch as Bash dropped between my legs and lapped my core once, twice, three times before focusing on the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs.

My breath caught as he paused to look up at me, his face a mask of need. "God, you taste good," he breathed, then lapped me again. "So fucking beautiful, so tight and pretty." He plunged a finger inside me and I was lost to him. There was only the feeling of him moving inside me, working me to the peak then backing away. He was like a master musician, honing his instrument toward the crescendo, then slipping back into the melody. It was beautiful and rhythmic and utter torture.

"Please," I gasped after the second time he backed away. "I need you inside of me."

He smiled at the words and trailed his tongue over my clit one more time before pulling away. I grabbed a condom from the side drawer of my night table and tossed it toward him.

"Your wish is my command," he said, and tore open the package to sheath himself.

The second I felt him pressed against me, I opened my legs wider for him and he pushed himself inside me. I arched into him mindlessly, feeling whole at last. There was no push and pull between us. Only the rhythm of his hips as he worked me and I stretched to accommodate every tantalizing inch of him. Every thrust felt better than the last. He trailed a line of kisses down my neck, pausing at my collarbone to suck on the delicate skin and run his teeth along the line of flesh. But as soon as I moaned, desperate for him to keep going, crazed to have him finish it, he'd move on and slow his pace, rocking his hips only slightly, making me lose my mind.

He was the master of my torture and my ecstasy.

I ran my nails down his back and grabbed his ass, forcing him deeper. We gasped in tandem and he squeezed his eyes closed. "So damn good, Liv."

For a long moment, I was lost to the sizzle of his hot muscles pressed against my stomach, my thighs, my breasts. To the pulse of him inside of me, slow and steady and incredible. There was no beginning and no end to the connection. It touched every fiber of my being, and as his tongue stroked mine, I wrapped my legs around his hips.

Nothing had ever been more perfect than that moment. I trailed kisses along his ear, nibbling gently on the lobe before pulling back and saying the words that the rest of my body was already telling him.

"I love you," I whispered.

He froze over me and pulled back, and I nearly sobbed with the loss. I’d ruined everything. The only thing left in my life worth having and I’d pushed too hard, too fast. I was about to break eye contact, to find a way to distract him, when he spoke.

“I love you, too."

The words were so quiet that I almost hadn't heard them. But as he sank into me again and peppered my neck with kisses, it became like a low, husky chant. With every deep, quickening thrust, he whispered the words again, "I love you, Olivia.”

This time, he didn’t hold back, allowing the flood that built inside me to grow until the dam broke and every cell in my body exploded into a million tiny pieces. I arched into him, shuddering more with every movement, and still he kept going, hips pounding into me, making me come until I couldn't see straight. I could only feel my pleasure and Bash quaking along with me, biting my neck with every desperate thrust.

Dimly, I heard him call out my name, sensed him tensing over me, every muscle flexed. I held on tight and didn’t let go until he collapsed on top of me with a groan.

When the world finally returned to me, he was still lying on my chest, his breathing as shallow as my own. We stayed that way for so long, I started to drift off, feeling warm.

Safe.

Loved.

Then he rolled to edge of the bed. “Liv?”

His voice was barely a whisper, so low that I wasn’t sure if he was trying to wake me up or trying not to wake me up.

“Yeah?”

I let my eyes drift open and caught the strangest expression on his face. Not regret…guilt?

“Were you trying to sneak out?” I asked him, managing to keep my tone light in spite of the all-too-short sense of well-being fading fast.

He sat up and swung his feet to the floor before facing me with a reassuring half smile. “Not sneak, so much. I just…I have to go and I didn’t want to wake you."

He planted a perfunctory kiss on my lips and refused to look me in the eye.

“Have to go where?” My stomach knotted up like I’d eaten a truckload of bad Thai food. “I-I thought you could stay…”

He leaned down and kissed me again, this time with a little more feeling, and that helped. But not much. Was this him pulling away again? How many times could my heart handle it?

“What’s going on, Bash?”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to sleep over.” He stood and starting getting dressed, his movements quick and jerky. Like he was in a hurry. “I promised Matty I was coming home after our date so we could talk some more. He seems really down and I have to be there for him.” He offered me an apologetic shrug. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning and maybe we can do something?”

“Let me walk you out, at least.” I moved to stand, but he was already stalking across the room like someone had lit his ass on fire.

"I can handle it. I’ll go out the way I came. Look, I'm really sorry,” he said, still with his back to me. “I know it sucks, but I’ll make it up to you."

He slid back into his shoes and I knew there was no arguing, so I nodded and tried to make sure my face didn't show the hurt. But even if it had, it wouldn't have mattered.

He never turned back to give me a second glance.

Chapter Eight

Bash

I thought you could stay…

The confusion in her voice paired with the hurt in her eyes had almost stopped me from going. Almost made me say “Fuck it,” turn around, and climb right back into bed with her, but I’d muscled through.

In order to get past this hurdle, I had to jump over it, and this was the only way I could see to do that. If I tried to explain it to her, she’d just convince me not to, and I didn’t want to be convinced. I was sick and tired of feeling like a victim of circumstance. Sick of feeling like some fucking puppet with the world’s hand up my ass. This was one problem I had the means to handle and that was exactly what I planned to do.

When I pulled into the almost-empty parking lot of the warehouse and walked up to the wide double doors twenty minutes later, though, I still hadn’t been able to shake the expression on her face from my mind. That was okay. I’d use it. Channel it to fuel me through the challenge to come.

A blond behemoth who looked like he should’ve been wearing a cape and a letter on his barrel chest stood in front of the doors, arms akimbo. “You’re late. Name?”

“Bash McDaniels.”

His face lit with recognition as he eyed me up and down hard before reaching down to the stool next to him and picking up a chipped wooden clipboard. After a quick glance and a frown, he shook his head. “You’re not on tonight’s card. Spectators go around back. Doors don’t open for another hour.”

He set the list back down, and then stared straight ahead again, like I was dismissed.

He was a big fella, no question, but not so big that one shot to the breadbasket when he wasn’t expecting it wouldn’t double him over. Plus, if he had skills in the ring, he wouldn’t be working the door right now. I weighed my options quickly. I didn’t have much time, but I decided to give it one more try before resorting to violence. I might be desperate, but punching guys outside the ring was exactly why I was in this position to start with.

“I think Mickey will want to see me.”

For a second, I thought he was going to ignore me, but he then he blew out a sigh and scratched the flesh-colored scruff on his jaw. He met my gaze before assessing me again with sharp eyes.

“Bash McDaniels, you said?”

I gave him a curt nod. Judging by his accent, he wasn’t new in town, which meant my initial assessment was right. He knew who I was. The fighting community was small and the McDaniels boys were largely thought to be up-and-comers. The only question was whether he was a take-the-initiative kind of guy who would see this as an opportunity to impress his boss, or a mindless grunt…a worker bee who’d been given his orders and would stick to them no matter what the circumstance.

A tense moment passed before fake-Thor surprised me and snatched the cell phone off his hip. He punched out a quick text and then we waited in silence. Less than a minute later, his phone chimed and he peered down at it.

He pushed open one of the metal doors and jerked his head toward the left. “Down that hall, third door on your right.”

A hot dump of adrenaline coursed through me but I kept my cool, thanked him, and stepped inside.

The place smelled antiseptic, which I knew was a short-lived state. In the next few hours, the stench of sweat and blood and desperation would drown that out completely.

I followed the long, dark hallway to the closed door I’d been sent to, and knocked twice. It opened a second later and four men—all packing, unconcealed—stood, blocking my entry.

A smallish guy with a hollow-looking face and sad eyes stepped forward and patted me down from shoulders to ankles. I wondered briefly if he was the one Liv had dubbed Shorty, but then pushed the thought aside. If I let that thought simmer, I’d be too busy wanting to kill him for threatening my brother, my girl, and my gym to do what I needed to do.

Charm Mickey Flynn into letting me fight tonight.

“Bash McDaniels. To what do I owe this pleasure?” a jovial voice boomed from behind the wall of men blocking the back half of the cramped office. I waited until they parted to make room for me before I answered.

“I hoped you could spare a few minutes to talk to me.”

I’d seen Mick a few times before around town in person, and a few other times on the news, but I’d never seen him up this close. He was younger than I’d thought. Somewhere in his early forties, and his green eyes sparkled, like he had a secret and he’d never tell it. He wore a dapper gray suit that was totally out of place for the gritty, industrial environment and even more so for the brutal entertainment scheduled for the night.