THE FIXER

“Don’t look at her,” Maxim orders, slamming the door in the guy’s face. He grips my elbow and helps me back onto the seat beside him. “I’m sorry for that,” he surprises me by saying. “He should have knocked first.”

“I guess you think you own me,” I seethe, still hung up on the claim he’s made on my body.

“I think you’re my wife,” Maxim says flatly, somehow conveying what a pain in the ass that is to him. “And I promise I’ll kill any man who touches you.”

Maxim

THE BLUSH BLEEDS from Sasha’s face at my threat. The car lurches into motion, en route to the airport. I shift to make room for the tightness in my pants.

I didn’t mean to humiliate her with the spanking, but when she suggested punishment I just couldn’t help myself. Her ass was so damn tempting in that body-hugging dress she’s wearing, and she’s been begging for a correction since I showed up today.

Judging by how wet she got, she enjoyed it as much as I did. But I shouldn’t have tried to satisfy her. There’s zero trust between us right now. Besides, if she hadn’t pulled away, that jackal who opened the door would’ve gotten even more of an eyeful than he did.

“I suppose the same rules won’t apply to you?”

“I won’t be letting any men between my legs, no.” I’m being a dick, I know, but she’s already such a pain in my ass, I don’t know how I’m going to stand this marriage. I learned at a young age that women are lying manipulators, and I know Sasha is one of the worst of them.

“You’ll be screwing anyone you want while you keep me under lock and key. Is that how it works?”

I attempt to shove my irritation down. Try to muster some understanding and compassion. It’s not her fault she thinks the worst of me. Her father modeled all the lowest male behaviors. I grip her hair and tug her head back, then slide my mouth down the column of her neck. “If you want a different arrangement, caxapok, then claim me.” I open my mouth wide and bite her breast over the dress and her bra.

Her beautiful chest heaves like she’s a damsel in a corset, swooning over the bold touch of her gentleman courter.

I kiss her clavicle, the hollow of her throat. Trail my tongue down between her breasts. She smells delicious-like citrus and spices. Like sunshine and summer. My dick gets harder than stone. Now that I’ve touched her-now that I’ve felt how soft and luscious her body is, how responsive-the leash on my control grows short.

“Are you telling me you’d be faithful if I had sex with you?” The wobble in her voice belies the bold tone.

“Yes,” I shock myself by saying.

Huh. I never imagined I’d commit to one woman. Then again, I never imagined I’d marry. Especially not to a wealthy young wilful bride whose life I have to protect. But no, I wouldn’t fuck around on her. Not if we had a real marriage.

She arches her full round tits up when I bite the fabric over her nipple. “I-I don’t believe you.” Her breath is short. Her hands find their way to my shoulders.

“Give it up, Sasha,” I coax, “and I’ll save myself for you.”

She gives me a firm push, and I immediately release her and sit back in my seat. I may force her onto the airplane today, but I don’t pressure women to have sex. That’s not me. Ever.

“I’m not your whore,” she says.

I narrow my eyes, the ache in my balls making me cranky. Why the fuck would she even say that? “No, you’re my wife. And the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us.”

“I have no intention of making this easy for you.” She folds her arms and then her long, bare legs.

“Careful, Sasha,” I warn. “That road goes both ways.”

After a stretch of silence, she mutters sullenly, “I don’t have my passport.”

It was passed to me with all the paperwork related to our marriage, the trust, and Igor’s will. Apparently, Igor had taken it from her and kept it in his safe. The passport and her birth certificate are in her mother’s surname. Igor was careful not to mark her as a target with his. I’ll give her mine, though. I don’t have people gunning for me like Igor did. She’s the one who will bring danger to me, so I need to signal to any potential enemies she’s permanently under my wing. “I have it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course you do. Because women can’t be trusted to keep their own documentation.”Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

Against my better judgment, I reach into my travel case pocket and pull out her passport. I don’t trust her not to run, so it’s probably a terrible idea to give it to her, but we’re going to have to learn to trust each other at some point. I hand it to her. “I trust you, sugar,” I lie.

She blinks in surprise then studies me suspiciously before putting it in her purse.

I pull out my wallet and take out a credit card and hand it to her. “You can use this if you need it. Vladimir already closed the accounts on the cards your father gave you.”

She frowns. “He did?” She shakes her head. “What an asshole.”

I nod my agreement. “Do you trust him to take care of your mother?”

She goes still and gives me a sidelong look then slowly shakes her head. “No. I think my dad must’ve been losing his mind when he cooked up that arrangement. All of the arrangements.”

“Meaning you don’t trust me, either?”

She shrugs. “It feels like punishment. I was never the sweet, doting daughter he wanted me to be. Why else would he pin me to the one guy in his organization who has the biggest reason to hate me? He must be cackling from the grave right now.”