Page 12 of Fixed (Spicy Bites #2)

SETH

At exactly six minutes past seven a.m., I’m in the middle of the world’s best erotic dream when the doorbell shatters the silence.

It doesn’t just ring once or even twice.

No, it’s four times, each press so deliberate and precise, it’s like the person on the other side expects a tuxedoed butler to answer.

I jerk awake, instantly aware of Frankie’s bare leg tangled over my hip, her wild hair a soft snarl across my chest. Her lips are parted just enough for a tiny, adorable snore.

For a split second, I consider letting whoever it is give up and go away.

But the bell sounds again in the same relentless cadence.

Whoever’s out there means business, and I have a sneaking suspicion who it is.

I pry myself out from under Frankie’s luscious body and reach for the nearest pair of jeans. As I stumble to the door, my bare feet slap the hardwood.

The porch shows two guys in dark suits flanking a woman with platinum helmet hair. And beside her, a man with shoulders so wide he blocks out half my damn front door. I recognize them instantly. Governor Charles W. Foxworth and his wife, Rosalind, with their Secret Service wannabes in tow.

This is not how I envisioned waking up when I went to sleep with Frankie wrapped tightly around me.

Fuck it. I’ll have to deal with them sometime.

I yank open the door, bracing for a handshake or at least some kind of preamble. Instead, the Governor just scans me, eyes flicking down to my bare feet, up to my “Prestige Motors” t-shirt, then up to stare into my eyes.

Rosalind’s eyes narrow, her micro-expressions so controlled it’s almost scary. She’s dressed for a funeral, posture so perfect it’s a miracle she doesn’t snap in half. Her gaze slides over my shoulder, searching for her missing daughter.

The security goons say nothing.

“Mr. Rutherford,” the Governor says, voice smoother than top-shelf bourbon. “We’d hoped to speak with Francesca.”

I try not to flinch at the full name. “She isn’t awake yet. Would you like to come in, and I’ll go wake her up?” I force my voice into politeness, reminding myself these two are going to be a part of my life whether I like it or not.

“Thank you,” Mr. Foxworth mutters as they follow me inside.

I lead them to the living room. “Have a seat.”

There’s a bang from the hallway, followed by a muffled, “Shit!” Frankie barrels into the room, hair wild, wearing my oversized t-shirt and a pair of old high school basketball shorts that hit halfway down her thighs.

She looks like she got dressed during a fire drill.

Her glasses are fogged, and she’s rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Mother. Father.” She says it with a composure that almost makes me do a double-take. I expect her to wilt or apologize, but she just folds her arms and plants herself at my side.

Rosalind’s lips flatten into a line so thin it’s practically invisible. “Francesca, may we speak to you alone?”

“No,” Frankie says, beating me to it. “I’d prefer you say whatever you came to say right here.”

There’s a silent, brutal war of wills between mother and daughter. You could hear a pin drop if not for the furious grinding of Charles’ molars.

Rosalind turns her glare on me. “We wanted to confirm you are well, and that you’re making good decisions.” She says it like a threat, every word sharp enough to cut glass. “Which isn’t a strong suit of yours.”

Frankie snorts. “It’s too early for a symposium on my various failings.”

Charles cuts in, “We understand you’re pursuing a new… relationship. Since you won’t return our calls, we decided to come by and meet your new,” he pauses and looks me over like I’m gum stuck to the bottom of his shoes, “beau for ourselves.”

Frankie’s smile is all teeth. “How nice. But totally unnecessary.”

Charles’ jaw flexes. Rosalind’s gaze slides from my feet to Frankie’s bare knees, and she just shakes her head, slow and disapproving. “We’ve been worried about you, Francesca.”

Frankie’s voice sharpens. “No, Mother. You’re worried about how my life choices will reflect negatively on Father’s political career. I’ve been hearing the same speech forever, and I’m tired of it. I’m going to live my life my way. And you can support my decisions or not. I don’t care.”

“You are part of this family,” Rosalind hisses, her mask slipping for half a second. She glances at Charles. “We have certain expectations.”

Frankie’s posture goes steel-rod straight. “As far as I’m concerned, you can take those expectations and shove?—”

“Francesca,” her father barks. “Vulgarity isn’t necessary.”

“In my house, I’ll be vulgar if I want to.” My gorgeous girl stands her ground. “If you don’t like it, I’m sure there’s something that needs your attention back at the capital.”

I watch this tennis match, not sure if I should jump in. Then Rosalind turns on me with the full force of the Foxworth dynasty.

“Mr. Rutherford, what are your intentions toward our daughter?” She says it like a closing argument, cold and final.

I take a breath and step forward. “My intentions are to take care of Frankie and make her happy.” I hold her gaze as she absorbs my words.

There’s a pause, and then Charles grins. It’s not warm. It’s clinical, calculated. “That won’t be easy,” he says.

Frankie’s hand finds mine, squeezing hard. I squeeze back, promising her I’m not going anywhere. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes.” As the tension eases slightly, I decide to invite them to dinner tonight. “Would you like to join us for dinner tonight?”

Charles glances at Rosalind, and I see them communicating in that silent, telepathic code parents use, a flicker of eyes and tilt of heads bypassing words altogether. “We have other engagements. Thank you for your time, Mr. Rutherford. We will arrange to have dinner when our schedule allows.”

This fucking family doesn’t ever have time for each other, their affection buried beneath agendas and appointments. I see why Frankie doesn’t want to end up like them. That’s okay. She’s my family now, and I’ll make sure she knows she’s first with me.

They stand and leave in one efficient motion, a power move without a backward glance or a hug or kiss. That’s okay. I’ll be giving her all the affection she needs in the future.

When the door closes, Frankie sags against me, all the tension draining out of her at once. She’s trembling, but when she looks up, there’s only amusement shining in her eyes. “Congratulations on surviving the Foxworth inquisition.”

I grab her chin and force her to meet my eyes.

Those fucking eyes drip with a promise that’s got my cock twitching in my jeans like it’s trying to escape.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy,” I growl, my voice low and gravelly, like I’m already imagining all the dirty shit I’m about to do to her.

“Even if that means playing nice with your parents.”

She smirks up at me. “I know how you can make me happy,” she purrs, her voice dripping with honey and sin. Her hand slides between us, and fuck me sideways, she wraps her fingers around my cock, giving it a squeeze that sends a jolt of electricity straight to my balls.

“Oh, fuck yes,” I groan, my hips bucking into her hand. I’m already harder than a rock, and she knows it. She fucking loves it.

Her fingers tease the bulge in my jeans, rubbing slow circles that make me lose my goddamn mind.

“Take these off,” she demands, her voice husky with need, and I don’t waste a second.

I yank my zipper down, and my cock springs free.

She wraps her hand around me again, her grip firm, her thumb brushing over the swollen head, and I swear I see fucking stars.

I crash my lips onto hers, kissing her like I’m trying to devour her.

Her tongue tangles with mine, hot and wet, and I groan into her mouth as she strokes me, her hand moving up and down my shaft in a rhythm that’s got me ready to blow.

“Not here,” I growl, pulling away just enough to see her swollen lips and glazed eyes. “Bedroom. Now.”

She wraps her legs around my waist when I scoop her up. Her arms cling to my neck as I carry her upstairs, her pussy grinding against my abs through her panties, and fuck, I can already feel how wet she is. I kick the bedroom door open and toss her onto the bed.

I strip off my shirt, and her eyes go straight to my chest, raking over the muscles like she’s imagining how they’ll feel pressed against her.

“Your turn,” I command, and she doesn’t hesitate, pulling her shirt over her head and discarding it in one smooth motion.

Her tits spill out, perfect and fucking begging for my mouth.

I’m on her in seconds, sucking one nipple into my mouth while I pinch the other between my fingers, and she arches into me, her moans music to my fucking ears.

I yank her shorts down, taking her panties with them, and fuck, she’s soaked.

Her pussy glistens, and I don’t waste a second burying my face between her legs.

She tastes sweet and sinful like fucking heaven, and I fucking devour her like a starving man.

My tongue laps at her clit, and she bucks against me, her fingers tangling in my hair as she cries out my name.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” I mutter against her pussy, moving down to thrust my tongue inside her, fucking her with it until she’s a writhing, moaning mess.

She comes on my face, her thighs clamping around my head as she screams, and I don’t stop until she’s spent, her body trembling with aftershocks.

I crawl up her body, lining my cock up with her dripping entrance, and she wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me in.

“Fuck me,” she begs, her voice raw and desperate, and I don’t need to be told twice.

I slam into her, burying myself to the hilt, and she gasps, her nails digging into my back as I start fucking her with everything I’ve got.

The bed creaks beneath us, the sound mixing with her moans and my grunts as I pound into her, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. Her pussy clenches around me, tight and wet, and I swear I’m fucking losing my mind.

“You feel so fucking good,” I growl, my hips slapping against hers as I drive into her over and over again.

She claws at my shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and I know she’s close again.

I reach between us, rubbing her clit in tight circles, and she comes undone, her pussy squeezing my cock like it’s trying to milk me dry.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” I groan, my balls tightening as I feel the pressure building.

“Inside me,” she breathes, her voice barely a whisper, and that’s all it takes. I bury myself deep inside her one last time, my cock pulsing as I fill her up, my fucking name on her lips as she comes again.

I collapse on top of her, my chest heaving, and she wraps her arms around me, her legs still locked around my waist. “You’re fucking incredible,” I mutter into her neck, and she giggles, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases, and I kiss her, slow and deep, my cock already imagining round two. “Now, do you think you can work on knocking me up?”

Nothing would make me happier than knowing she’s carrying my child. “I’ve already been working overtime on that.” It suddenly hits me like a baseball bat to the head. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to give her the engagement ring I bought the first week she moved in. And now is that time.

I roll over and pull the ring out of my bedside table, then turn back and reach for her soft hand.

Her eyes pop open and her mouth rounds as I slip the ring on her finger.

“I’ve also been working overtime trying to figure out how to propose to you,” I tell her, watching as her eyes fill with tears.

“If you want me to knock you up,” I take a deep breath, “you’ll have to marry me first.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” She glances down at the large diamond solitaire and then reaches up to wrap her hand in my hair. “Now, let’s celebrate our engagement."

She doesn’t have to ask me twice.