The Red Tale: A Collection of Erotic Anthologies

The Fixer (III)

The burner phone went silent. Julian lowered it slowly, his thumb still brushing a damp strand of hair from Elara’s forehead with a gentleness that felt obscene after what they’d just done.

“Don?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming his name minutes earlier. Her legs were still wrapped loosely around his waist, his softening c**k still buried inside her, their combined release slick between her thighs.

Julian’s jaw flexed. The mask of the Fixer had slammed back into place, but cracks remained—his pupils still blown, his breathing not quite steady. “He wanted confirmation the estate is secure. Your father’s deal in Macau is… delicate.”

Elara’s stomach twisted. The reality of the world outside this room crashed in like cold water. Her father’s shadow loomed larger than ever. She was twenty-one, technically an adult, but in this house, in this life, she had always been an asset to protect. Never to be touched. Especially not by the man her father trusted most.

“And you told him everything is quiet,” she said, a bitter edge creeping into her voice. She shifted, but Julian’s hands tightened on her hips, holding her exactly where she was—impaled, claimed, marked.

“Because it is.” His voice was low, edged with warning. He pulled out of her slowly, deliberately, both of them hissing at the loss. c*m trickled down her inner thigh, and Julian’s gaze tracked it with dark satisfaction. He reached down, swiped two fingers through the mess, and brought them to her lips. “Open.”

She obeyed, tasting them both—salty, musky, forbidden. Her tongue curled around his fingers as fresh heat pooled low in her belly.

Julian watched her with that predatory intensity. “You wanted the man, not the Fixer. You have him now, Elara. But don’t mistake this for freedom.”

He stepped back just enough to tuck himself away and zip up, but he didn’t let her move from the desk. Instead, he grabbed his discarded suit jacket from the chair and draped it over her shoulders, enveloping her in his scent—scotch, smoke, and s*x.

Elara clutched the lapels, suddenly aware of how exposed she was: dress bunched at her waist, panties ruined somewhere on the floor, thighs glistening. “What happens now?” she asked, hating how small her voice sounded. “You go back to being his loyal dog, and I pretend this never happened?”

A harsh laugh escaped him. He cupped her face with both hands, thumbs stroking her cheekbones. For the first time, the hunger in his eyes was mixed with something rawer—possession laced with fear.

“No.” The word was absolute. “I’ve spent two years starving so I wouldn’t ruin you. Tonight, I did it anyway. There’s no putting the leash back on, little girl. Not completely.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “Your father will be gone for at least another week. That gives us time.”

“Time for what?” she breathed, her heart hammering with equal parts terror and thrill.

“To decide how deep we’re willing to go.” Julian’s voice dropped, velvet over steel. “I can be careful. I can keep fixing his messes during the day and break you open every night. Or…” His grip tightened fractionally. “We burn it all down. I take you away from this cage. But once we start running, there’s no coming back. No more silk dresses and safety. Just me. And whatever war your father declares when he finds out his precious daughter is f*****g his right-hand man.”

Elara searched his face, the sharp lines of his jaw, the storm in his gray eyes. Two years of stolen glances, of aching want, had led here—to this moment where the wolf had finally bitten.

She thought of her father’s cold expectations, the endless instructions, the way he treated her like another asset to be guarded. Then she thought of Julian’s hands on her throat, his body claiming hers with two years of pent-up violence and need.

“I don’t want safety,” she said, lifting her chin. “I want you. All of you—the Fixer and the man who’s been starving. Even if it destroys everything.”

Something fierce and almost tender flashed across Julian’s expression. He kissed her then—not the brutal crash from earlier, but deep, slow, claiming. His tongue stroked hers like a promise and a threat all at once.

When he pulled back, his voice was rough. “Then we play this carefully. For now. You go back to your room before the night staff starts rounds. Tomorrow night…” His eyes darkened with fresh hunger as they raked over her body. “You come to me again. And this time, I’ll take my time ruining you properly. On my bed. With my mouth. Until you’re begging and broken and mine.”

Elara shivered, a fresh pulse of arousal threading through her despite the exhaustion. “And when my father returns?”

Julian’s smile was sharp, dangerous—the smile of a man who had already decided the cost was worth it.

“Then we’ll see how good I really am at cleaning up messes.” He helped her off the desk, steadying her when her legs wobbled. His jacket swallowed her frame as he walked her to the study door, one possessive hand at the small of her back.

At the threshold, he stopped her, pressing one last bruising kiss to her swollen lips. “Remember this, Elara. You walked into the wolf’s den. Now you belong to the wolf.”

She stepped into the hallway, the cold marble biting her bare feet once more. But this time, the house didn’t feel like a cage.

It felt like the beginning of something far more dangerous.

And she couldn’t wait to burn.

To be continued…?