The Fisherman Series : Special Edition

by Jewel E. Ann

  “I won’t kiss her cheek or hold her hand. Are we good now?”

  My ego was in overdrive. We weren’t good. Well, he was probably good. Twenty-eight-year-olds had a little more maturity and self-control. Achieving good status was probably easier for him.

  Teenaged adults, such as myself, struggled with letting the little stuff go and just being … good.

  “I’m not good.”

  “No?” He cocked his head to the side.

  I think I knew I was in trouble, but I wasn’t sure how trouble would play out.

  “Then let’s make you good.” He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me backward.

  I stumbled, but he kept me standing. Squatting in front of me, he untied my work books.

  “W-what are you d-doing?” I couldn’t hide my nerves.

  Fisher didn’t answer. His quick hands discarded my boots to the side.

  “Fisher … what are …” My words caught in my throat. I’d poked the bear a little too hard. Actually, I had kicked him in the shin.

  He didn’t look at me. He was too busy focusing on my jeans.

  Unbuttoning them.

  Unzipping them.

  Peeling them down my legs.

  “Fisher …we can’t … not here …” I gave him a weak protest.

  What if Rory came back? The door wasn’t locked.

  My jeans landed next to my boots as he tossed them aside. Still, he hadn’t made a single glance upward to see my sheer panic.

  As his fingers curled inside the waist of my panties, I grabbed one of his hands. “Fisher, we can’t …”

  He stopped, completely still. Eyes homing in on my hand clawing at his hand. Then his lips twisted as he squinted. His head swiveled, surveying one side of the room and then the other.

  Leaving me half naked and panicky, he stood and took several steps to a stack of drawers. After opening several of them, he retrieved something and shoved it into his back pocket, and something else from another drawer. Then he turned.

  “No …” I shook my head when I saw the zip ties in his hand. “No … I can’t. I’m claustrophobic. My heart will stop. No …”

  He ignored me while grabbing a couple of dirty rags.

  “Fisher … no!” I tried to pull my hand out of his grip.

  “Shh …” He shook his head slowly, still not looking at me while he wrapped a rag around one wrist and then a zip tie.

  “Uh-uh …” My head jerked side to side. “No. I said no …”

  “Shh …” He repeated the process with my other wrist.

  With unnatural ease, he lifted me onto the barstool and used two more ties to restrain my hands to my sides by looping them around the legs of the stool.

  “Fisher!” I jerked my arms, but they didn’t move.

  He finally looked at me, holding a stiff finger to his lips for several seconds before kissing me.

  I yelped into his mouth, and he swallowed it again and again. His hands peeled my panties past my butt to my knees. He lifted his boot and stepped on them, shoving them the rest of the way off my legs as his kiss grew hungrier. His hands gripped my knees and spread them wide before his fingers teased me.

  Made me jump.

  Made me moan.

  Made me crazy.

  He pulled his mouth away from mine. “Tell me no, and I’ll release you,” he whispered over my lips.

  His fingers were making me delirious, drunk, incapable of forming a coherent thought.

  “Fish … Fisher …” My heavy eyelids closed for a second.

  He was relentless.

  I was … I didn’t even know. But I wasn’t thinking about my hands being restrained. There wasn’t enough blood in my head to acknowledge my claustrophobia. It had all pooled around the sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs.

  He dropped to his knees and …

  Oh my … fuck … fuck … FUCKITY FUUUCK!

  Ten seconds … not even, I orgasmed so quickly, and I did it with one of Fisher’s hands on my knee, keeping my legs wide open and his other hand over my mouth, muffling my unholy chain of uncensored words.

  Fisher’s hand fell from my mouth as he sat back on his heels like he did that day at the park and rested both hands on his thighs.

  His gaze affixed to the very spot his mouth had been just seconds earlier. I couldn’t imagine what it must have looked like.

  I eased my legs together, and he lifted his gaze slowly up my body to meet my eyes. And they were filled with tears.

  “Are you good now?”

  I blinked and the tears fell down my face. “A-are you m-mine?” My lower lip quivered.

  Fisher owned me. Maybe it was stupid and childish … maybe it made me a weak woman, but Fisher Mann owned me. And the thing that scared me more than absolutely anything in the world was that he wasn’t mine.

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of wire cutters. After clipping the ties and tossing the rags aside, he bent down and snagged my panties off the floor, sliding them back up my legs and lifting me off the stool to finish pulling them over my butt. Next, he put my jeans back on.

  Tug.

  Zip.

  Button.

  Finishing with my boots, he tied them with expert precision like he did the day he bought them for me.

  There I stood, limp, my heart lodged in my throat, and an unattended stream of tears on my cheeks. Fisher stood again and met my gaze. He slid my foggy safety glasses onto my head, then his thumbs took care of my tears.

  “You know the answer to that.” Ducking his head, he kissed me.

  Not hard.

  Not demanding.

  Not like he did when he tied me to the chair.

  He kissed me like … I was his and … he was mine.

  “Go get ready for dinner. I have to clean up.” His knuckles caressed my cheek. It was my favorite gesture.

  So tender.

  So endearing.

  It made me feel unequivocally special.

  I nodded before turning my head so his palm brushed my lips, and I kissed it. “Fisher …” I grinned.

  “Yeah?”

  My hand ghosted over his, guiding it so my lips met his wrist. I closed my eyes for a second, feeling his pulse—that heartbeat that I wanted to claim as mine. I wanted it to beat for me.

  “I’m good,” I whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I took a quick shower and put on my nicest sheer blouse and fitted jeans. Then, I plugged in my curling iron and applied a little makeup.

  “You about done?” Rory poked her head into my bathroom.

  “Yeah.” I glossed my lips.

  “It’s casual. You don’t have to get all dolled up.”

  I shrugged. “Yesterday, it was fun having my hair curled. And with my day job, I rarely get to look dolled up. So … why not?”

  I smiled at her reflection in my bathroom mirror.

  “You’re absolutely right.” She took my big comb and ran it through my hair. “It took me awhile, after I was released, to feel like I wanted to make the effort. But sometimes we do. Even if it’s just for family and close friends.” She grabbed the curling iron and nodded for me to sit on the toilet seat. “Even if it’s just for ourselves.”

  I closed my eyes and hummed as she curled my hair. I loved it. I had always loved it.

  “I should have told you to invite Brendon.”

  My eyes opened. “I’m not sure my feelings for him are the same as his are for me. I think he’s great. And we do fall into the easiest conversations, but I don’t know if there’s more. At least for me. So I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I think you’re just not seeing it. Oftentimes, the greatest friendships turn into beautiful love stories. So I’m not saying he’s your forever, but I want you to always keep your heart open to let love grow. Not everything in life starts with sparks and flies to the sky in a wave of butterflies.”

  “Were you and Dad friends first?”

  “No
.” She laughed. “Those were sparks.”

  “Clearly, those sparks worked for you two.”

  She nodded slowly, hesitantly. “Until it didn’t.”

  Because you went to prison.

  I opened my mouth to ask her why. Why was she growing marijuana? Why did she risk everything for drugs?

  But I knew Rose and Tiffany were on the screened-in porch waiting for us. And Fisher was upstairs taking a shower.

  It wasn’t the right time.

  “There.” She unplugged the curling iron. “You have the most beautiful hair.” She loosely ran her fingers through my dark curls to relax them just a bit, giving my hair a beach wave look.

  I grinned. “I have your hair.”

  “Only better.” She kissed my cheek. “Let’s go eat. Would you mind running upstairs and knocking on Fisher’s door? Tell him everyone is here and dinner is ready.”

  “Sure.” I held my enthusiasm inside. Go get Fisher?

  Yes, please.

  As Rory carried a tray of drinks to the porch, I ran upstairs and opened the door. No Fisher in the kitchen. So I listened for him as I made my way to his bedroom. Just as I reached for the handle, he opened it.

  A whoosh of his clean scent nearly made my knees give out on me, not to mention his killer smile.

  Jeans. Tee. Wet hair.

  He glanced over my shoulder as if to see if anyone else was upstairs with me.

  “Dinner is ready. And your date is here.”

  “Where is here?” He gave me a quick once-over that I felt.

  “Downstairs on the porch.”

  Pursing his lips, face so serious, he nodded several times. “Well, get your sexy ass in here.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me into his bedroom.

  “Fisher!” I yelled a little louder than intended. I wasn’t expecting him to do that.

  Or shut the door behind us.

  Or toss me onto his bed.

  Or dive onto the bed after me.

  I flinched. “Eek!” I curled my body, not completely trusting him to not squash me.

  Like a cat, he landed on all fours, straddling my body. His grinning face hovering over mine.

  “Hi, beautiful.”

  Oh, naked fisherman … how does it feel to carry my heart in your pocket? Its fate solely dependent on you?

  “Handsome.” I matched his grin a second before he kissed me.

  One leg at a time, he wedged himself between my legs and rested over me on his elbows. Our kiss so slow, almost lazy. Maybe it was the comfort in knowing it wasn’t our first, and it wouldn’t be our last.

  “You smell edible.” He kissed my neck while inhaling deeply.

  “They’re waiting on us,” I said with little to no true concern in my voice. I liked the naked fisherman universe too much to care about the mortals on planet Earth or the screened-in porch.

  He took liberty with the deep exposed V of my shirt that I left unbuttoned to the top of my cleavage. Then he took more, unbuttoning the next two buttons.

  “Fisher,” I whispered on a weak breath. His touch never failed to jolt my pulse out of rhythm, never failed to rob my brain of blood and sensible thoughts.

  “What is it?” he whispered, a breath before sliding my bra down just enough to expose my nipple.

  On a hitched breath, my back arched into his touch as he sucked it slowly, teasing it with his tongue and teeth.

  “W-we …” I tried so hard to be the mature one, but it was a monumental struggle. “We … have to go to … dinner.”

  “Yeah?” he said between kisses, working his way to my other breast.

  “Yes …” I hissed when he trapped my nipple between his teeth and tugged it.

  “Cock blocker.” He lifted his head and adjusted my bra back into place before buttoning those two buttons.

  I giggled. “You can’t call me that. I want …” I bit my lips together before anymore words tumbled from my lips.

  “You want what?” He grinned, dipping his face to my neck again. Biting and sucking it. “My cock?”

  My fingers played in his hair as my drunk eyes drifted shut again. “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Well, what are we going to do about that?” He continued his assault on my neck, and I felt certain my neck and face would be red from his scratchy face.

  “Fisher …” I didn’t recognize that voice, but it was mine. It was me wrapping my legs around his waist, begging him for … well, his cock.

  He chuckled, coming onto his arms to get off the bed, to get off of me.

  My legs locked around his waist and my arms did the same around his neck.

  Again, he laughed, standing with me wrapped around him. “I think you said dinner’s ready.”

  “Fisher,” I whispered just before kissing his neck the way he had been kissing mine just seconds earlier. “I …”

  Kiss.

  “Want …”

  Kiss. Bite. Long lick up to his ear.

  “You.”

  He pushed my back against the door and grabbed my face, kissing the life out of me. I felt it heaving in my breasts and radiating all the way down to the spot his erection hit between my legs.

  “Fuck …” He pulled away breathless as his forehead hit the door just behind my shoulder. “You are killing me.”

  I grinned, teasing the nape of his neck with my fingers. Killing Fisher wasn’t my intention, but I didn’t exactly not like it either. My confidence feasted on his words.

  “When is dinner?” He lifted his head. “Because I already know this erection is going to last more than four hours. I might need a trip to urgent care.” He reached for my legs, forcing me to unlock them so he could set me on my feet. “Now, go tell them I’m on my way. In four hours.” He sauntered to his bathroom.

  “Are you going to …”

  He glanced back at me as I wrinkled my nose and bit my lip. “Rub one off? Yes. Fuck yes. It’s the only way I’ll make it to dinner.”

  “Do you want me to—”

  “Nope. I’ve got it.” He shut the bathroom door and locked it.

  I covered my mouth and squealed into my cupped hands. So much dopamine in my veins. Fisher was the most glorious addiction. And I wanted him. All of him. And I knew what that meant, but I didn’t care. I wanted to have sex with Fisher. Lots of naked fisherman sex. And after that? I didn’t know. I just knew we’d figure it out a day at a time.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I ran from the bottom of the stairs to my bathroom.

  “Fisher …” I frowned at my reflection in the mirror. He totally destroyed my hair. And my face, neck, and chest had a severe case of whisker burn. So I splashed lots of water on my face and reapplied my makeup. Then, I buttoned my blouse to the top and tied a lightweight scarf around my neck.

  “Sorry. Fisher was still in the shower, so I had to wait for him to get out so I could tell him dinner was ready.” The lies came way too easily.

  “Cute scarf,” Rose said.

  I touched my scarf, making sure it was coving my neck. “Thanks.”

  “Your mom said you work for Fisher, is that correct?” Tiffany asked as I took a seat on the sectional, the spot where I slept with Fisher. Tiffany sat at the opposite end.

  “Yes, for now.” I persuaded my lips to curl into a smile for Fisher’s date.

  “What’s it like working for him? He’s such a perfectionist. I bet it’s intense.” Tiffany sipped her sangria that Rory made.

  “Yes, what’s it like?” Fisher appeared in the doorway, giving me a serious expression as he sat on the sofa, not too close to me, but definitely closer to me than Tiffany.

  “It’s like working for a man child.” I gave him a toothy smile.

  Rory and Rose laughed, rocking in the only two rockers on the porch. Tiffany seemed uneasy. Her gaze ping-ponged between me and Fisher.

  “Brave girl.” She cringed. “I’d never talk to my boss like that.”

  Fisher leaned forward and grabbed a glass of sangria from the tray. “I’ll fire her o
n Monday.”

  “Oh, Fisher. Do you want to go with me to the Jensen’s this week? I messaged them, and they’re out of town this week, but they gave me their door code and said we can stop by anytime.”

  Fisher sipped his sangria before rubbing his lips together and nodding. “Let me check my schedule and see how my week goes.”

  “Absolutely. I’m really flexible.”

  “And by flexible, she means she does yoga.” Rose threw Tiffany under the bus.

  Rory laughed. Fisher smirked with slight amusement. Tiffany turned as red as the sangria. And I grinned past my clenched teeth.

  “I know you won’t, but I’m fine with you having a glass of sangria if you’d like to try it, Reese.” Rory nodded to the last glass on the tray.

  “My mom wasn’t near as cool as your mom, Reese,” Rose said. “It’s the best sangria. Try it.”

  “Don’t push her.” Rory shot Rose a look. “She’s accustomed to a more conservative lifestyle, and we need to respect that.” Rory worked overtime trying to convince everyone, including me, that I wouldn’t or maybe shouldn’t try the sangria.

  “I’ll try it.” I shrugged.

  Fisher leaned forward again and handed me the last glass.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, giving him a quick glance.

  “Nice scarf,” he said so only I could hear him.

  My eyes narrowed a fraction as I sipped my drink.

  “Well?” Rory waited for my response to the sangria.

  “It’s really good.”

  “Easy, lightweight,” Fisher said, eliciting laughter.

  I lifted my foot onto the sofa and kicked the side of his leg.

  He grabbed my ankle and held it, nearly making me spill my drink as I tried to break free from his grip.

  “Now … now … kids.” Rory rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t the least bit surprised to find these two acting like siblings when I got home from California. We have guests. I don’t need you two wrestling around on the floor.”

  Fisher released my ankle, but his touch lingered on my skin. I liked his hands on me. So very much.

  Tiffany watched us, a slight catty expression pinned to her face.

  “I shut off the grill, but everything is ready. Steak. Chicken. Tofu. And in the foil, there’s veggies and potatoes. Want to grab the food off the grill, Fisher?”