Page 61 of Possessive Ink

“Me,” he says simply. “I’m our family’s fixer.”

“Their fixer?” I question, feeling my nose wrinkle.

“I guess I’m the one we all call if something goes wrong. It started back when we were kids. Jude smashed our mom’s favorite Christmas tree ornament one year. He knew she’d be upset and probably cry if she found out it had been broken, so he brought the pieces to me, and I glued them back together. She still hangs it on the tree every year.”

“She didn’t realize it had been broken and repaired?”

Shrugging, he smiles softly. “She probably did, but she never said anything because I fixed it. After that, I guess I just became my siblings’ go-to. Over the years I’ve fixed bad report cards, bullies, asshole boyfriends, and psycho girlfriends. I meet a lot of people in my job, so when the twins were scouted before the draft, I already knew a few sports agents. When Felix’s sculptures started getting recognition, I helped him find connections with some gallery owners. I helped Tori out when she needed a real estate attorney, and I know a handful of contract attorneys that I can call on to look over any contracts anyone might be asked to sign.”

“So you’re basically your siblings’ boss?” I question with a smirk.

“No.” He shakes his head, smiling softly. “I just know how to fix problems, and if I can’t fix them, I find someone who can.”

“And you enjoy that?”

He nods. “Yes, I do.”

A cold ball of ice forms in my stomach. “Am I a problem that needs to be fixed?”

His fingers are hot when he cups my cheeks and forces me to look at him. “You’re not a problem, Lemon. You’re my reward.”

The server appears at the side of our table carrying our food as I’m trying to process what he just said. Clearing her throat, she waits for Atticus to drop his hands from my face before she places our food down in front of us. “I have the waffles and berries and a Denver omelet. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, thanks. This looks great,” Atticus says, all of his attention on me, even as he speaks to her.

“Okay, then. Enjoy your meal.”

The moment she leaves, he leans back into me, so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my ear. “You’re mine, Princess, my prize, my gift, my treasure, my most precious possession, and I’m going to keep you safe and cared for and…” He lowers his voice to a gravelly rasp. “Worshipped.”

My entire body heats as warmth starts in my cheeks and radiates outward until I can feel the fervor pulsing from me. Yesterday, after he told me to kneel for him, he asked to worship me, and worship he did, over and over until I was a mindless ball of pleasure. Is that why he’s reminding me of that now, to bring this conversation back to sex, to the physical?

“Since the moment we collided, I’ve felt like a dragon who got the perfect golden gift. Do you know what dragons do with gold?”

I shake my head, and he smirks.

“They hoard it. They covet and protect and…worship it. And you…you’re my gold.”

I’m fairly sure that the audible exclamation that comes out of me is exactly how it would sound if falling in love was a noise you could actually hear. Who is this man and what is he doing to me?

“Atticus,” I whisper, unsure what I’m trying to say but needing to say it anyway.

“Eat, because now we’ve found each other, we have all the time in the world to say everything we need to.”

For the first time in my life, breakfast feels like foreplay. When he decides I’m taking too long to eat, Atticus picks up his fork, slices off a piece of my waffle and dunks it in the syrup before bringing it to my mouth and feeding me.

Instead of feeling self-conscious, his attention on me feels decadent. While I chew, he cuts off chunks of his omelet, alternating between feeding me and himself while the restaurant and other diners around us all fade into insignificance.

By the time I shake my head and refuse to eat anymore, my skin feels electrified, and I’m ready to sink to my knees right here and now if it means he’ll sate this need that’s been building inside of me since we climbed into his car.

“Are you ready?” he asks after he hands the server his credit card and pays our bill.

Nodding, I let him take my hand and tug me carefully to my feet. For a moment I stare at the way our hands look entwined together. Mine are smaller, my nails painted a soft pink. His are huge, his fingers and hand a canvas of tattoos that make my mind wander to how sexy we must look when those fingers are running all over my bare body.

After he leads us out into the parking lot, he opens my car door, holds my hand while I climb inside, and makes sure that the full skirt of my dress doesn’t get caught outside once my door is shut.

His smoky cologne hits me the moment he climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door behind him. Inhaling slowly, I fill my lungs with his scent, and unable to resist, I run my eyes over him, painstakingly taking him in. Instead of wearing ripped jeans or sweatpants like he did yesterday, today he’s clad in black suit trousers with a black button-down and black leather shoes. He’s probably a little overdressed for breakfast on a random Friday, but the tailored trousers and fitted shirt suit him just as much as his more casual outfits do.

The black fabric makes his tattoos look darker and more dangerous, and his simple rose gold jewelry that matches the necklace at my throat only adds to his don’t-fuck-with-me aura. After he pulls out of the restaurant parking lot and onto the street, I lose myself for a little while.