Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

I’m coming so hard I see stars.

When my senses return, I’m flat on my back, Reese still wiping her mouth shyly as she strokes my brow.

“Well?”

I blink at her. “That was...”

“Unexpected?” she finishes, tilting her head in question.

“Total insanity. Marry me,” I spit, reaching up to shove my fingers through hers. “Marry me right the hell now.”

She’s laughing—and I’m not even sure I’m joking—as I spring up, feeling a new vigor to pay her back.

I fight her under me, my mouth wrestling hers, kissing her until I taste moans like soft lavender.

When she’s a whimpering mess, my tongue turns south, roaming her body and reclaiming her breasts. She rakes her nails through my hair, her eyes pinched shut, pushing my head down impatiently when I move in for her eager pussy.

My nostrils tingle, raging to breathe her in, to brand her taste in my memory.

Shifting my weight, I toss her quivering legs over my shoulders and finally press my tongue against soft lace. My teeth catch a fringe of fabric and make quick work of it.

“Oh, hell. Ohh—Nick.”

Have I mentioned how much I love hearing my name like the world’s nastiest curse on her lips?

I show her how much, sliding my tongue up and down in languid strokes, dead over the center seam of that lace, before I rip her panties down her legs and onto the floor.

“Nick.” She sighs my name again, rapt with worship.

Warm cream tells me she wants this as badly as I do.

She loves every second, how I cut hypnotic circles around her clit, how I slowly fuck her slit with my tongue, how I get rougher as her ass rises, and especially how my hands grip her thighs. I shove them against my face and go deeper with a growl, pulling her clit between my teeth, forcing her to ride my beard.

As hard as I go, she takes it like a champ, and I won’t stop for nothing unless she asks.

She kicks her legs with a shrill whimper. “Ohhh, holy hell.”

Holy hell? That I can do.

Gunning my tongue into her folds one last time, I bring her to ecstasy’s edge, then rear up in a movement so quick I’m hovering over her when she blinks up in surprise. The tip of my seething hardness waits at the entrance to her warm, wet pink, leaking pre-come like sap on her pussy.

Fuck. Where is that condom?

I start to turn around, but stop as she grabs my forearm sharply, digging her nails in.

“It’s okay. It’s safe. Please, Nick, I...I want to feel you,” she whispers.

We lock eyes. I may have had my harem over the years, but one thing I’ve never been is stupid. I always used protection. Thank God, too, no telling what kind of rap sheet I’d have with my clinic if I didn’t.

Going in bare with anyone else would feel like madness if she was anyone else. But with her...with Reese damn Halle, this animalistic urge—this need—flares through me.

I know her.

I trust her.

I want her skin-on-skin like a madman needs his precious delusions.

“You know if we do this, there’s no going back, yeah?” I growl, the head of my cock grinding against her opening with a mind of its own.

I’m going to want her all the fucking time, skin on heated skin.

She’s so wet, so willing to wear the mark of my seed from the inside out. Yes, I know how insane I sound. I wouldn’t take it back for anything.

“It’s safe,” she whispers. “I’m sure of it. I always keep up with the pill.”

That makes me feel slightly better—not that I’m sure I’d have turned her down even if a pregnancy was Russian roulette.

I’m that crazy to be in her, that undone, that dead if I don’t take her now.

She wraps all four limbs around me as I glide in, stroking deep, pushing my forehead against hers when I hit her depths.

“So. Fucking. Hot.” Each word comes out like a staccato snarl as her tightness grips me.

“Kiss me,” she moans.

I bring my lips to hers. Her delicate tongue slides into my mouth. And then I’m gone for any communication involving words.

There’s only our swaying rhythm, only each thrust as I slam into her, crashing my hips into hers.

This isn’t anything I can describe as mere sex anymore.

This is a battle of skin and breath. This is a sonnet written in sweat and breathless curses. This is a frolic, a dance, a bestial mating dance that makes my headboard shake so violently I think the damn thing could break.

She comes hard for me, just a few minutes in, letting out this high-pitched groan as her body seizes.

I don’t know how I’m still thrusting through it, powering on with a mind more animal than man.

When she can look me in the eye again, I don’t let up. I match the thrusts of my hips to the strokes of her tongue in my mouth.