Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

We find a new state of being in the marathon to the finish.

Slow and soft and unbearably steady.

No space to even breathe between us.

No thought left except making these bodies clay flesh that exists purely to melt together.

It’s only that hellfire in my balls grounding me, coiling around my throat with an urgency as my speed quickens and my strokes turn meaner. My release comes on like something clawing its way out of me, flogging my tongue, jerking my head back with a roar that echoes off the walls.

“Reese!” Her name splits me in two.

“Nick, yes!” She locks her legs around me and arches up, her pussy convulsing around my length, pulling me in to the hilt.

I frantically kiss her—consume her—for the split second of no return, catching a glimpse of her blue eyes fluttering shut before mine slam closed like a falling ax.

“Nick!” She whimpers.

I fucking explode.

We come together, our bodies twitching, two coiled machines made to trade heat. My dick pumps for what feels like forever, this feral urge to burn my name on her from the inside out whipping through my brain.

No telling how long it lasts.

I just know when it’s over—when I can finally breathe and check my own pulse—I kiss the top of her head with my last bit of strength and collapse next to her in a steaming mess.

She runs her fingers softly down my neck a minute later.

I pull her to me wordlessly, falling into her eyes, marveling at the first woman I’ve fucked with major intention.

God. Wherever this is going, it should scare me.

But somehow it only makes me need her more, and I spend the next few hours showing her how much she’s become like oxygen. More important, more vital, than my next breath.

Before sleep, we shower together.

She washes my back and I clean my hair between a thousand kisses. Once we’re out, she throws on her pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt from my closet and leans over the bed to kiss me.

Even after four fucking times, her tongue still tastes like a top-shelf dessert wine.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” I whisper.

“I should check on Millie...maybe stay with her if she’s having trouble sleeping,” she says with thick hesitation.

Snarling, I grab her and pull her into bed with me, reaching for my phone.

“That’s what the camera’s for,” I say, pulling up the app. “See? Sleeping like the gumdrop she is. You can’t leave me. There’s also a house rule against clothes in my bed.”

Laughing, she snuggles up to me and presses her lips to my jaw.

“How did I ever live without you, Nick Brandt?”

I fold my arms around her, squeezing tight, pondering the same mystery.

21

Six Whole Hands (Reese)

“Have you found anything yet?” Nick asks from the hall as I empty my sister’s top drawer one item at a time.

“Nope, you?” I realize it’s stupid after I ask.

If he’d found something, he wouldn’t be asking me.

Of course, the hunt for the needle in the proverbial haystack would be a whole lot easier if we knew what we were searching for.

“Nothing,” he says bitterly.

I hit the bottom of the top drawer. I’ve found random obsolete phone cables, rechargeable batteries, and Abby’s childhood diary. I don’t even know how she managed to keep that.

Each time the system jerked us around, we were given one suitcase each. No more, no less.

Neither of us had an actual grown-up suitcase, so we usually moved all of our things in one giant shared trash bag, or sometimes stuffed into a ratty secondhand duffel bag.

Abby’s seventh grade diary was important enough to always have a place in the moving sack, though.

Still. It’s been almost two hours combing this cramped apartment, and I haven’t found anything to help my sister’s current predicament or uncover Will’s sudden interest in seeing Millie.

Sighing, I replace everything I’ve removed and open the next drawer.

“There isn’t much left to go through,” Nick says gently.

“I know.”

“Quick Nick, will you come play?” Millie asks.

With Tiffany out sick today, Millie tagged along. She’s been easy to entertain, but with everything going on, I don’t want to be here with a defenseless child any longer than necessary.

“Nick’s busy, bumblebee,” I call.

“I wanna ride,” she says with a pout.

He doesn’t answer, but a minute later, I hear Millie squealing.

“Wheeeeee!”

I bite back a grin. I don’t have to peek in to know Nick’s carrying my niece around the living room on his shoulders. A fun distraction from the miserable reality of rifling through my sister’s meager belongings, trying to find a smoking mystery gun.

I don’t deserve him.

While the bossman pretends he’s a bipedal unicorn for Millie, I paw through the contents of another drawer.

“How about you color me a picture, little lady? I have to get back to work before your aunt banishes me to the cornfield,” I hear him say. His old Twilight Zone reference makes me laugh.