Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

I respond the only way I can.

My lips on hers, tugging and harsh, so greedy I understand how a starving lion feels.

My tongue swipes into her mouth, begging—no, demanding—more.

Demanding everything.

And she gives it back with a fluttery moan, another swivel of her hips, riding me into pure passion.

My hand crashes across her ass. She jerks with delight, quickening her pace.

The room quakes and my vision spins.

Every last shred of my focus shifts to making her come so hard she can’t think, can’t worry, can’t do anything but ride my cock across the bridge to ecstasy.

I fuck her so she knows I’m the man who’ll always give her his life.

It’s hard to even call it fucking when it’s beyond any sweetness or sin I’ve ever known.

It’s impossible to do anything but let it take over, this rabid desire lashing our bodies together. One rampant thrust after the next, where we collide like we want to do damage.

When she’s had as much as she can take, her nails scrape the back of my neck. Her body clenches around my length and I slam into her harder, grunting through bared teeth in time to her panting breaths.

“Oh, Nick. Oh, shit. Ohhh!” Her mouth spills into mine again.

Her tongue moves frantically, pleading for more.

I become a human jackhammer, hurling myself into her, until her climax makes my spine a lit fuse.

My whole body stings with a blinding current until I’m gone.

I’m so fucking gone.

I throb inside her once.

Twice.

Explosion.

I erupt like a madman, knotted deep inside her, a receptor for the biggest sensory overload of my life. I feel like a human corkscrew popping, all liquid fire as I’m emptied the fuck out.

“Reese, Reese!” I’m grinding her name, rutting for what feels like an eternity before I collapse against the mattress, taking her with me.

“I...love...you,” she whispers between torn breaths.

I love you too, darling.

Tonight. Tomorrow. Forever.

I pull a blanket around us. We pass out for several hours just like that, our naked bodies wound together.

She steals the blanket at some point. I wake up cold, but don’t struggle to reclaim it.

She’s too beautiful. She’s giving me a second life, a family, and she needs her rest.

I get up and pad into the kitchen with my stomach growling like a bear. Reese has about three ingredients.

Loaves of bread, instant mac, and barbecue potato chips. I laugh and shake my head.

When I head back into the living room, something rustles across the room. I glance over to the biggest surprise of the night—Reese opening that bag of cotton candy.

“I didn’t hear you get out of bed.”

“Hi.” She tears off a piece of blue fluff, sniffs, gives it a hesitant stare, and then pops it in her mouth.

“Don’t you hate cotton candy?” I quirk a brow.

“Baby likes it. I woke up craving a few cavities and since you brought me an elephant pile of sugar...I might as well try it.” Her shy smile makes me feel like my world goes right side up again.

“I was going to make breakfast. You know, real food.”

“Okay. I want toast and hot water.”

“Just hot water? No tea?”

She pulls off another chunk of blue fluff. “They don’t want me having caffeine and I haven’t stocked up on decaf yet. Something about the baby. I don’t know.”

“...have you been living on bread and instant mac?” I ask, suppressing a shudder.

“Mostly bread.”

“That’s not fucking healthy. The kid needs food, and so do you.”

She swallows another mouthful of candy and glares at me.

“Dude. You just showed up. Don’t think you’re coming in here and telling me how to do this. The baby might need more food, but the baby makes me throw up every three hours unless I eat bread or crackers or these weird prenatal vitamin suckers. Also, I don’t have room for bread every three hours plus something else, so you and your baby can smile and let mama eat.”

Damn, she’s adorable.

“Anything else?” I ask, leaning against the wall.

“Just sayin’. Is my hot water ready?”

“Working on it.” Chuckling, I walk away and paw through the cabinets for a mug before putting her plain water on the stove to heat.

She comes into the kitchen with her cotton candy and flops down at the small table.

“Give me the chips. All of them,” she whispers. “Baby likes it. I hate fake barbecue.”

The tea kettle hisses. I serve up her water and sit down beside her.

“This is going to be fun as hell,” I say, touching a fingertip to the end of her nose. “Hope you know that.”

She laughs. “I’m glad somebody thinks so.”

“You’re not happy?”

“There was never a moment where I didn’t want the baby, if that’s what you’re asking. And now that you’re back, well...this could be perfect. But I’d kinda like to skip ahead eight months. Or at least to the second trimester.”

“We’ll get there.” I take her hand and kiss it. “And I’ll be here the whole time, serving up your body weight in junk food.”