The Last Boss' Daughter

“You’ve had a lot to process since I took you from the mall. I don’t expect you to feel the same way now you did before. You don’t owe me anything; I saved you because I wanted to.”

Scowling, she says, “Owe you anything?”

I nod once, gruff. I don’t like this conversation and I’d just as soon go show her the rest of the shit she needs to know so I can leave.

“Liam…” She looks down at the creaky floor beneath us, scuffing her toe awkwardly, then back up at me, this time with a little smile and a roll of her eyes. “I still want you. I’m still grateful to you. You’re still very much my Thor.”

“Huh?”

Shaking her head dismissively, she said, “Doesn’t matter. Did I expect that you were originally supposed to off me? Well, no. But what are you gonna do? Plus, I’m used to it; I’ve literally never been fucked by someone who didn’t want to kill me at one point in time.”

Grabbing her around the waist with one arm, I yank her up against me. Excitement jumps in her eyes and she braces her hands on my chest, biting down on her lower lip.

“I didn’t want to, it was just a job,” I correct her.

She doesn’t seem to care as her eyes follow my mouth.

I’m still a little bothered though. “Paul was your first?”

“Paul is shit and we don’t have to talk about Paul,” she says, echoing my earlier words. Then, with relish, she adds, “Ever. Again.”

I have to smile. I like this Annabelle. Not Paul’s Annabelle, the robotic, miserable one, but the unbroken, full-of-surprises Annabelle.

My Annabelle.

Holding my gaze, she says, “This doesn’t change anything between us, not for me.”

“You still want me?” I murmur, dipping my head to trail a few kisses along her jaw.

Fisting her hands in my shirt, she says, “Oh, yes.” Then, a little less breathy, she teases, “You still want me?”

In response, I drop my hands to her ass and lift her up. Her legs wind naturally around my waist and I haul her over to the bed, prepared to show her just what a stupid question that was.

Annabelle

The breath whooshes out of me as Liam drops me onto the bed—not so much from the force of the fall, but the sight of him yanking his shirt over his head already.

Oh my God, finally.

I can’t rip my eyes from the hard, muscled planes of his body. I’ve never seen anything like it in real life. I want to drag my tongue along the ridges just to feel proof of what my eyes are telling me.

I’m pretty sure I’m out of my league here, but I give him a sultry little smile like I’m totally not.

“I like the look of you on my bed,” he tells me, taking a step closer before he s

tarts unbuckling his pants.

My heart soars. I might die of happiness and lust and a general overdose of positive feelings.

“You know what I’d like even better?” he asks.

“I can think of so many things,” I say, watching his pants hit the floor and gulping again.

He smiles, and my heart does a somersault. I wish I could think of something clever to say to make him do it again.

“Less clothing,” he states, quirking an eyebrow at all the clothes I still have on.

Without bravado, I state, “I think I’ve forgotten how to use my hands.”