Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

He’s desperate for me.

We experience a shared helplessness cast in flaming need.

So thirsty it’s driving me a kind of crazy I never knew existed.

I’m panting as he focuses obsessively on my mouth—licking my lips until they quiver, nipping until they tingle, biting sharply to pull shrill gasps from my throat.

His tongue swipes mine, thrusting in and out of my mouth, a shivering promise of all the wicked delights he offers.

His stubble scratches my face, the perfect scruff, heightening the sweetness until I’m nearly screaming.

He’s growling when another bruising kiss comes, leaving my mouth feeling so tender I can’t stand it.

“Roland,” I whimper against him, moaning as he practically drinks his name from my lips. “Please. Please, you’ll kill me if I can’t feel you...”

It isn’t fair.

He has me begging in under five minutes.

I arch against the hard frame of his body caging me against the wall, and he moves harder against me.

If there’s any doubt that he’s as caught up in the storm as I am, it’s gone as the thickness of his cock rubs through his jeans.

Surprise, surprise—not.

He’s huge.

So massive, so hard, so ready I swear I can feel him throbbing through our clothes. With a whimper, I remember those flirty texts where he promised to hit me all night long.

I wonder if those threats to wipe my memory with sex were literal.

Because when I brush my fingers over his bulge, admiring his size, holy flaming crap.

I think he could make good on that promise.

He really could give me amnesia by morning when he’s packing like this.

“Fuck, Callie,” he growls, nipping the corner of my mouth. He teases a line of stinging-sweet kisses down my jaw, my throat. All sucking heat over the wild flutter of my pulse. “These lips have been fucking with me since the day I saw you. I could spend all night getting payback with my mouth.”

I thought I couldn’t flush hotter.

Wrong.

I look at him, my cheek brushing his hair, his sculpted jawline.

“...is that all you want to do? Kiss me?”

“Fuck no. You give me those lips where it counts,” he rumbles.

Then he lifts his head, looking down at me with smoldering eyes that burn like liquid nitrogen giving off smoke plumes.

He doesn’t need to elaborate.

Not when his slow, devilish smile says suck.

Suck everything I give you until I say stop.

That smile has me so captivated I don’t even realize what he’s doing until his arms are around me, hoisting me up, lifting me against his broad chest.

For all his finely tailored clothes with designer tags, he’s built like a wild animal—the fairy-tale beast incarnate—and there’s something distinctly feral about his heart drumming against mine.

Against the way he looks at me with savage, crackling eyes as he carries me through a ginormous house I barely glimpse before we’re off like rockets.

He sweeps me up a wooden staircase, never taking his eyes off me, ushering me into a loft bedroom that takes up most of the top floor.

I only have a second to get a hint of the style.

Tasteful, minimalist decorations in natural tones.

Low modern lights with a comfortable golden glow.

A bed so large it makes a California king look like a twin. Spacious glass everywhere, until we’re surrounded by sky and rippling lake water, yet not another house in sight.

Not another soul to break this man’s spell.

Just us.

Just Roland, me, and so much erupting desire.

Soon, I feel cool, crisp sheets against my back—and Roland’s weight, sinking down like he’d kiss me again...

But this time his mouth jerks away from mine, leaving it throbbing with want, and descends on my throat, my shoulders.

His hands roam my body with a possessive heat that feels like it’s molding me into the shape of this molten desire running through me.

I want to touch him so bad. But I can’t even draw a whole breath as he stamps his lips and teeth down my body, finding my collarbones, my pulse, the upper curve of my breasts. He stakes my pleasure points like the master explorer he is, covering every inch of me, leaving me quivering, gasping, spinning.

I’ve never considered myself a true submissive.

Oh, but he brings out something that makes me weak, that makes me enjoy feeling small, and tonight I’ll happily throw myself into the hunter’s jaws.

And those jaws snap a second later.

There’s no warning before cloth bites my skin.

Seams rip as Roland tears the glittery, soft dress off me in a single feral jerk.

Hard enough to lift me off the bed and drop me back down on my butt with this brute strength that leaves me winded.

There’s a fever in his eyes.

I see a man intoxicated—drunk on me—as he stares down.

I’m down to nothing but sheer black panties and a matching bra, my heels still laced around my feet.

For a second, I want to hide.

I also want him to never stop looking at me with his eyes half-mad.