Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

My head snaps back.

My lips part.

I try to cry out, to cry his name, but nothing comes out.

Pleasure slams through me in unrelenting waves, pounding me into a boneless, blind mess enchanted by his sweet insanity.

I stop trying to comprehend just how effing hard he’s shaking me even as my walls lock around him.

I’m so wet for him I’ve drenched us both, but I still feel him tensing with a loud groan.

“Callie—fuck!”

Roland cracks like an avalanche, a tumbling eruption I sense through the condom as his hardness balloons, strains, and heaves his balls dry.

I’m surprised my teeth don’t break when they pinch together.

Just like that, I grind my way through the surreal bliss of feeling Roland come inside me.

Just like that, I join him in ecstasy.

Just like that, he takes my soul.

We’re a rocking, steaming mess for minutes that feel like months and it’s still not long enough.

When I open my eyes, I’m gobsmacked by how wet the sheets feel under my thighs.

And he’s still hard.

Still inside me.

Oh my flipping stars.

I can barely breathe after his piston hips just wrecked me for life. I let out a whimper as he shifts slowly, sliding and stroking deep inside me again.

I expected to come down in a tangle of sheets and pillow talk.

But no matter what I imagined about this man and his special black magic, I never once thought he’d have no off switch.

Because he’s in me again a few seconds later, barely stopping to tear the condom off and roll on a new one, thrusting with midnight-blue eyes so hot it’s like an arctic night.

I’ve already come twice, but I realize what’s ahead.

This night—our one and only scoop of heaven—has only just begun.

This man is on a mission and he won’t let up.

Not until he’s torn me apart, chased me out of my mind, and sheared my senses numb.

This damaged beast I call boss wants me desecrated and marked for life before he’ll ever think of letting me go.

18

All Jazzed Up (Roland)

I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.

It must be something right because I haven’t woken up feeling this good in a long damned time.

It’s pitch-black in my room even with the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the lake.

My eyes snap open before dawn, a waking habit I’ve never shaken since the Army. Normally I’d be up skimming reports over coffee already while I watch the sunrise over Lake Michigan, turning the choppy iron-grey waters into lively bronze crests.

Not this morning.

Not when I wake up today to a sight that rivals every sunrise.

Callie Landry.

It wasn’t just a dream.

She’s in my bed, sound asleep and tucked against me like I’m the rock she’s always needed.

Actually, I’m very fucking not.

When the guilt hits, it grabs on like an angry Rottweiler.

I should let her go and go about my morning as usual with a heaping cup of sugar-laced coffee and a murmured goodbye as I see her out. I might even have an hour to contemplate what I’ve just done to her.

When I said we’d never speak of this again, I meant it.

It’s been painfully obvious we’ve both craved more, ever since that first blinding kiss. Something to scratch the itch, to satisfy our curiosities so we can stop wondering what-if and move on from this madness.

That’s what I intend to do.

Move on, and let us get back to living without stinging desires plaguing us constantly, the tension sated and deflated.

My cock has other ideas.

The longer I stare at her, the harder I get.

I’m gifted with stamina most men would kill for, yeah, but morning wood after taking her five damn times?

She’s clearly bewitched me, and I can’t seem to get out of my bed.

As Callie sighs and burrows in closer, I wrap my arms around her with a sigh and bury my face in the mess of her hair.

Slowly, I breathe in the scent of us that’s soaked into her smooth, silky skin.

My heart feels strange. Heavy.

What do I even do with this shit?

Finally, after staying in bed nearly an hour longer than usual, I force myself to let her go, and ease out of the covers, untangling my legs from hers.

Every inch of my body where she’d pressed against mine feels cold, bereft, but I ignore it and slip into the shower before getting half-dressed in boxers and an undershirt.

Then it’s time to whip up breakfast.

It’s not every day I cook.

I don’t have live-in help even though I could easily afford it, but a very nice older woman named Tess usually comes by every morning to straighten up the house and make sure I’m stocked up with groceries and have any meals I’d like waiting.

Last night, I gave Tess the morning off with pay.

I didn’t want anything interrupting this morning.

Still, I can’t help asking why as I toss eggs and bacon into a pan for a quick, classic breakfast.