The Boss's Runaway

“Sorry,” I mumble, taking another bite when he holds the sandwich to my mouth, followed by a spoonful of perfectly heated tomato soup. “I forgot to take my bag from the trunk of my car. I don’t have a change of…”

“Panties. Don’t worry, I noticed.” He swallows. “I’ll wash your dress and…underwear, so you have them for tomorrow.”

This poor man is just trying to do the right thing by me. And all I can do is try to drive him crazy. I’m not going to stop—I don’t think I’m physically capable of stopping—but maybe he deserves a little break. “How long have you worked at the casino?”

“Eight years. Since I was twenty-seven.” He says the next part pointedly. “That makes me thirty-five to your eighteen, in case you didn’t catch that math.”

“I caught it.” I take my time biting into the sandwich he offers me. “I just don’t care.”

“You should.”

I hum in my throat. “Did you always want to become a pit boss?”

“No. I was on my way to being a priest, actually. Things changed.”

“A priest?” I say on a rush of breath, turning on his big thigh to face him more fully. A move that seems to fluster him into dropping the soup spoon with a clatter. “What stopped you from becoming one?”

A muscle flexes in his cheek, seconds ticking by while he obviously decides whether he wants to offer an explanation or not. “While I was going through the process of become a priest, I was serving as a transitional deacon in a parish not far from here. One of the members of our congregation was a gambler. A criminal who wanted to turn over a new leaf. We became friends. Best friends, I guess you could say. While serving as deacon, I watched the way everyone else turned their back on him. The way they turned their back on anyone who didn’t do a good enough job of pretending to be righteous. And I decided my time could be better served around imperfect people. To lead by example, so to speak, instead of preaching about godliness to people who don’t think they need to hear it.”

I haven’t moved a muscle since he started talking in that deep baritone, peeling back a new layer of himself. One that makes him even more interesting and helps me understand him more. “What happened to your friend?”

“He passed away right before I could be ordained. A life of drinking and smoking caught up with him.” Grief flickers in his green eyes and they briefly drop to his lap. “I couldn’t go through with it—didn’t feel right. I’ve been here ever since.”

My fingertips are tracing his cheekbone before I register my own actions. “You were probably one of the best things that happened to him.”

Locke’s laugh is halting. “If only he could see me now. If only they all could.” His gaze tracks over my mouth. “Mister high and mighty with a hard-on for a teenage runaway that doesn’t even reach his shoulder.” He jolts a little, as if he didn’t mean to say those words out loud. I’m so glad he did, though. My body is buzzing like a hive of bees and nothing is going to stop me from getting my kiss. More. We want each other. Before I can lean in and bring our mouths closer together, he speaks abruptly. “Who mistreated you, Sissy?” His chest rises and falls dramatically. “Who do I have to kill?”

“No one,” I whisper, shaking my head. “You just got finished telling me that you lead by example. I won’t be the reason you change who you are. Or do something you’ll regret.”

“The rules I live by are going out the window very quickly…” he says hoarsely, his left hand molding my thigh. “So quickly when it comes to you.”

“I…I’m sorry…”

He hesitates, visibly battling against the part of himself that I inspire. Then finally, he leans in and speaks right against my mouth. “Apologize by letting me get a look at that little cunt.” Liquid heat rushes quickly to my core, making my gasp. But I do as he asks, as if I’m chemically obligated to do what this man wants. I part my thighs a few inches and he lifts the black T-shirt, spitting out a curse and covering me back up just as quickly. “Son of a bitch.” He moans in his throat. “I won’t sleep a wink knowing that’s across the hall. Wet and tiny.”

The way he speaks about my body makes me warm and dizzy. “W-what will help?”

“Pounding it like a motherfucker with a cock that won’t even fit. And I’m not doing that.” He removes his hand from my thigh, raking it down his face. “I want to know what you’re running from. Now. Need a way to channel this…lust. I’ll put it into protecting you.” His fist bashes down on the table, rattling the bowls. “Protecting what’s mine, dammit.”