Office Grump: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

How did I even get here?

On my knees. On my boss’ bed, wearing nothing but my panties.

I swallow hard.

Because I know it’s not my boss. Not King Asshole. Not anymore.

It’s just Mag, and what was unbearably wrong just became right.

“Then you’ll enjoy your last moments on earth,” I whisper, my voice husky, unlike any tone I’ve ever heard.

Holy hell. This is what he does to me.

And he leans down then, bringing his savage mouth back to mine. The passionate kiss makes me frantic, and I slide my hands under his shirt, moving them up and down.

He sighs.

I walk my fingers down his chest, under the waistband of his boxers, tracing circles into his bare skin. He’s a slab of a man, skin like velvet stretched over solid rock in all the right places.

My eyes go to the huge pulsing bulge in his pants. It looks like it’ll rip through the flimsy fabric in a second and claim me.

My fingers push to the top of his pelvis, stroking faster circles from one hip to the next, making me hotter and wetter by the second. Every touch forces me to think about what the power in those hips could do to me.

Can I even take him?

“Sabrina, fuck.” He chokes on my name, two words dragged across sandpaper.

Hearing him so aroused, so drunk on me, sends a tremor down my spine. I walk my fingers back up, teasing his skin, edging my fingers deeper in his flesh, into rock-hard muscle.

When my hand falls down, grazing the crop of hair below his abs, I gasp.

“You weren’t supposed to stop,” he growls, moving his hand over mine, holding it to his body.

Clasping a fist around my fingers, he leads me down, and wraps my hand around every unseen inch of him.

He’s hot, alive, and throbbing like a piston.

Mag’s hell-blue eyes drill into my soul as I feel him jerk in my hand, flexing, making me imagine what he’ll do once he’s deep inside me.

Oh, hell.

It’s hard to even breathe.

All I can do is pull back, licking my lips, eyeing the hot sauna pools whirling in his eyes.

I need a distraction, so I wrap my hands around either side of the cotton t-shirt he’s wearing and yank it over his head, then run my hands down his bare chest. He brings an arm behind my back, pulling me closer, kissing me with the force of an angry god.

Call me shameless, I don’t care.

I’m past worrying about how I moan, collapse, and melt in his arms.

Especially when our tongues dance a mad ballet, and when he traces my bottom lip with the most sensual groan I’ve ever heard in my life. Several rough fingers hook inside the waistline of my panties again.

Mag!

“Not yet,” I sputter, breaking off the kiss, gasping for air.

He presses his lips to mine, tasting the inside of my lip, a quick and fleeting kiss.

“I’m not fully dressed anymore. We had a deal,” he reminds me.

I shake my head, forcing back a smile.

He looks so deliciously grumpy I want to laugh.

“No way, mister. You’re still wearing too much.” I loop my fingers around the waist of his sweats and pull them down, then shove him against the bed.

Well, I try.

He pretends I can actually move him and falls back, flopping down, grinning up at me.

He laughs. “If we act like you’re in control, will you get the hell over here and fuck me?”

I suck my bottom lip, lost for words.

“Brina. Get over here,” he snarls again, reaching up in a flash, wrapping his hand around my hip.

He tumbles me against him, hoisting my hips up to connect with his. The last thing I ever imagined was Magnus Heron having a playful side—in bed, no less—but I’m already in love.

I lean over him, clasping each of his massive shoulders, lightly rubbing his skin with my nails. Once I know he’s holding me up, my hands move from his shoulders, arcing down his chest, frolicking across his canvas of granite muscle and the wild ink on his arm.

He presses me against him, taking one breast in his lips, sucking my nipple. He leaves me no choice but to clench helplessly, digging my nails into him.

“Oh, God.” The moan escapes my lips. “Mag, yeah.”

For him, those words are magic, pure sorcery.

He nibbles, caresses, and sucks as I massage.

I shift to the side so I can rub down the length of his arm, admiring his strength. His hand comes up to cover my other breast.

I’m on fire, but I want to tease him the way he torments me.

I want him to want me like he’s never desired anything else.

It takes all my willpower not to grind against him, not to slide my panties off and throw his boxers across the room, not to impale myself on the dangerous hard-on I feel against my thigh.