Page 18 of Dear Grumpy Boss

Already, I’m addicted to her, like she is to the donuts she sinks her teeth into every morning.

With a muted curse, I grip her chin and tilt it up so that I can better ravish her. I rub and slide my lips over hers, her shallow exhales hitting my lips in another assault.

Suddenly, it’s not a wonder that I waited so long for my girl. Waited for her to feel the same filthy desires for me as I do for her. Without even knowing it, I bound her to me all those years ago with a job. Survived for years on seeing her face first thing in the morning, then flitting about my office like a busy bee.

She has no idea that she anchors me to the world when my brain would prefer to simply disconnect and disengage.

I lick the tiny divot at the center of her upper lip, and trace the perfect bow shape of it with the tip of my tongue. She clings to me—fingers digging into my shoulder blades, making those soft sounds like the kitten she snuggles with in her bed.

Now all her snuggles and her secrets are mine.

I'm so angry for denying myself—and her, for so long, that I dig my teeth into her lush lower lip. Her soft gasp soothes me and riles me in equal measure. I should take it easy, but I don't want to.

Plus, she needs to get used to this, to me. Needs to know that I’m going to eat her out and fill her up with my cum every chance I get. Needs to understand that I’m going to pleasure her so thoroughly that her every breath is going to be a chant of my name.

Now that she’s in my arms, she’s not going anywhere.

This need has built up in me for years. Keeping her at arm's length has chipped away any self-control I can even pretend to possess.

I drag her closer, sneak my fingers under her skirt, fill my hands with the sweet globes of her ass. Her flesh here is soft and dimpled and abundant enough to soothe me.

I bury my fingers at the line where her ass meets her thighs and draw lines down. There are so many things I want to, need to, do to her. Her tits feel like heaven crushed against my chest, and every inch of her is so lush and soft that I want to bite her, mark her. Own her.

“Let me in, Mouse,” I say, growling against her locked lips. “I don’t want some half-assed kiss, as if you’re kissing your adolescent crush.”

Her eyes open. The browns are shot through with desire, but she manages to glare at me. “You weremy adolescent crush, Zayn.” And then, as if she didn’t mean to say that, she drags her lips down my neck and hides her face there.

The sheer innocence of the gesture twists the knot in my chest while her admission…knocks me out at the knees.

I park my hands over her hips, needing to hold on to her. How did she keep it a secret for so long? Why did she never show me that she needs this?

“And now?” I say, licking the shell of her ear. My tone is teasing, a defense against my heart becoming even more hopeful. Already, it is a heavy, crushing thing in my chest—this hope. This emotion for her. “Is the crush gone? Granted, it’s not been that long since you left adolescence behind.”

She struggles against my embrace, and the slide and graze of her tits is torment. If she thinks I’m letting her go after one short kiss, she’s underestimating my madness for her.

Clasping her hips tight, I press into her, letting her feel the thick, hard shape of me.

Her fingers curl around my neck and she gasps.

I lick her lower lip before tugging it between my teeth.

She shudders against me. I sink my fingers into her hair at the back of her neck and pull, until she’s forced to face me. “Tell me, Mouse,” I demand. “Is the crush gone?”

“No. It’s become something else.” She opens her eyes and searches mine. Her tone is both husky and needy. “Now it has claws and teeth and wants all kinds of wicked things. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“No stopping it, Mouse,” I say, turning my head to align my lips with hers. My world is tilted, but with her breath mingling with mine. The tip of her tongue sneaks out and licks my lip in tentative stroke. “No turning back from this. For both of us.”

I don’t know if she understands the proclamation I just made. Only that she presses closer, deeper into me.

When shefinallyallows me entry into her mouth with an indignant huff, I lick through the sweet cavern like some conquering marauder. I nip and bite, and when she lets out a keening cry, I soothe with swipes of my tongue.

Air is an inconvenience we both need, so I release her sweet mouth. Only for a few seconds though.

Eyes closed, hands caught between our chests, she exhales in rough pants.

I push her hands away and fist the sweatshirt—my sweatshirt that is so perfect on her—with one hand. Her magnificent tits…I need to see, lick and suck them. Claim them as mine, as I will with every inch of her before the sun rises again.

She stares at my hands as I roll the hem up, past her belly, past her tits that fight against my hold. Her thick, wavy hair gets in the way. I gather it with one hand—like I’ve seen her do a thousand times, tits thrusting up—and push it out of the way.

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