I throw my arms around his neck and sink down, engulfing every inch of him. The instant pleasure sends my head back, and I dig my nails into his skin, holding on for dear life.
“What have I done to that sweet, innocent little suburbanite?” Mischief dances in his eyes, and he’s trying so hard to hold back, not to thrust.
“You freed me,” I whisper, flicking my tongue across his lips to tease him back. “Now you get to deal with the billionaire hotshot’s wife.”
“Lucky me. I always wanted a woman who gives it back as good as I do,” he rumbles, crashing his hips into mine so hard I bounce on his hardness.
He kisses me again.
“I had no idea it was a power struggle,” I laugh, pulling my face away.
“It’s called evolving, Brina. I want my wife to become the best version of herself so she never, ever even thinks about anyone else.”
“You called me yours again,” I tease, touching a playful finger to his nose.
A fierce hand smacks my butt, and I jerk, loving how he’s always on point.
“You remember your place—the only one that’s non-negotiable.” He rakes his hand through my hair, his eyes incandescent. “You’re here, and you’re mine. Forever.”
A wicked current races up my back.
“The first time I saw you, I thought you were gorgeous, rich, and arrogant,” I whisper, brushing my lips on his. “The first day we worked together, I thought some smarter, prettier, better dressed woman would be here one day, and I already hated her.”
“Here in Kona?”
I kiss his bare shoulder.
“In your arms.”
“Never,” he growls. “Don’t forget I know my place, too. I’m so fucking yours forever, Brina Heron, and it’s the only place I was ever meant for.”
Our lips meet, mouths open, and a familiar dance begins.
My arms thread around his neck as my mind blanks, his hips meeting mine with every thrust.
His kisses sear. His touches blaze. His eyes flipping glow.
His mouth covers one breast and then the next, teasing my nipples into delirium. I drop my hand to his neck, holding him in place. My fingers slide through his thick sandy hair. He runs a hand between my thighs and his fingers trace up and down the seam of my opening, where we’re joined.
God, do I shudder.
“I can’t decide whether to make slow, sweet love to you on this honeymoon or fuck you like a madman. I just know I’m the luckiest man alive—”
“You don’t believe in luck.” I barely get the words out past the fire in my body as he thrusts.
“I do now. Things change, Brina, I’ve got you.”
“Take me,” I grind out as he thrusts again. “Mag, please.”
I love this man and his playfulness, his gentle words, but right now, I’m only craving one thing.
With a low sigh, I spread my legs wider, taking him deeper, closing any last space between us.
One inked arm slides over my back. A firm grip I couldn’t free myself from if I wanted to.
Guess what? I don’t.
His other hand cups my face, tilting my chin up. His head cranes. Feral lips torch mine.
There we are.
Connected, complete, and so in love it hurts until his thrusts sweep me away like an island storm.
When it’s over, I drift off to a boneless sleep in his arms and wake up to crystal-blue eyes staring at me like I’m the most precious treasure he’s ever seen.
I giggle.
“How long have you been staring?” I pull a pillow over my head.
He fights it away, puts his forehead on mine, and then lays down the law on my lips.
“Never too long, sweetheart. You’re beautiful, you’re mine, and now you’re awake. I ordered room service and I thought we’d take it on the patio. We’ll head downstairs whenever you’re ready. What do you want to do today?”
“I don’t care. As long as it’s with you,” I say honestly.
His lips quirk up.
“I think you’ll enjoy the fact that you’re starting your day with a cinnamon latte, thanks to yours truly. Try not to get sick from all that damn sugar,” he growls, caressing my face.
“My hero,” I whisper, fluttering my eyes dramatically as he dives in for another kiss.
So maybe I’m far more than his assistant now, but let’s be real.
Magnus Heron will always be the boss of me.
Thanks for reading Office Grump! Look for more lovable bossholes coming soon.
Curious what's in store for Mag, Brina, and Jordan years later?
Have a peek at their lives long after the honeymoon in this special flash forward story. - https://dl.bookfunnel.com/7w3r6ymurk
Then read on for a preview of another broody billionaire, Ridge Barnet in The Romeo Arrangement.
The Romeo Arrangement Preview
No Place to Crash (Grace)
“Careful, Gracie. This snow’s getting to be too much,” Dad growls, his eyes flicking across the road.
“Just a little longer. There has to be something up ahead.” I bite my lip, hoping to every star above that I’m right.
And it’s hard to hope when the stars are walled off behind the dense, angry clouds intent on burying us for the last hundred miles.
Oh, I’ve got all the fire under my ass a girl could ever need, but I’ll tell you one thing—I’d kill for a touch of real fire right now.
I feel a mad affection for every human being who ever shivered, scowled up at the sky, and said winter, bite me.
If only winter was the end of my worries.
The loud, ragged cough coming from my father in the passenger seat has me more nervous than the heavy snow drifting across the highway in blustery white sheets. It’s been snowing for hours.
This old truck, which had seen better days long before we left Wisconsin, has already been working overtime to pull the horse trailer up and down the rolling hills.
I’m keeping the speed low so I can try to avoid any mishaps. They’re all too likely with the sort of luck we’ve had on our journey thus far. We must’ve lost a good hour back in Minnesota, straining to change a flat.
Every time I glance at the old Ford’s dashboard, I’m expecting to see red.
A check engine light. Low oil pressure. Battery, alternator, brakes, another broken thingamajig.
Nothing would surprise me.
Still, despite being rusted up and dented, no thanks to my teenage driving skills years ago, the truck soldiers on. It’s almost like family, an old workhorse with the air of an immortal.
Only, the signs of aging are as impossible to ignore as its scabs of rust.
I know it’s a cheap metaphor for my father, who hacks up another coughing fit next to me.
Ask me how much I care about metaphors right now.
The once robust Nelson Sellers, who used to practically juggle hay bales, has shrunken the past few months. It’s not just his weight and musculature.
He slouches, even when sitting, something he always used to get after me for as a kid.
Dad’s demeanor has changed, his energy flatlining as his body limps along. His once coppery-brown hair is dull silver, and that fiery shine in his blue eyes that made him Dad is just...gone.