Page 12 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)

LILLY

T his can’t be happening.

I’m twisting and turning inside.

And he’s here.

He found me.

I’m shaking. I’m torn. He’s the monster I ran from.

I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't process the fact that Nikolai Vetrov is shooting glances at my son with a question in his eyes.

Our son.

God, what if he figures it out? What if he already has?

“Rosa,” Nikolai doesn't take his eyes off me. “Take the boy somewhere else. We need to talk.”

Rosa sees it. The inferno between us. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s go get some burgers. You must be hungry.”

“But Mama?—”

“Just for a little while,” I say sweetly. “I’ll be right here.”

Nikolai watches Chleo go. The bell chimes. The door closes. Then it’s just us.

Me. Him.

And everything I’ve been running from.

“What did he mean?” Nikolai's voice is deadly quiet. “About having no money?”

I wrap my arms around myself and hold tight. Keep myself from shattering under his eye.

“It’s nothing,” I lie.”Just… business is slow.”

“Try again.”

His voice cuts through me. My spine snaps straight like it remembers who he is. Five years gone, and he still does this to me.

Still makes me want to obey before my brain catches up. Almost makes me forget why I ran.

“The bakery's closing,” I admit. “End of the month. The landlord doubled the rent and I can't... I can't make it work.”

His jaw ticks. “How much do you owe?”

“It doesn't matter. You can't just?—”

“How much, Lilly?”

The way he says my name. Like he owns it. Like he owns me.

“Fifteen thousand,” I whisper. “But Nikolai, you can't?—”

“Fifteen thousand.” He says it like it's pocket change. Like it's nothing. “That's what's keeping you awake at night?”

“I'm fine.”

“You're not fine. You're barely holding on.” He takes a step closer. Then another.

“You ran from me. Disappeared without a word. And now I find you here, struggling to keep food on the table for your kid.”

My kid.

He hasn’t figured it out.

Or has he? And he’s toying with me.

“I’m not?—”

“Don't.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Don't lie to me. Not about this.”

I stare at him, this man who could destroy me with a word. This man who already destroyed me five years ago and made me love every second of it.

“I’m in trouble,” I breathe.

His mouth curves into something that might be a smile on anyone else. On Nikolai, it looks like a promise.

“Not anymore,” he moves closer until I can smell his cologne. Until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “I can help if you want.”

And just like that. He’s promising me the moon. Like it costs him nothing. I shouldn’t trust him. Should remember that trouble follows the devil.

Always.

But he shows me a future. A way out. A breath. And God help me—I want it. With every broken, desperate cell in my body.

And it shows on my face.

Shows in the way my lips part.

Shows in the way I go all heady with trembling knees.

He steps closer. My back hits the counter. Nowhere to go.

His eyes rake over me. Slow. Possessive. Like he’s remembering what’s under my clothes.

Like he wants to see if he still fits the way he used to.

I swallow hard. My breath’s all wrong.

He’s not touching me.

But my skin tingles like he is.

The heat between us? Nuclear.

I clench my fists to keep from grabbing his shirt. From dragging myself back into the fire I barely escaped.

He can make me forget. And with him standing so close, my body starts to buzz, hum, sing.

I thought I could forget him. But seeing him again? I’m a puddle at his feet.

And I can’t hold back. I look up, straight into his eyes. See my hunger in his.

And then he’s kissing me. Hard. Hungry. Like five years of distance was nothing but foreplay.

This kiss isn’t sweet. Nor gentle. Nothing like one of those reunion kisses in a movie.

It’s a claim. It’s anger. It’s possession.

His hands are in my hair, yanking my head back. His tongue slides in on a ruthless expedition, curving along mine, arching to lick the roof of my mouth.

My knees go soft.

My stomach clenches.

My thighs press together, aching for more.

I dig my fingers into his shirt, needing something to hold on to as he devours me.

His hands slide around my waist, gripping tight, walking me back.

I should resist.

Should push him away.

Should remember all the reasons I ran in the first place.

But I want it too. I've been starving for five years and he's a feast.

I moan into his mouth, pulling him closer. I can feel how hard he is already, pressing against my stomach.

And my body responds like it's been programmed to want him.

“Fuck,” he growls against my lips. “Five years and you still taste like sin.”

He backs me through the pantry door, kicks it shut behind us. The sound echoes like a gunshot.

Then his hands are everywhere. Sliding up my sides, cupping my breasts through my shirt, making me arch into his touch.

“I should have tracked you down years ago,” he says, mouth moving to my neck. “Should have found you the minute you disappeared.”

“Nikolai—”

“I asked around, you know? Went back to Table 9. Figured you found better options.” His hands grip the hem of my shirt.

He starts to lift. Fingertips drag up my stomach. My breath catches. The shirt clears my ribs. My bra.

His eyes never leave mine. “You didn’t come back.”

The shirt slides over my head. Hits the floor.

Now I’m bare from the waist up. Breathing hard. Burning. And he's staring at me like I’m something precious he lost and found. And plans to never lose again.

“Say the word, Lilly,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the edge of my bra strap. “Say stop.”

I don’t.

I can’t.

Because I don’t want to.

My bra follows the shirt, torn apart by hands that don't have the patience for clasps. Then his mouth is on my breast, tongue circling my nipple until I'm gasping.

“God, I missed these,” he murmurs against my skin. “Missed the way you taste. The sounds you make.”

He backs me against the wall, the cold surface shocking to my naked back. His hand slides down, under my skirt.

Finds me wet over my panties.

He hisses in approval. “I could smell the heat off you the moment I saw you,” he whispers into my ear.

I startle, I ache, I arch.

His fingers slide under my panties, finding my clit, circling it to make my hips buck.

I gasp.

He stops moving. Just watches me squirm.

I gasp, eyes fluttering open, meeting his.

“Use your words,” he whispers against my mouth. “I’m not a mind reader.”

“I want you to ruin me,” I whisper. “Right here. Right now. Don’t stop until I forget my name.”

His finger slides inside me, making me cry out. “That’s right.”

He adds another finger, curling them inside me, finding that spot that makes me see stars. His thumb stays on my clit, circling, pressing, driving me to the edge.

“That's my girl,” he murmurs. “There she is. My perfect, filthy girl.”

Good girl gone bad.

The thought flickers through my mind like a neon sign.

That's what I am with him. That's what I've always been.

The responsible single mother disappears. The careful, cautious woman vanishes.

In her place is someone who digs her nails into his shoulders. Someone who spreads her legs wider, begging for more.

Someone who comes apart at the seams when he adds a third finger and whispers dirty promises in her ear.

“Come for me,” he commands. “Right here against this wall. Show me how much you missed me.”

And I do.

I shatter.

The orgasm rips through me like lightning, making my legs shake, my vision blur.

I'm only standing because his body pins me to the wall.

“Fuck,” he breathes, watching my face as I fall apart. “Beautiful. So fucking beautiful when you come.”

Before I can catch my breath, he's turning me around. Bending me over the small table we use for prep work.

His belt hits the floor. Then his pants.

When I feel him behind me, hard and ready, I spread my legs wider. Arch my back. Offer myself like the shameless thing he makes me become.

“You want this?” he asks, running the head of his cock through my wetness.

“Yes.”

He thrusts in with one brutal stroke that steals my breath. Fills me completely. Stretches me until I'm gasping.

He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in.

His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as he sets a punishing pace. “You're not running from me again,” he growls.

Every thrust punches a moan from my throat. Every slap of skin on skin drives me higher.

I shouldn't want this.

Shouldn't crave the pain laced with pleasure.

The control.

The way he uses my body like he owns it.

But God, I do.

I want him deeper. Rougher. Until I forget I ever ran.

His fingers bite into my hips like he's anchoring me to this moment.

To him.

And maybe he is.

Because with every thrust, I forget the bakery, the lies, the years.

All I feel is him. Hard. Hot. Brutal.

One hand slides up my spine, tangles in my hair, pulls my head back. The slight pain mingles with pleasure until I can't tell them apart.

“You feel that?” he growls. “Feel how perfectly you take me? Like you were made for this.”

His other hand cracks across my ass, making me cry out. The sting spreads across my skin like fire.

“Again,” I gasp.

He obliges. Again and again until my skin burns and I'm sobbing with pleasure.

“My perfect little whore,” he says, voice thick with satisfaction. “I knew you'd like that.”

He's right. God help me, he's right. I love the way he takes control. Love surrendering to him completely.

His pace becomes erratic. I can feel him getting close, his control finally starting to slip.

“Come with me,” he demands. “Right fucking now.”

It coils deep—hot and tight—somewhere low in my belly.

A pulse.

A spark.

Then an inferno.

Every thrust shoves me closer. I grip the edge of the table like it might save me.

It won’t.

He thrusts again—hard. Brutal. Perfect.

His cock hits that spot inside me like he’s carving his name there.

And I shatter.

The second orgasm hits harder than the first, deeper, more devastating. I scream his name, not caring if a client out might hear.

He follows me over, hips slamming against mine as he empties himself inside me. His groan echoes off the pantry walls.

We collapse together, breathing hard. Sweaty. Wrecked.

“Fuck,” I whisper when I can finally speak.

We dress in silence. My bra is destroyed, so I grab my spare apron and put it on over my shirt, tying it tight to cover myself.

“Now,” he says, straightening his tie like he didn't just fuck me senseless against a prep table. “Tell me what you're really doing here.”

The question hits like cold water. Brings reality crashing back.

“The city got expensive,” I lie, not meeting his eyes. “Small town seemed like a better place to raise a child.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“That's the truth.”

“Lilly.”

The warning in his voice makes me shiver. But I can't tell him the real reason. Can't admit I ran because I was terrified of what it would mean for our son.

“I have to get back to work,” I say, moving toward the door.

He catches my wrist. Gently. But firm enough to stop me.

“This isn't over.”

I pull free, walk past him into the main bakery. My legs are still shaking. My body still humming with satisfaction.

But my mind is clearer now. Focused.

He can't know about Chleo.

Because if he finds out, I know exactly what will happen.

He'll never let us go.