Page 2 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)

LILLY

I don’t remember making the decision. One moment, Trish walked off in the opposite direction, and the next, I was in the elevator.

Okay. Deep breaths. I don’t have to go. I could take the elevator back down. No one would ever know.

He’s dangerous. That much is clear. The kind of man who doesn’t just play with fire. He is fire.

And yet, some twisted part of me isn’t scared. Some part of me is curious. Reckless. Starving for a thrill I haven’t tasted in years.

Trish said he never makes requests.

My heart is pounding like it wants out of my chest. My palms are damp. My stomach is doing acrobatics.

But I still keep moving forward, towards him.

As I walk down the hall, every bad thing that could go wrong enters my brain. I spot a 250-pound black-haired man standing outside the only door on this floor. Covered in ink. Wearing all black. And strapped. I mean, there’s a gun under his jacket. I see it instantly.

This was a terrible idea.

I should’ve said no.

Should’ve gone home, microwaved leftover Thai, and binge-watched true crime documentaries instead of trying to star in one.

But I’m here.

I didn’t even know hotels had rooms this high up.

The elevator ride took forever, and yes, there was an actual human being in there pressing the button, standing inside with me like this was Buckingham Palace.

He smirked when I said "floor 25," like he knew exactly what kind of trouble I was walking into.

The armed man doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me hovering, then opens the door wider.

Oh. Okay. Guess we’re doing this.

I step inside.

My breath catches. This isn’t a hotel room. This is a damn rooftop mansion.

There’s a skyline view of Chicago through floor-to-ceiling windows, marble floors so shiny I’m afraid to walk on them, and off to the side?—

Wait.

Is that a pool? An actual pool. On a private balcony. With a hot tub.

Who the hell am I meeting?

"You’re late," a deep voice says.

I whirl around and nearly choke on my tongue.

He’s shirtless with a towel around his waist and wet hair, and a glass in one hand.

He’s built like a Roman statue, all carved muscle and inked skin.

Oh God.

My cheeks go nuclear.

"You're red again," he says, stepping toward me. Each step sounds like judgment. Like hunger.

He stops close enough to make my breath catch and my nipples harden. Close enough that I smell his cologne—spicy, dark, expensive. My eyes drop to his towel again, my mind picturing the bulge beneath it.

"Relax," he murmurs. "You came. That’s all that matters, Lilly."

He knows my name? Ah, yes. The name badge on my outfit. Observant. It thrills me to feel… seen.

I try to laugh but sound nervous. "Figured I owed you a new drink. And maybe dry cleaning."

His eyes flash like he could eat me whole. "Let’s start with the drink."

I swallow hard. “Just one drink.”

He walks over to the bar and I follow, not knowing what else to do with myself. He pours and hands me a glass, and I have no idea what’s in it, but I sip just to have something to do with my mouth.

He arches a brow, amused. “You’re not worried about meeting a stranger?”

“I’m more worried about what’s in this drink.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Warmth, arousal, blossom between my thighs at how he says it. I realize it’s just him and me, alone, inside this gorgeous suite.

And for so many reasons, I feel flirty, powerful, even.

He arches a brow at my switch in energy. He smirks, sets his drink down, a dare in those eyes.

"Swim with me."

I blink. "Swim?"

And then he does the unthinkable.

He drops the towel, manhood standing up for me. I ogle him shamelessly as he walks across the balcony like a Greek god on vacation.

He’s built. He’s tattooed. And, um—girthy, long, perfect.

He dives into the water like he does this every day. And maybe he does. .

Me? I’m standing there trying to remember how to breathe. He’s naked. Completely…naked.

"You coming in or just planning to eye-fuck me all night?" His voice is deep, challenging.

God, he has the nerve to smirk.

I set my drink down, kick off my heels, and walk outside.

"I’m thinking about it."

I sit there on a padded lounge chair, traitorous skirt still trying to be a tube top. Fine. I’ll join him. I start out slow. First I take off my heels. He smirks wider.

“So,” I say, forcing conversation. “Do you always invite waitresses up to join your nudist club?”

He laughs wickedly. “Only the ones who throw drinks at me.”

“That wasn’t a throw. It was more of a tragic fumble.”

“Felt intentional.”

“Please. If I wanted to throw something, I’d have nailed your face. Not your…crotch.”

His eyes darken, and I instantly regret saying crotch.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Warm.

Then, he swims closer, eyes on me like he’s already imagining how I’ll taste.

“You getting in or what?” he breaks into a devilish grin. “You scared of some water?”

Now I feel challenged. I fire back. "Is all this for real? What the hell is going on here? Who has a penthouse like this?"

The smile on his face goes serious. "There's one rule in my world. Don't ask stupid questions."

How can a man go from smiling to murderer in five seconds?

Then the look is gone. Just a reminder who the lion is in this game.

I plan to strip naked and give in to what we both want, but the good girl in me is trying not to do what I really want to do right now: take this man on that outside sofa and ride him like his wet dream.

Plus, shouldn’t he have to wait before the inevitable happens? So, I drag time out a little bit more and decide to let down my darkish brown hair.

Big mistake. His eyes go from lion to cheetah. Before I know it, he’s out of the pool and standing next to me, massive cock fully erect and suckable.

And with him staring at me like that, like I’m the main course of the night, I’m done for. Game over. I drag the zipper of my tiny skirt down, slow and in control for now.

His eyes never leave me as the skirt hits the floor. The muscles in his jaw clench. I whimper under that gaze.

His face hovers an inch from my neck, breath a ghost on my skin.

“You’re braver than you look,” he whispers.

I feel anything but brave, trembling inside like a leaf in the wind, aching for him to relieve the sexual tension in my body.

His fingers tease me, trailing lightly across my collarbone, pushing the fabric of my shirt out of the way, not touching so much as tracing air. I arch into him. The next thing I know, his hands are sliding down my sides, around to cup my ass. He groans.

He towers over me leaning in, head dipping low. “If I touch you now, you’re not walking away with just a drink.”

My breath catches. “Maybe I don’t want to walk away.”

His eyes storm over, darken. And then, his hands are on me.

Strong. Possessive. One at the back of my neck, pulling me closer. The other, squeezing the softness of my ass.

And then, he kisses me.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not sweet.

It’s hungry. Dominant. A kiss that says this isn’t a game, and I’m not walking out of here unchanged.

His lips press against mine, taking. I feel his hand cupping my face then slides lower until he’s gripping my hip and pulling me flush against him. I can feel every inch of his length, and I moan into his mouth.

He groans, low in his throat, and I feel it everywhere.

The kiss deepens. One hand tangles in my hair. The other slides between my naked thighs, finding heat, arousal.

After what was definitely the best kiss of my life, he gently pulls back. Everything inside me is spiraling. I want more. I need more.

He pauses, brings his lips to mine. His voice is low. “Last chance. Say no, and I’ll stop.”

No isn’t even a word I remember. I am about to absolutely lose my mind over this man.

I look into his eyes and hiss, “Don’t you dare.”

And he growls.

The city disappears. The past disappears. Even my name might’ve disappeared.

All pretense is gone and nothing around us exists. Not the other skyscrapers, not my job, not his clearly sordid past. Just us.

Then he starts.

Slowly.

Unbuttoning my blouse like he’s unwrapping something sacred. He takes his time. His eyes stay locked on mine as the first button slips free. Then the second. The third. My breath catches on the fourth.

The blouse slips down my arms. His fingers trail over bare skin. His eyes glaze over my bra, a lacy little thing that barely covers my breasts, and he notices.

His mouth curves. “They match your panties.”

I tremble at the memory of what he saw, what led to this moment.

And then he kisses each pale mound, flicking a tongue over my barely-covered nipples one by one. His lips trail down my warm skin in soft kisses as he drops to his knees.

His hands glide over my hips, clutching my flesh as he licks me from my navel to the top of my pussy.

Fuck yes. He tugs my thong, slow and smooth, like he’s savoring every inch it reveals.

The fabric kisses the tops of my thighs, then slips lower, over my bare legs.

He exhales like a man seeing daylight after years underground.

“You’re killing me,” he mutters.

I smirk. “Good.”

But that smugness doesn’t last long.

His thumbs trace the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. Every nerve in my body is alive in ways I didn’t know were possible.

He leans in, tongue landing for just a second on my sensitive folds. A taste? A promise? I pout as he stands again, every inch of his powerful body calling to me. And when he dips his head to my collarbone, sucks the skin and reaches behind me to unhook my bra, my body and my mind surrender.

I stand before him, as naked as he is, completely willing to be wrecked.

He doesn’t speak. He just stares.

And I feel it—every inch of his attention like a heat source, a current, a vow.

The way he stares burns into me, makes me aware of every inch of skin I own.

I try to cross my arms, half-nervous at the intensity of that gaze.

He stops me.

“Don’t hide from me,” he growls, pulling my arms down. “I like what I see.”

My breasts shudder with every exhale. The air feels electric. My skin grows warm under his stare. I should feel exposed. Instead, I feel worshipped .

He leans in, lips brushing mine.

“Bed?” I whisper, impatient for a release, eager to see what he’ll do next.

He smiles, eyes wicked. “Eventually.”

And then he lifts me like I weigh nothing, like I’m already his, and throws me back down on the chaise lounge.