Page 3 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)

LILLY

I land on the chaise with a soft thud, my naked body on display like an offering. He hovers over me, and I drink in the sight of him.

All ink.

Muscle.

Hungry eyes.

I need more, remembering his tongue tasting me, pressing into my mouth when he kissed me.

Nikolai doesn’t waste time. He doesn’t hesitate. And he doesn’t ask.

He takes.

With his eyes, as he memorizes every curve.

With his body, as he lingers over me, pinning me beneath him.

With his hands, tracing over my curves, from the nape of my neck down the sides of my breasts, to squeeze at my waist.

My skin burns from his touch. I’ve been wet for him since the moment this cat and mouse dance began, just from the way he looks at me.

His broad shoulders blot out the city lights behind him. His erection stands proud.

I swallow hard.

“You're beautiful,” he says, hands sliding up my thighs, leaving trails of fire.

“You're so…” I whisper, trying for casual and missing by a mile at my own loss for words.

I’m at his mercy.

His smile is perfect. Knowing. “I'm going to taste every inch of you.”

I gulp.

“Spread your legs,” he commands. I do as he asks.

No second thoughts.

Just pure, animal instinct.

But I don’t do a good enough job, it seems. His rough hands slide my thighs even further apart, like my body is his to claim.

I feel exposed. I barely have time to gasp before his mouth is on me—kissing, biting, sucking down my body like he knows just how to please me.

I arch up towards him, begging him to touch me where I want most. But he plays by his own rules.

He starts at my neck, sucking the tender skin beneath my ear until I'm arching off the chaise. His tongue traces my collarbone, dips into the hollow of my throat. He makes his way down, painfully slow, like he's savoring a five-course meal.

When his lips close around my nipple, I gasp. He sucks, then flicks his tongue, and electric currents shoot straight between my legs. His hand finds my other breast, thumb circling, teasing. I'm panting already, my hips lifting, seeking friction.

“Patience,” he murmurs against my skin.

“No,” I fire back.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. “Naughty.”

His mouth travels lower. Across my ribs. Over my stomach. His tongue dips into my navel, and my muscles tighten. Every touch is deliberate. Practiced. Like he's reading a map only he can see.

When he settles between my thighs, I hold my breath.

His eyes meet mine, dark and dangerous. “Watch me,“ he commands.

And I do. I watch as he lowers his head. As his tongue makes first full contact with my center.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

I moan louder than I mean to.

“Fuck, you’re loud,” he growls against my skin. “You’re going to wake the whole city.”

“I don’t care,” I pant.

The first stroke of his tongue has me gripping the cushions. The second has me biting my lip to keep from screaming. By the third, I'm lost.

He licks into me like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.

Broad strokes that make my toes curl.

Quick flicks that make me whimper.

And when he wraps his lips around my clit and sucks—gently at first, then harder—I swear I see stars. My hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the still-damp strands. He groans against me, makes me feel every sense I own.

“That's it,” he encourages, breath tickling my skin. “Let go for me.”

His tongue circles my clit, relentlessly. Two fingers slide inside me, curling upward, finding a spot that makes me jerk like I've been shocked.

“Oh god,” I choke out.

“Not God,” he says, looking up the length of my body. “Nikolai. Say it.”

“Nikolai,” I whimper.

“Again,” he demands, fingers pressing harder, tongue moving faster.

“Nikolai!”

My voice echoes across the empty balcony.

I should be embarrassed.

I'm not.

I'm too far gone.

The pressure builds. Tension coils in my belly, tighter and tighter. I'm climbing toward something massive, something I've never felt before.

“I'm going to?—”

“Come for me, Lilly,” he growls against me. “Now.”

And I do.

I shatter.

Explode.

I come hard. So hard, I swear I stop breathing.

I break apart into a million glittering pieces. The orgasm rips through me like a hurricane, wild and unstoppable. My back arches off the chaise. My thighs clamp around his head. My voice tears from my throat in a cry I barely recognize.

He doesn't stop. His mouth stays on me, gentler now but still moving, drawing out every last tremor until I'm pushing at his shoulders, too sensitive to take more. I’ve never come like that. He knew exactly how to rub, to lick, to press into the right spot like he had a damn GPS to my pleasure.

When he finally raises his head, his lips are glistening with me. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Never—” I gasp, trying to catch my breath. “Never felt that before.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Never?”

I shake my head, still pulsing with aftershocks. “Not like that.”

“We're just getting started.”

I whimper with need. He moves up my body. One hand grips my hip. The other wraps around mine.

“Stroke me, Lilly,” he growls at me in a velvet voice.

I reach out and take him in my hand, feeling each vein, every ridge, and the softness of his head. God. He’s huge. Slowly, I grip him, stroking up and down, fingers caressing his balls. He hisses as I pick up the pace.

“God, yes,” he grunts out.

I feel powerful, owning his pleasure like this. When I can’t wait any longer, I press the head of him up against my wet folds. His eyes lock onto mine.

He pushes into me slowly. Inch by excruciating inch. My body stretches to accommodate him. I gasp slightly at the intrusion. He's... not small.

“Fuck,” he hisses, eyes closing. “You're tight.”

I dig my nails into his shoulders as he pushes all the way in, then waits. His forehead drops to mine, arms bracketed around my head. The moment hangs between us, heavy with promise.

Then he starts to move.

Slow at first. Deliberate. Testing my limits. Watching my face for signs of discomfort. But I don't want gentle. Not now. Not with him.

“Harder,” I demand, wrapping my legs around his waist.

His eyes darken, and a growl rumbles in his chest. “As you wish.”

He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in. The force of it shoves me up the chaise. I cry out—not in pain, but shock at how good it feels.

He sets a punishing rhythm. Each thrust drives me higher, builds the tension again. His hands are everywhere—gripping my ass, squeezing my breasts, curling around my throat just firmly enough to make my pulse race.

“You like that?” he asks, feeling me clench around him when his hand tightens slightly on my neck.

“Yes,” I gasp, shameless in my admission.

He smirks.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the night air. Anyone in the surrounding buildings could see us if they looked, but I don't care. Let them watch. Let them see how this man is destroying me in the best possible way.

“I'm close again,” I whimper, surprised at myself.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice strained with his own approaching climax. “Come on my cock like it’s yours.”

His words push me over. The second orgasm hits harder than the first—deeper, fuller, spreading outward from where we're joined. I cry his name again, nails digging crescents into his skin.

He follows me over the edge, hips stuttering, face buried in my neck as he groans his release. His weight collapses on me, pinning me to the chaise, and for a moment, we just breathe together.

I’ve never felt so alive. I want to relish this moment.

Still half-hard, Nikolai pulls out and stands. He holds a hand to me, and I stand, falling into his broad chest.

He kisses me once, then scoops me up into his arms, bridal style.

I yelp. “Nikolai! What the?—”

But he manages to slap my ass, making me squeak.

“Don’t question me. ”

I moan.

My body should be sated. Should be begging for rest. Instead, I feel a fresh wave of arousal at his words.

He carries me into a bedroom as luxurious as the rest of the suite. The bed is massive, with white silk sheets that look soft.

He places me onto it, surveying me with a look that sees everything. I’m so turned on by this man, I can’t believe it. With a sexy growl he's on me again, kissing my breasts, making me beg.

“Fuck me. I want it,” I moan.

He flips me onto my stomach, tugging me to the edge of the bed, and nudges my legs apart. I arch for him, breasts pressed into the mattress, legs spread for him to see… everything.

“That’s right, baby. Show me you want it,” he commands.

He captures both wrists over my head in one large hand, pinning them to the bed.

The position leaves me completely at his mercy. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Exactly where I want to be right now.

I feel the bulge of him pressing against me, rubbing between my ass and down to my entrance, up and down he strokes me until I’m quivering with need.

Finally, I feel him enter me from behind.

My body adjusts to the new angle, and he presses deeper than before.

I cry out into the mattress, the sound muffled by silk.

“I want to hear you,” he growls, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling just so. “Every sound. Every gasp. Every time I make you fall apart. ”

“Yes,” I moan, the slight pain in my scalp mixing with pleasure until I can't tell them apart.

His thrusts are powerful, exquisite, relentless. The slap of his hips against my ass echoes in the room. His grip on my wrists reminds me who is in control.

Then he leans forward, still keeping his pace, and his lips find my shoulder. He bites down—not quite breaking skin, but hard enough to leave a mark.

I cry out, the pain-pleasure combination overwhelming. He soothes the spot with his tongue, then moves lower, finding the side of my breast exposed by my position. Another bite, another cry.

“Mine,” he growls against my skin. “Tonight, you're mine.”

“Yours,” I agree without hesitation.

He releases my wrists, and flips me onto my back. His hands hook under my knees, pushing them toward my chest until I'm folded nearly in half. The position leaves me completely open to him, and he takes full advantage.

His strokes go impossibly deeper. Each one hits a spot inside me that sends shockwaves through my system. My hands scramble for a tether, finding only silk sheets that slide through my fingers.

I'm climbing again. Building toward a third peak I didn't know was possible. My body is one raw nerve, hyper aware of every point where we touch.

“One more,” he urges, voice strained. “One more time for me, Lilly.”

My name in his mouth sounds like a prayer and a curse. Sacred and profane.

“I can't,” I whimper, overwhelmed by sensation.

“You can,” he insists. One hand releases my leg to find my clit, circling it with his thumb. “And you will.”

The added stimulation is too much. I break apart for the third time, walls clenching around him, vision blurring at the edges. This orgasm is different—deeper, almost painful in its intensity. It tears through me like a tsunami, destroying everything in its path.

“Fuck!” he shouts, following me over the edge again. His hips slam into mine one final time as he empties himself inside me.

We collapse together, sweaty and spent. He rolls to the side to avoid crushing me, but keeps one arm draped across my waist, one leg thrown over mine.

“Holy shit,” I whisper when I can finally speak again.

He chuckles. “Appropriate response.”

“I've never...” I trail off, not sure how to articulate what I'm feeling.

“Had three orgasms in one night?” he finishes for me.

I turn my head to look at him. “I've barely had one during sex before, let alone three.”

He looks genuinely surprised, then smug.

I should feel awkward. Should feel the urge to grab my clothes and run. Instead, I curl into his side, oddly comfortable in this strange man's arms.

“Stay the night,” he says.

It’s not a question.

Not quite a command either.

I nod against his chest. “Okay.”

He pulls the covers over us both, tucks me closer against him. I feel his lips press against the top of my head, a gesture almost too tender after the roughness of the sex.

My eyelids grow heavy. The combination of three earth-shattering orgasms and the late hour pulls me toward sleep. The last thing I remember is his hand stroking lazy patterns on my back, and thinking that I should probably regret this in the morning.

But I don't.

When I wake, sunlight streams through windows. My body aches in places I didn't know could ache. I stretch, feeling the pleasant soreness between my legs, and reach across the bed.

Empty.

I sit up, looking around the bedroom. His clothes are gone. Mine are neatly folded on a chair by the bed.

“Nikolai?” I call out.

No answer.

I slide out of bed, wincing slightly, and pad naked to the bathroom.

Empty.

The main room.

Empty.

The balcony.

Empty.

He's gone.

Back in the bedroom, I notice a folded piece of paper on the nightstand I didn’t notice before. I open it with trembling fingers.

Five words in elegant script: I'll be in touch. -N

I should feel used. Should feel angry. Instead, I press the note to my chest and smile.

Whatever this was—one night stand, terrible mistake—it was the best sex of my life. And deep down, I know I'll see him again.

Sinner or saint, I'm already addicted to Nikolai Vetrov.