Page 7 of Mountain Daddy (Broken Boss Daddies #1)

LILLY

I lie in his arms afterward, skin still buzzing like I’ve been struck by lightning. My head rests on his chest. I hear his heart thundering in my ear like horses running wild.

Lovemaking. Is that what this was?

I can’t call it just sex. This time, it felt heavier with meaning. Deeper. In the way he looked at me.

In the way he vowed me as his.

The possessiveness should terrify me. Should send me running for the hills. Instead, it makes me want to curl deeper into his arms and never leave.

His fingers trace lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. I shiver at the gentle touch.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough with satisfaction.

“Mmm.” I turn my face to press a kiss to his chest.

He nods. I just lie there. Listen to him fall off to sleep. And then, dare myself to look up.

His hair is mussed from my fingers. When asleep, he looks softer. Younger. Less dangerous.

But he broke that man’s nose.

So what the hell am I doing? Staying in his arms? Wanting more? Thinking he’s someone I could fall for?

The thought sends me off-kilter.

I panic.

Calm down.

This is only physical. I’m letting my brain run like a train. I shoul stop before I wreck myself.

This means nothing. It’s simple, really. Just sex.

Except it's not working. If anything, being with him again has only made the craving worse.

And that’s dangerous. Men like Nikolai Vetrov don’t stick around for waitresses from Chicago.

But what choice do I have? I can’t walk away. Not when he smells all heady. Not when he feels so safe. Instead, I close my eyes and let myself pretend, just for tonight, that this could be something real.

His arms tighten around me. I feel myself relax. Just a little while, I tell myself.

But as sleep drags me under, one thought cuts through the haze. I’m already dreading the moment I’ll have to walk away.

And worse?

I know I won’t want to.

---

The soreness in my thighs hits me like a truck. I smile. I dig into his bed. I smell him all around me.

And I want more.

I reach across the bed, expecting to find warm skin and solid muscle.

Empty.

I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest, look around like a crazed animal. No sign of him. His clothes? Gone.

And the worst part? This time, there’s no note on the nightstand.