Grumpaholic: A Grumpy Boss Romance

by Cole, Jagger

He snorts. “Lord no. But art patronage is a mark of success, Ella! This is your Diego Rivera moment!”

  “I’m confused… do you want me to paint something on this wall to make Cormac tear it down?”

  He purses his mouth. “Well, you could keep drawing those disgusting X-rated murals of yours that are all over the news,” he snaps.

  I blush. “Oh, that wasn’t—”

  “Yes, it was.” Gramps grins. “I’d know your art anywhere, honey.”

  “So, paint that?”

  He chuckles. “Uh, no, Ella. Paint you.”

  I frown. “It’s hush money, gramps. It’s dirty. It’s to shut me up about this whole thing with Sisters of Saint Bartholomew.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. But it’s for your art. He’s gonna do what he’s gonna do no matter what, right?”

  “Probably.”

  “So take his damn money!”

  I frown. Slowly, I nod. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I am right,” Gramps huffs. “Just…”

  “What?”

  He frowns. “Just be careful.”

  “Of?”

  “Of him.”

  Later, back in my apartment, I slump onto the couch. I glance at my front door and frown. I miss having Delphine across the hall. The new tenant that took her place is a single older woman with seven cats. Seven. Fucking. Cats.

  Jokingly, I want to say she’s me in twenty years. But the more I think about it, the more depressing that joke is.

  Eventually, I pour myself a glass of wine. Then I run the bath, hot. I’m not exactly living in luxury. But the building is old enough that the bathrooms all have the old-school claw-foot tubs. And I freaking love mine.

  I dump in a shitload of bubble soap and a fizzing bath bomb. I strip down, light a candle, turn the water off, kill the lights, and step in. I sink into the suds with a sigh. Much, much better.

  I lean back and sip my wine. I close my eyes and breathe. I breathe again, clearing my mind. But then, I scowl. Damnit. This is supposed to be my zen. Except when I clear my thoughts, the blank space is suddenly invaded.

  By him.

  With the rest of my thoughts cleared away, the only thing I can think of is Cormac. I replay the conversation earlier, in his conference room. I dwell on the way his jaw clenched; the way his sleeves pulled up over his forearms. I mean what the fuck, what is it about forearms on some guys?

  I scowl. And furthermore, what is it about me dwelling on forearms owned by a certain rich asshole?

  I shake away the thought. But instead of going blank again, my mind slips to the other night. This time, I’m replaying something even worse: the kiss. This time, my mind replays the details of that insane moment in his side alley garden.

  I’ve been convincing myself that it was all because of the moment. I mean I had a gun pulled on me. I was freaking out. My emotions were going haywire. And he used that to…

  Okay, that’s not fair. I shake my head and sink into the water. That’s not fair at all. It’d be easy to say Cormac took advantage of the situation to kiss me. It’s a convenient lie. But it’s not true. It takes two to tango, as they say. And it definitely takes two to kiss Cormac Heath in an alley, six minutes after painting him getting literally screwed by the devil.

  I blush at the memory of his lips, his scent, his heat. The way his hands gripped me tightly. The way kissing him felt like losing control. That wasn’t just a kiss. That was a kiss. That was the kind of shit that makes birds and field mice start having a fucking singalong in the background in a Disney movie.

  Except in the movies, it’s a prince, not the villain. You’re not supposed to fall into the arms of the evil sorcerer.

  But try as I might, the memory won’t stop playing through my head. The lingering feel of his hands squeezing my sides possessively makes me tingle all over. Remembering his lips tasting mine takes my breath away. The bath feels even warmer.

  I squeeze my thighs tighter together. My core tightens and quivers. I take one last gulp of wine and set the glass on the floor. I sink into the water. My hands slide under the bubbles, and tease over where his hands touched. Then, they move to where I shamefully wish his hands would touch.

  Fingers tease over my stomach. My thighs spread. I gasp when my hand slides between them. My fingers stroke my lips, soothing an ache that’s been burning since his lips pulled away from me. I drag my finger up through my lips, curling it over my hard clit. I gasp into the steamy darkness of the bathroom.

  My fingers rub faster. I close my eyes, and I let go of my restraint. I let myself fantasize about the man I should not be fantasizing about. I imagine him stepping into this bathroom and shedding his clothes. I imagine what his perfect, gorgeous body would look like without that suit.

  Fantasy Cormac steps into the tub with me. He spreads my legs wider and kisses down my neck. His hands take over for mine. Then his mouth. I moan and rub my clit faster. In my fantasy, Cormac bends be over the edge of the tub. He moves behind me, dominantly putting me just where he wants me. I slide two fingers into myself. I moan, imaging it’s his cock pushing deep.

  My hand moves faster between my legs. My other one cups my tits, teasing my nipples. I gasp and rock against my hands. I pretend it’s Cormac, thrusting into me and taking me. I can’t hold off any longer.

  The wrongness of fantasizing about this man is what finally does it. With a muffled cry, I come hard. My body shudders and wrenches in pleasure. I tremble and gasp, panting.

  I chew on my lip. I frown and sink into the water up to my chin. My cheeks burn with embarrassment at what I just did. Great. Now I’m not just working for the devil himself.

  I’m fantasizing about him.

  God help me.

  9

  Cormac

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

  Ella stares at the huge array of things I’ve had brought in this morning. The floor by the wall is covered by a large drop-cloth, taped at the edges. She’s got ladders, paints, brushes of every possible variety, an airbrush machine if she wants that, painting clothes, masking tape, paint trays…literally anything you could need to paint this wall.

  “About?”

  She gestures at all the stuff spread out across the drop-cloth. “About painting supplies. Go big or go home, huh?”

  “No, I wasn’t.” I frown and glance at my watch. “I also wasn’t kidding about the nine AM start time.”

  It’s ten-thirty. She walked in four minutes ago. At least she’s not dressed like a punk-rock college-girl tease anymore. She’s in jeans and a t-shirt today. But Christ do those jeans fit well. And the plain white t-shirt is cut off at the midriff and rolled at the sleeves. And slightly see-through.

  Ella sighs. “You can’t rush art.”

  “Talk to Jackson Pollock.”

  “Talk to Michealanglo,” she snaps back.

  I sigh and turn to my wall. “So?”

  “So what?”

  “So what are your ideas?”

  Ella snorts. “Since last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Uhh, nothing?”

  I grunt and turn back to her with a scowl. “Try harder?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Okay, let me think.” She taps her chin. “How about something… long?”

  I nod and look back at the wall. “Okay, makes sense. It’s a wide canvas.”

  “Yeah, exactly. “And… hmm, pulsing?”

  I furrow my brow. “You’re thinking like the city itself? The beating pulse of—”

  “Something throbbing?”

  I glare at her. She grins.

  “Erect? Trembling? Tumescent?”

  “You draw a dick on that wall, and we have no deal.”

  She snickers. “Oh, speaking of…” she puts her hand out, palm up.

  “What?”

  “My money?”

  I clear my throat. “You want me to just hand you a hundred and fifty grand?”

  “I mean, I don’t want it in quarters. But yes.”<
br />
  I glare at her and reach into my breast pocket. “Would you take a check?” I mutter.

  “Will it clear?”

  My brow arches. “What do you think?” I pull my checkbook out, write the damn check, tear it off, and pass it to her. Ella takes it and stares at it with wide eyes.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, it’s just…”

  “The biggest amount you’ve ever held in your hands.”

  She blushes. I know I’m right. But she rolls her eyes like she’s covering for herself. “No, I was just amazed that it’s not signed in brimstone, or on fire.”

  “Hilarious,” I mutter. “Well, there’s your money.” I jerk a thumb. “There’s my wall. Paint,” I grunt.

  “Fine,” Ella mutters back.

  I turn and start to walk away back to my office.

  “Okay quick question. So, what if the dicks aren’t human dick—”

  “No dicks!” I bark before striding from the room.

  I sleep like shit. But my dreams are… perfect. They’re filled with Ella. And in my dreams, she’s filled with me. Repeatedly, until I wake up throbbing hard and aching for her. Morning light finds me wide awake and rock-hard. But I refuse to… well, that.

  I’m the most powerful, richest developer in New York. I’m not jerking off to a contractual employee of mine. Even if she’s all I can think and dream about. Even if I want her more than any woman I’ve ever wanted before.

  I work out, hard. I push myself to the limit, until I’m gasping for air and my muscles are screaming. I shower and dress. I’m still hard for her.

  My driver drops me off at the front of my building. I make my way in, nodding at employees as I get into the elevator. At the top, I step out and storm like a cloud down the halls to my office. But suddenly, I come to a stuttered halt. I turn at the door to the conference room and stare inside.

  Ella is already here, and she’s busy.

  Well, that’s unexpected. I step inside. She’s got headphones in. She’s bobbing her head to some beat, standing at the wall with a sketching pencil. I walk over to the conference table and rap my knuckles on it. When she doesn’t turn, I do it again, louder. This time, she startles. She turns to frown at me.

  “Yes?”

  “Good morning to you too,” I grunt.

  “Morning,” she mumbles back. She turns away, then back to me. “What?”

  “Nothing, your just…”

  “Yes?”

  “Here.”

  She grins. “Surprised?”

  “Honestly, yes.”

  Ella shrugs. “Well, what else was I going to do? I mean I don’t work at the coffee shop anymore.” Her lips purse. “But you knew that.”

  “Still holding onto that one, huh?”

  Ella flips me the bird. Anyone else on earth, or any other moment, and I’d simply fire her right here and now. For whatever insane reason though, I find myself holding back a smirk at the defiance.

  “Get painting,” I grunt.

  I turn and stride from the room, before my smile cracks.

  I fill my day with more shit than it’s really filled with. I have to. I need to keep my mind occupied, and off of her. I need to not dwell on the temptation strutting around my conference room right now.

  But eventually, I crack. There’s only so much work I can distract myself with. Or maybe the pull of the forbidden is too much to bury with busywork. I stride back down the hall to the conference room. When I poke my head inside, I suck in a breath of air.

  She might be wearing jeans and a t-shirt. But fuck me is she doing them justice. Ella is up on the ladder now, sketching something on the wall. She’s stretched out to do it, and the cutoff t-shirt is pulled up almost to the underside of her tits. Her jeans are pulled tight over her ass, too. I growl and step into the room.

  She’s wearing headphones again, so she doesn’t hear me. I take the silence to pull my eyes from her ass to the wall. It’s dark in the conference room. She’s got the lights off, with a projector casting a design onto part of the wall for her to trace with the pencil. It’s flowers, I think.

  I walk over to just under the ladder. I look up at her. “Nice work. Floral theme?”

  She doesn’t answer. I clear my throat louder. “Ella.”

  Still no answer. She still doesn’t know I’m here. I shrug and rap my knuckles on the ladder itself. “Ella!”

  She shrieks. She whirls when I knock on the ladder. And then it happens in slow motion. The ladder kicks out, and she slams her head against the wall. Then she drops like a rock.

  I react like a bullet, and shove aside the falling ladder. I jerk my arms out, and I grab her out of thin air. Ella gasps sharply. She clings to my arms tightly. She looks up at me, her face red and her eyes wide. She’s panting. My pulse is racing. Our eyes lock, and I groan.

  Oh fuck.

  It’s like someone just pulled the trigger on a loaded gun. We both lean forward, like it’s instinct. My mouth crushes hungrily to hers. I groan deeply and kiss her hard. She whimpers back, opening her mouth for me. My pulse surges. My desire explodes. I press her against the wall, growling into her lips.

  This might be a ruinous idea. But it’s too late now.

  10

  Ella

  First, I’m falling. Then I’m caught. But when our lips press together, it feels like I’m falling all over again. Only this time, I’m not so sure I want to be caught.

  I moan into his mouth. My emotions and thoughts swirl like oil and water. On the one hand, I feel more alive and on fire right now than I’ve ever felt before. On the other hand, I’m kissing Cormac fucking Heath.

  Am I completely fucking insane?!

  We both seem to grasp how fucked up it is at the same time. We both pull away from each other, gasping. I press myself to the wall. Cormac backs a step up. His piercing blue eyes burn into me, making me tremble with heat.

  “What are we doing?” I gasp, wide-eyed.

  “Nothing good,” he growls.

  Then why do I want more? We both stare at each other. The world seems to take a beat. Then he growls, steps right into me, and crushes his lips to mine again. I moan eagerly. I grab his shirt and tie and pull him close, hungry for more. His huge, muscled body pins me to the wall. His big hands pin my waist against it.

  My pulse races, and my body trembles with pure desire for him. Heat throbs deep in my core. I tingle and groan as I kiss him fiercely. Then, we’re pulling apart again, gasping for air.

  “We shouldn’t do this here,” I whisper growl.

  “We shouldn’t do this at all,” he growls.

  “Definitely not,” I moan as his hands slide over my hips. His fingers splay across the bare skin of my midriff. The touch is electric, and my core tightens. My body pulses and throbs with desire. My thighs squeeze shut, as if to stop the bloom of forbidden heat between them. But there’s no stopping it.

  I lean in and kiss him again. It’s tentative, but when he snarls and pushes me into the wall, I open my mouth wide for him. His tongue demands mine. His hands slide over my tummy until they pause at the button of my jeans. We don’t say a word. But I push my hips against him, urging him. And he hears it loud and clear.

  The button pops undone. My body trembles as his fingers slip into my jeans. His palm is flat against my tummy, and he pushes his hand deep. It’s so wrong and so forbidden. But I’m so fucking wet. I’m so desperate for his touch I could scream.

  His hand slides down into my jeans. His fingers pluck deftly at the edge of my panties. They slip under those too, and he pushes deeper.

  “Oh fuck,” I whisper hoarsely. His thick finger slides wetly over my throbbing clit. He rubs it slowly in a circle, and I whimper eagerly. I grasp his dress shirt desperately. I can feel his coiled ab muscles clenching beneath it. I feel his forearm flex against me. His hand pushes deeper.

  “Cormac!” I whimper. His finger delves between my lips. He sinks it into my slickness. I moan quietly, my hips rocking to meet his touch. H
e slips his wet finger up to my clit again. His muscles coil once more as he rolls it under his demanding touch, teasing me.

  I groan for more. Holy fuck, he’s a master with one finger. My entire body feels like it’s burning for him. My hips roll into his hand. My knees shake. I cling to him and moan into his mouth. He growls back into mine, pinning me to the wall with his mouth and his hand between my legs.

  He rolls my clit exactly how I need it. His mouth falls to my neck, and his lips graze my neck. His finger rubs my clit faster and harder.

  “Cormac…” I moan. My eyes roll back. I’m about to come, and I haven’t even taken my pants off.

  One finger. He’s about to make me come harder than anything with one fucking finger.

  “I want you to come for me,” he snarls against my ear. “Do it now.”

  I moan, clinging to him. “So demanding,” I gasp.

  “Yes, I am,” he hisses in my ear.

  “Does this work with all the—”

  “How about you shut up and just come on my fucking hand,” he snarls. It’s so savage and demanding. And it’s also the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me. He curls his finger deep into me, his palm rubbing my clit.

  “Oh fuck!” I gasp. I’m falling, hard. “Oh my sweet motherfucking God,” I cry.

  “Come,” he snarls. “Come now.”

  He grinds his palm flat against my clit and rubs my g-spot. I can’t hold back another instant. I suddenly shudder and writhe against him. I cry out, but he slams his mouth to mine to swallow the sound of my pleasure.

  I moan into Cormac’s mouth while his finger makes me come harder than I’ve ever come before.

  And then, we hear footsteps. Cormac growls and slips his hand from my pants. I blush and whirl towards the wall to quickly button my jeans up. Forget the fact that my panties are freaking soaked now.

  “Mr. Heath, these just came through for you?”

  I turn. I’m sure I’m blushing like, well, like I just had the orgasm to beat all orgasms. But the middle-aged woman in the professional attire doesn’t seem to even notice me.