I Slept with my Acrotomophile Boss 2

It belonged to my boss, Charles Grant. He had a wellknown thing for amputees. My dad called me right after I got paid. He said my little brother needed money for school. Grandma had more medical bills and there was still the rent, water and electricity. At the end of the call, he admitted he'd lost money gambling again. I rubbed the aching remnant of my bad leg with both hands. Feeling utterly lost and directionless, the weight of everything pressed down on me until it was hard to breathe. The car that rolled in was expensive, sleek black, and obviously worth more than I'd make in 10 years. It belonged to my boss, Charles Grant, he had a well known thing for amputees. That's okay, I didn't wait too long. You look like you're in a bad mood, is everything all right? I'm fine, just lost a game, that's all. That was how rich people were, their lives were too comfortable so they developed strange cravings for broken things, for damaged edges.

What the hell do you think you're doing. his mouth moved from my neck down to my chest, sucking and biting, leaving faint marks, but his hands kept returning to my bad leg, stroking, squeezing, tracing every scar with obvious obsession. Our bodies pressed together, hips rolling slowly in a heated rhythm. The friction built steadily heavy and urgent, but we never went further. Just as his hand was about to slide further down, I shot my own hand out and gripped his wrist tightly, holding it firmly in place and stopping him from going. any lower. Not tonight and not. on your terms. What the hell do you think you're doing? You can have me, but only if we take turns. Otherwise, no. deal. I shoved his restless hand away, quickly straightened my clothes, and put some distance between us. His gaze burned into me like redhot iron filled with shock, frustration, and an even fiercer hunger. I pulled back and stood up, adjusting my. clothes. I need time to think about it. You should too. As I walked toward the door, I could feel his gaze burning into my back—a mix of frustration, surprise, and unmistakable hunger.

As I tried to leave, his arms suddenly wrapped around my neck, refusing to let go. His lips brushed against my jaw, hot and unsteady You're drunk boss. Charles eyes were dark, blazed with alcohol and something deeper, his hand kept stroking my bad leg, fingers pressing gently against the scars where flesh met prosthesis. His breathing grew heavier, ragged, each exhale turning into a soft, needy whimper whenever he pressed harder into the scarred skin. So beautiful. I looked down at him, slender, fair skin with a face pretty enough to pass for a woman, it wasn't the worst deal in the world for my family, I could swallow my pride. You started it. his hands never left my crippled leg, he caressed the damaged area with increasing hunger, as if the imperfection excited him more than anything else. I've wanted this leg, wanted you like this for so long. You really like it that much, does touching a broken man make you feel powerful? Your scars, they make me lose control.

That night, a call came saying Charles was drunk at a bar. It's been raining a lot lately, your leg must be hurting more than usual. I'm fine. I don't come here often, I'm looking for someone reliable to take care of my house. If you know anyone suitable. No need to look elsewhere. What do you think of me? Three days later, I quit my security job and moved into Charles's townhouse in Lincoln Park. All I had to do was keep the house clean. If only Charles didn't look at my bad leg the way he did, like it was something he wanted to touch, to own, to devour. That night, a call came saying Charles was drunk at a bar and needed someone to bring him home. I took one of his flashy cars and drove there. He was heavily intoxicated, face flushed, eyes glassy. I half carried him back to the villa and dumped him onto his bed, Charles lay sprawled on the sheets, breathing heavily, he reached out fingers, weakly grabbing at my shirt as he pulled me closer. Come here, Holden, that leg of yours, I've been hard all night just thinking about it. His voice was low, hoarse and filthy with alcohol; he let out a low, shaky laugh, eyes halflidded with lust.

So fucking beautiful, that scar. A few nights later, the tension from that unfinished night still hung in the room. I didn't waste time. I crossed the room, climbed onto the bed, and pinned him down. in one swift motion. Hold it! Don't... You've been staring at my leg like you want to eat it since day one, now it's my turn. I kissed him hard, forcing my tongue into his mouth, he struggled beneath me, body twisting violently. You bastard. His warm, wet saliva coated my skin instantly. For a second, I hesitated, taking it off in front of someone always felt like stripping away the last piece of armor I had left vulnerable, ugly. sure you want to see this. let me see. Uneven, twisted skin, old surgical scars, and the raw sensitive end of what was left of my. leg. Holden, so fucking beautiful. That scar, that shape, it's perfect. Even more gorgeous than I imagined. Let me touch it. I want to kiss every ugly inch of it.

Don't please don't go inside. me I set the high tech leg aside carefully, exposing the scarred, shortened residual limb beneath. Happy now. then I pinned him down again harder this time, Charles voice turned shaky when he realized he couldn't push me off. Don't, please don't go inside me. I paused, looking down at him and at my own residual limb now pressed against his thigh. Without the mechanical leg, the contrast was even. starker. Are you crying? His eyes were red, but he clenched his teeth, one hand still unconsciously reaching toward where my leg used to be. Who's crying, just get on with it. I. kept him pinned, kissing him deeply while my hands roamed over his body, he fought back nails, digging into my back legs, wrapping around my waist as he tried to flip. us over. Hold. en Jones, you'll regret this and let me regret it.