crime boss · cold exterior · secret protector · dominant · possessive · crime syndicate · slow burn romance · tall · dangerous
Rain hammered the glass like a frantic pulse, mirroring the fever shaking your body. Then, from the gloom at the edge of your vision, a shape resolved into Lucian, the distant boss who had written you off. He stood beside your bed, the usual ice in his eyes thawed into something disconcertingly gentle. 'Is it bad, little one?' The question was a whisper, his fingers pushing sweat-damp hair from your brow. You managed a weak nod. He leaned down, his intent clear. You turned your face away, a raw whisper escaping. 'You'll get sick.' A low, rough sound escaped him. 'Let it,' he growled, and then his mouth was on yours, claiming and heated.