by King, Kelsey
Liam doesn’t stop, speeding up and fucking me even harder than before. His tongue drags down my neck, and his free hand tugs my dress down, revealing my breasts. I’ve never been more grateful for skipping a bra, because he takes no time lapping at my nipple, tugging at it with his teeth. I groan and lace my fingers through his hair, holding him close.
It's all too much for me.
The hot heat of his mouth on my nipples, the rough, deep grunts he lets out each time he buries himself in me, and the way his thumb massages my clit with precise care. I cry out in pleasure as I climax, chills running through my body and my heart pounding as the ecstasy overtakes me.
“There it is.” He grins, grabbing my hips and tugging me back onto his cock. “Fuck, Harlow. I’m getting close.”
I pull his head back by his hair and look at him. “Come inside me, Liam. I’ve wanted you to fill me for so long.”
His face contorts, and his fingers dig deeper into my skin as his movements grow shorter. When his hips jerk erratically, I see the look of pleasure cross his face. He comes hard, burying his face in the crook of my neck and practically slamming me against the wall. He growls as he finishes.
The two of us are left breathless, coming down from the high. I brush my hair from my face and look down at him. There’s something about him that’s gotten a complete hold over me. I’ve never done anything like this, but with Liam, it doesn’t feel bad. Rather than saying anything, I lean in and kiss him again. He smiles against my lips before returning the gesture.
“You’re a bad girl, Ms. Knight,” he teases.
“You’re a bad influence,” I say, easing off him and sliding my panties back up. My dress is all wrinkled, but I try to fix it and flatten it out with my hands.
“Does this mean you accept my apology?” he asks, smiling up at me while zipping his slacks up.
I want to say yes, but I don’t want to let him have this too easily. Instead of giving him an answer, I shrug and readjust the front of my dress.
“We'll see,” I say. Liam opens his mouth to say something else, but the door down the hall opens and the woman from the bar—Destiny—comes walking through. She looks both ways, then smiles when she sees Liam.
“There you are!” She giggles, heading our way. “Everyone was wondering where you ran off to.”
“Just having to chat with my editor, Harlow,” Liam says, clearing his throat and taking a step away from me. That hurts a little more than I want to admit, but I straighten up and smile.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything too important,” Destiny says. She gives me a slow look, then turns back to Liam.
“What do you need, Destiny?” he asks pointedly.
“I have a few friends who want to meet you. Huge fans actually.”
“Is that so?” He rubs his hand over his jaw. I've seen him do that during our FaceTime sessions and I'm starting to think it's one of his nervous ticks. Destiny bites down on her lower lip and smiles seductively. I want to smack that stupid smile right off her fake-tanned face. He turns toward me, giving me an apologetic smile. I can tell he doesn't want to go with her, but if he doesn't, there's no doubt she'll continue to follow him around like a lost puppy. “I'll see you a little later tonight?” he asks me. “We can finish discussing our plans.”
I nod, forcing out a professional response. “Sure, we can talk about it later. Go have fun.” I emphasize my last sentence with a painful smile.
“Perfect. Right this way,” Destiny says, interrupting our unspoken stares as she hooks her arm through his and drags him back to the party. She looks over her shoulder at me, this time without the smile on her face, a death stare in its place. Once they disappear down the hall, I sigh and lean against the wall.
“What the fuck did I just get myself into?” I wonder aloud.
9
Harlow
As I head back into the party, the reality of what Liam and I did begins to sink in. If the late-night chats or Skype calls were wrong, none of that compares to what I’m feeling now. I’ve never felt this combination of emotions. Guilt is the first one I recognize.
We've crossed a line, and there's absolutely no way to go back now. Liam is my client, and it's unethical to engage in this kind of relationship with him. I'm in a position of power, able to sway him one way or the other with how he treats me. Did I abuse that power by crossing those boundaries and essentially sleeping with him? Yes.
The second emotion is anger. Anger at myself for letting things get this far. I should’ve stopped while we were ahead. The second he started talking about me needing a man that could handle me, I should’ve driven the conversation back to work. If Kristen finds out about this and fires me, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.
Excitement is the last emotion. What Liam and I just did was incredible. The Skype sex was the hottest thing I'd ever done, but even that couldn't compare to having Liam inside me. The way his body felt against mine, how his mouth felt all over me. What's worse than guilt or anger is the knowledge that despite how dangerous and inappropriate our relationship is, I'd still let him fuck me again, consequences be damned.
I need a drink.
Taking a seat at the bar again, I order the same drink as before. The bartender looks amused, and I try to offer a light smile. He hands over a small shot glass and wipes down the counter.
“Long night?” he asks with an amused grin. I’m sure he’s used to people like me drinking their feelings.
“You don’t even know the half of it.” I groan, hanging onto my drink as if it’s my lifeline.
“Wanna talk about it?” He raises a brow with a sexy smirk plastered on his face. He knows the longer I talk, the more I drink, and the more money he makes. I’m no idiot, but I know the game.
Do I want to get into it with a stranger? There's no telling what he might think. On the other hand, I've kept Liam a secret for three months. No one knows who he is to me. No one knows how much I want to talk about him—but I can't. And here, with this stranger offering to listen, I don't want to let the opportunity slip by.
“There’s this guy I’m seeing that I shouldn’t be. If we keep the relationship going, it puts my job and my dreams at risk. But he’s so goddamn magnetic. I want to be around him all the time. I want to see him every morning, and I want to talk to him before I go to bed. I feel like I’m a schoolgirl again whenever I’m on the phone with him.”
The bartender smiles softly. “I think we’ve all been there before.”
“Not me,” I say. “I don’t get like this for men.”
“Maybe this is a sign then,” he shrugs. “Maybe this guy is special, and all the risks of what you two have are worth it in the long run. If he’s the only person to make you feel like a teenager again, I’d say that’s a pretty big sign that he’s not like all the others you’ve dated.”
“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I say. When he slides another glass toward me, I throw it back and let the burn calm my nerves just a bit. “That’s my last one for the night. Thanks.”
“No problem. I figured you were going through some things anyway.”
I crack a smile. “That obvious?”
“We don’t normally get pretty women over here shooting hard liquor. You seemed way too stressed for the occasion.”
“Just a lot of things on my plate,” I laugh. “I appreciate you talking to me, though.” I didn’t spill everything to the bartender, but what we did talk about makes me feel better. I don't feel as weighed down. Yes, the risks and everything are still there, but I've started feeling less guilty. I deserve to be happy, and I know that Liam's the type to tell someone no when he means it. He would've told me he didn't want to see me if he wasn't feeling good about our situation anymore. But he didn't.
Instead, he fucked me in a hallway.
I shake my head at myself. Mom always told me I had a knack for getting myself into sticky situations, and I do believe this certainly counts as one of those.
Two days
after the party, I finally stop feeling so pressured by everything. I’m finally able to breathe. Liam’s still in town, but we haven’t talked much even though he’s called several times.
I’m still not quite over that jealous feeling when I saw him with Destiny and again when she swept him away, and it pisses me off that I can’t just move on from it. I’m a grown woman, not a kid in high school that saw her boyfriend talking to another girl in homeroom. I shouldn’t be acting like this. I shouldn’t be feeling like this.
But I am.
Rather than sitting and stewing over how upset I was that night, I decide to get proactive. I have two manuscripts to look over before Mom comes by for dinner, and I want to make sure everything is ready to go before she does. I know that she’ll want to stick around for hours, and if I don’t get the manuscripts out of the way now, I won’t have any energy left for tonight.
I sit down at my desk and open up my laptop, clicking on the Word file and getting down to work. I've gotten so used to Liam's excellent writing that it's almost frustrating that not everyone else writes at that level. I'm constantly going through and pointing out comma splices and dropped words, two things I never have to worry about with him. He's spent almost a decade perfecting his craft, and it shows when I look at our other authors.
Still, I do my best to leave supportive, constructive comments. The last thing I want is anyone feeling like I’m playing favorites or not giving all our authors the same attention. I’m certainly giving Liam more in other ways, but when it comes to the value of my work, I’m as fair and consistent as possible.
I’m editing the end of a chapter when I hear a knock at my door. She’s early.
Putting on a smile, I pull open the door and give Mom a warm hug. I haven’t seen her in person in a few weeks, and I figure now’s as good a time as any to have dinner with her. I usher her inside and help with her jacket and purse.
“It looks beautiful in here,” she says, looking around.
“Thanks. Only took five hours to make it spotless,” I laugh.
“Well worth the effort.” She smiles.
Mom likes to get on my case a lot, but I appreciate the times when we can be alone, not talking about the future or goals in life. Tonight is one of the nights when we're in the present, discussing things going on in our current lives. While we cook, she tells me she's been reading a lot of romance novels and that she wishes I worked at a place like Harlequin. If I worked there, I could sneak her all the books, and she wouldn't have to pay for any of them.
“I might get fired, but I definitely would,” I say with a giggle.
“So,” she says. “What’s his name?”
I stop chopping carrots and turn to her. “What do you mean?”
“I may be getting older, but I’m not senile yet, Harlow. What’s the man’s name.”
“What man?” Maybe I can play dumb, and we don't have to discuss this.
“The man that’s got you so much lighter.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. And I haven’t lost a lot of weight, have I?” I look down at my stomach.
She laughs and swats my arm lightly. “Not that kind of lighter. I mean that you seem much happier. The world isn’t so heavy. And I know my daughter. You only get that way when you’re talking to someone.”
I hate that she’s so perceptive, but I think that’s where I get it from. A lot of the times, it’s easy to read people and figure out what they’re going through. Still, when the spotlight’s on me, I want to turn and run.
“He’s no one, Mom. Just a guy I’ve been talking to.”
“No,” she shakes her head. “No, this isn’t just a man you’ve sent emails and texts to. This is someone you have feelings for. Tell me about him.”
I groan and scape the carrots into the boiling broth. “I'll just say that he's someone I met through work. He's funny, creative, and caring. I like him a lot.”
“So, is he your boyfriend?”
“No, it’s complicated,” I say.
“Complicated? Harlow, please don’t tell me he has a wife or something. Lord, I might have a heart attack if—”
“Mom!” I exclaim. “Jesus, no. He's not married, I promise. It's just a tough situation to be in. We're not supposed to be together. Our relationship isn't appropriate, and honestly…I'm not sure I even trust him to be just mine. He hasn't always been loyal in the past, and I'm scared that if I open myself up to him, he'll hurt me.”
I can't believe I say that. I've never admitted this to anyone, not even myself. But I don't think there's any use in pretending I feel any other way. I want to be with him, but the idea of giving myself to him and having him turn around and cheat on me scares the shit out of me. I'm hesitant to give more to him and risk getting heartbroken. His entire book is built around a relationship heavy with infidelity. He's stepped out on his girlfriend before and knowing that makes me want to run far away.
But then I think about how he looks at me and the way he makes me feel and I’m tempted to fall back into his arms and ask him for more. I can hardly stand it.
“Well, if you want my opinion, I think ‘we’re not supposed to be together’ is horseshit.”
I spin around to look at my mother in shock. She’s a regular church-going, God-fearing woman. She doesn’t use words like that. “Mom!”
“I’m just saying. I think if you want to be with someone, you’ll find a way to do it. You say he’s not been faithful before, but people grow, and people change. You’re not the same girl you were after your first breakup. There’s a good chance he’s not the same man he was after his affair. If he’s as great as you say he is, I think you should really give him a chance. Or at the very least, tell him about how you’re feeling.”
I want to laugh it off, but her words are like whiskey down my throat. They burn with the truth. I nod my head, unable to argue with her.
“Finish up cooking, now. I’m getting hungry.”
I laugh and grab the ladle. “You go have a seat, and I'll finish with dinner.”
While Mom flips through channels on the TV, I add the final ingredients to the vegetable soup. It’s her favorite, and I like it because I never eat it all and I have leftovers for the rest of the week. Thankfully while we eat, Mom doesn’t bring up Liam or any other men in my life. Instead, we talk about Tyler and Britney and how we need to have another get-together soon. I’m not opposed to the idea. I miss Britney and her kids, and I love being around Tyler, so I’m up for it.
Finally, the night winds down and I say goodbye to Mom. I walk her down to her car and wave as she rounds the corner and heads home. Tonight went much better than I originally planned. Mom's a handful most of the time, but she wasn't too bad. If most nights were like this, I think I'd invite her over for dinner once or twice a week.
When I make it back to my apartment, I clean up the dishes and spoon the soup into various plastic bowls. I put lids on them before tossing them in the fridge for later. When everything else is clean, I head to the bathroom to wash up and get ready for bed. I’m in the middle of washing my hair when I hear my phone go off. Carefully, I grab it from the counter and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Bad time?” Liam asks.
“Sorta, I’m just in the shower. What’s up?”
“Well, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to come over and join me tonight. I think we need to talk about some things, and I want to see you again while I’m still in town. I leave on Thursday.”
The petulant, childish part of me wants to turn him down and give him the cold shoulder. The side of me that's grown up, and mature tells me that I need to talk to him about my feelings. For a second, I give in to my bad side.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Liam.”
“C’mon, Harlow. I want to see you again. Don’t you want to see me again?” he asks in a tone I can’t deny. Damn him.
Mom's advice hits me again. I need to face this head on. I can't put it off any longer
. Ripping the band-aid off, I sigh. “Fine. Give me a few minutes, and I'll be over there.” I hang up the phone after that.
This night could go one of two ways. Either I grow up and tell him how I'm feeling, or I hide it and take the cowards way out. I know the first option might not go very well, and that scares the hell out of me. Confrontation isn't my best skill, but keeping these feelings inside doesn't sound any better. It's hard to think about anything other than the conflict going on in my mind, and I know the mature thing to do is talk to Liam and put everything out on the table.
I finish with my shower and dry off. Instead of grabbing my pajamas, I pull on a pair of jeans and a simple T-shirt. I blow dry my hair just enough so it’s not soaking wet and hurry down to catch a cab. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
10
Liam
It feels silly how excited I am to see Harlow again. From the sound of her voice over the phone, she didn’t seem entirely enthused to be coming over, but still, she’s on her way, and I can’t sit still. I quickly stuff all of my dirty laundry in a suitcase and toss it in the closet, then make my way to tidy up the bed and make the room look even more presentable.
By the time I hear a knock at the door, there’s not a spot of dirt left in sight. I straighten up and answer the door, leaning against it in an exaggeratedly sexy pose. Harlow’s eyebrows go up, and she smiles reluctantly.
“Good evening, Ms. Knight,” I say, gesturing into my hotel room.
“You’re ridiculous.” She laughs. She steps inside, and I close the door behind her.
“I have a feeling you like it, though,” I retort.
For a moment, she tries to put on a serious face and deny these allegations, but she can’t hold the expression long before she’s grinning. “Maybe just a little.”
I close the gap between us and step toward her, my hands around her hips. “Thank you for coming to see me,” I say. Slowly, I lean in and press my lips to hers. She doesn’t return the kiss. “What’s wrong?”
