by Sylvia Fox
Of course, when I meet Liam by the front doors of Hell Cat, I realize I may have been way off the mark. The man is wearing a goddamn suit. One that looks like it cost at least a grand. Does he think we're going prowling for fancy cocktails?
"You do realize we're not going out to Happy Hour in Midtown, right?" I stare pointedly at his suit. Though, I have to say, he looks sexy as hell despite my ribbing. Because his suit is so tailored, it highlights every muscle in his tight, corded body. His thick biceps strain against the material, begging to burst through the seams. My eyes flick to his crotch. His pants are…a little bit snug. There's a bulge. A big one.
"Well, excuse me," he says with a laugh. "I wasn't aware we were going to a grunge concert."
My cheeks flame. Because as much as I hate it, I want him to like what he sees. Not make fun of it. "Trust me. If we were going to a grunge concert, I'd look a lot more…grungy."
He snorts, his lips turning up into a wicked smile. "Great comeback, Carrie." His smile falters, and he scans his eyes across my body. "You look nice though. The outfit suits you."
My chest swells from the compliment, despite how hard it was to get. "Thank you. Should we get going?"
Liam winks at me, and I try not to melt into a puddle on the grungy sidewalk as my heart flickers in my chest. What the hell is wrong with me? I don't like this man. Right? But it's hard as hell to remember that now, as he holds out his hand. He’s out here right now because he’s trying his hardest to understand my world.
6
Liam
I'm too distracted by how fucking fantastic Carrie looks to have any idea of where we're headed. The lace. Oh god, the lace. It lines the edges of her tight little tank top, one that dips low between a perfect pair of tits. The way it clings to her cleavage…I don't know how I've managed to make it this long without ripping that shirt right off her body.
This is a special kind of torture, having to pretend that I don't want her bouncing on my dick. I mean, if she looked at my pants, she'd be able to tell. My cock is at full mast, awaiting for instructions on how to make her squirt her juice all over my hips.
Fucking hell, my thoughts sure have taken a turn. While getting ready for this evening, I thought I'd talked myself into be a good boy. Sleeping with employees has always been a no-go for me. It creates too many complications, especially in an already complicated situation. Because Carrie isn't just any employee. She's the fucking manager of my newest acquisition, one that's going to take a lot of work to turn a profit.
Not to mention she already hates my guts.
Besides, I'm not the kind of man to make a commitment to a woman, not when I have to focus on my commitments to my work. There's only so much time in a day, in a year, in a lifetime, and I've always been adamant that the road-to-success is where I want spend my fleeting hours.
That said, it's hard to remember that now, not when this gorgeous girl is swinging her ass in front of me. It's round, perky, and begging to be squeezed. I'd thought she looked good in jeans before but these tight little black pants accentuate her curves in such a way that my imagination has ramped up to a ten out of ten.
I can just picture how that ass looks from behind. Naked, of course. As I ride her on top of my Egyptian cotton sheets. It jiggles when I slap her hard, pounding my throbbing dick into a pussy I'm sure is wet, hot, and tight as hell.
"Um, hello?" Carrie snaps her fingers in front of my eyes. We're standing on the sidewalk just outside of a raucous bar. Shit. I need to get a grip. As much as I'm a fan of women, I've never zoned out while thinking about one. One who is so off-limits it's not even funny.
"Sorry." I clear my throat and run my fingers through my hair, glancing away from her narrowed eyes. She must think I'm completely fucking stupid. Who the hell acts like I have tonight? And we haven't even gotten started yet. "I was just thinking about some work stuff."
A frown pulls down her pouty lips. Lips, I can't help but notice, that have been highlighted by a light pink gloss. Even though I made that remark about the grunge concert, I appreciate the effort she's made to look good tonight. It makes me feel proud to have her on my arm, the hottest woman in all the five boroughs.
What the fuck, Liam? I say, mentally smacking my head. She's not mine to be proud of. This is a work thing. But still, I can't help but appreciate how she looks. I'm only a fucking man.
"You sure you want to do this?" she asks.
Yes, I am so more than sure.
"Of course." I smile and hold the sagging black door open for her. "After you."
We enter the kind of bar that I've only seen in movies. It's dingy, it's loud, and it reeks of stale beer. Glancing around, I sniff, trying to understand what Carrie sees in a place like this. It's the opposite of everything I know and love. Sparkling glasses, the quiet murmur of conversation, expensive alcohol. Surely this isn't what Hell Cat was like. But Carrie waves to the bartender, a twenty-something girl dressed an awful lot like Carrie herself. They smile a greeting, like they know each other.
"Liam," Carrie says, turning to me with a slight expression of anxiety. "This is Roxie. She, ah, she used to be a bartender at Hell Cat."
"Oh." My eyes go wide. "Oh, I see. Well, it's nice to meet you, Roxie."
Roxie flicks her gaze up and down, pressing her lips into a smirk at what she sees. "Where'd you find this dude? Does he always dress like this?"
"See, I told you the suit was a ridiculous idea." She smacks my arm, but it's playful, and I can't help but notice she didn't tell Roxie I'm her new boss. Maybe she doesn't want people to know she's out with Enemy Number One. I hate that she thinks of me that way, but I'm beginning to see why more and more each time I see her. Hell Cat was more than just her place of employment. And the people there were more than just coworkers. They were her friends. Her family.
But I only did what I had to do. I wish I could explain that to her in a way she'd understand.
"So," Roxie says with a twinkle in her eye. "What'll you have?"
I open my mouth to order but Carrie shakes her head. "I'm showing you around, remember? Therefore, I get to order our drinks. It's the best way to demonstrate a typical night out in the Lower East Side. Or are you too scared to have a real drink, Mr. Moneybags? Maybe you can't handle it."
"Oh, sweetheart." I lean closer and drop my voice to a whisper. "You're the one who can't handle it."
For a moment, we both freeze, staring at each other. My words came out much more suggestive than I meant, but I do nothing to stop them from ringing in the air between us. I want them out there. I want her to wonder what I meant. Her lips are only inches from mine now, tempting me with their glossy pink curves. It wouldn't take much to lean forward and taste her. And the way she's looking at me now, I don't think she'd say no.
But I can't.
So I don't.
Instead, I raise my voice loud enough for the bartender to hear, but I don't move my eyes from Carrie's face for even a split second. "Two shots of tequila."
Carrie grins and licks her lips. "I can't wait to see what you're like after a few shots. Maybe you'll finally loosen that damn tie of yours."
She reaches up, and her fingers dance at the edges of my tie. With a slow smile, I press my hands on top of hers and hold them there, close to the rapid beat of my heart. She gasps, and her lips part. I relish in her reaction, savoring the flush that fills her cheeks. There is something happening here between us, whether she likes it or not.
Whether I like it or not.
"Not yet," I say, pulling her hands away from my tie. "I'll take off my tie when you convince me that shots are better than glasses of champagne."
She cracks a grin. "Then buckle up, Moneybags, because you're in for a wild ride."
Oh, I fucking hope so.
7
Carrie
Liam and I are two tequila shots into the night, and I'm surprised to realize I'm having a fantastic time. He may not have loosened his tie, but his body, which is usually straight, stiff, and
brimming with intensity, has eased into a relaxed position leaning against the bar. And his smile…well, it's the kind of smile that makes women weak in the knees.
But I am not weak in the knees. Or at least, I don't think I am. I haven't moved from this spot since we arrived, so I'm not entirely sure what will happen when I stand up.
"So, we should talk about the bar," I say. For the past hour we've been chatting about our lives. Where he came from. Where I came from. And how we got to where we are now. Liam, as it turns out, is a lot more complex than I gave him credit for. Sure, he's still a stuck-up suit, but maybe he's not as bad as I thought…
"Yes," he says with a smile. "That's why we came out tonight, after all."
"Well, what do you think of this place?" I ask, knowing what he'll say before he speaks the words himself.
He frowns, glancing around. "It's…well, it's a little grim, Carrie. The plaster is falling off the walls, and there's a massive hole in the ceiling. And is that a puddle of chocolate goo in the corner?"
"I don't think that's chocolate." I wrinkle my nose.
"Please tell me this isn't what you want Hell Cat to be like," he says. "I understand you want the place to be authentic and…well, kind of rundown or whatever it is you want. But this is too far."
"I agree," I say with a nod, which causes him to cock his head. Clearly, he thought I brought him here to show him an example of the kind of bar I want Hell Cat to be. "I'll admit, Hell Cat is like this. In a way. But it's so much better. I don't want a rundown place. I just want somewhere that's fun and relaxed so people can let loose on a Friday night. But we do have chips on the walls and leaks in the ceiling. Instead of installing an espresso machine, start there."
"If this isn't what you want, then why did you bring me here?"
"Because there are some very important aspects of this place that I want to show you." I grin. "After another shot, of course."
Liam and I take another shot, and the booze goes straight to my head. I usually don't drink much, as strange as that sounds. As a bartender, I see enough drunk people to know it's not what I want most of the time. It's too easy to lose control, to get overly emotional, to do stupid things you'll regret the next morning.
And that's not me.
At least, it normally isn't.
After we slam the shot glasses down on the bar, I jump off the stool and grab his hand. My eyes widen when I realize what I've done, but I don't pull away and neither does he. His palm is rough and calloused, and his grip is tight around my fingers. With my heart hammering hard in my chest, I lead him away from the bar and into the back room where the dim lighting causes the candlelight to flicker dancing shapes against the grimy walls.
"What's back here?" Liam's voice is low, his mouth pressed against my ear. I shiver, despite myself.
"I wanted to show you something," I say just as quietly. My mind screams for me to run, to get away from whatever it is we're doing. Because things suddenly feel far more serious than they did only moments before. No one else is in this back room. It's just me, Liam, and the darkness surrounding us.
If he decided to press me up against the wall and drag his mouth hungrily across my skin, no one would see us. If he pushed down my pants and slid his hand between my thighs, we'd have enough privacy for me to moan out his name.
I blink, staring into his dark and swirling eyes. What am I doing? Why am I thinking these thoughts? And, more importantly, is he thinking them, too?
"I'm waiting, Carrie," he murmurs.
His gaze flicks down to my chest, and he shifts slightly closer. That's when I feel a large, thick, hard object press into my hip. I gasp, almost stumbling back. Despite my limited experience with men, I know exactly what's digging into my body. And it's not a banana in his pocket.
It's his dick.
"I, ah." I lick my lips, trying to focus on why I decided to lure Liam Landon into the back corner of a bar. I can see why he might have gotten the wrong idea here, and a part of me doesn't want to correct him at all. Because it thrills me to know I've turned him on. "There's a thing back here. A photo booth."
"A photo booth," he repeats. It's clearly a new concept for him, a photo booth at a bar. I guess they have fancier cameras at cocktail bars.
With a step back, I put some distance between us, before gesturing at the white closet-sized object squatting in the corner. "You know, a photo booth. You go in, take pictures with friends, and get a film strip to take home with you."
His face dawns with realization. And dare I say it? Disappointment. Maybe he really did think I was talking about something else. "Right. I see you what you mean now. Should we try it out?"
Well, I hadn't expected that. A dismissive wave of his hand? Sure. A roll of his eyes? Maybe. But he actually seems open to the idea. And more than that, eager to try it out. With a smile, I follow him as he slips behind the red curtain. And suddenly, I realize just how very much alone we are in this squashed space of the photo booth. The outside world falls away, and all that exists is this tiny space I have to share with this hunk of a man.
Shit. Did I just call him a hunk?
I squeeze onto the little seat beside him, the side of his body pressing tight against mine. My skin buzzes where we touch, and I fight the itch to turn his way and read the emotions in his dark and swirling eyes. What's he thinking about? Is he as aware of our closeness as I am?
But I don't need to turn and look at him to find out the answer to my question. When he speaks, the gruff, low growl in his voice tells me everything I need to know about how he feels.
"It's certainly a tight squeeze in here," he says quietly, his breath hot on my face.
"Yes." I swallow hard. "Maybe if you get one of these there will be larger options available."
"I'm not sure I'd want a larger option," he says, shifting even closer. "I don't mind being so close. Do you?"
My heart flails, and my lungs go tight in my chest. Did he just say what I think he said? Everything inside me wants to turn and look at him, but I'm scared. Scared of what might happen if I do. Everything about this moment feels like I'm dancing on the edge of a cliff. If I so much as blink, I might fall into the gaping hole below.
But I want to fall.
I want to feel his arms wrap around me as he catches me, stopping me from crashing down from these dangerous, dizzying heights.
So, I turn to face him. And his lips crash into mine.
8
Liam
Fuck it. I'm taking Carrie for mine. I don't care if it's a disaster of an idea. I don't care if she slaps me for my efforts. Her lips, her eyes, the way that sexy lace clings to her breasts…I can't help myself. I want her. Here, now, and up against the wall.
I kiss her. Hard. My tongue dives between her lips, exploring her perfect mouth. She presses up against me, her tongue darting across my teeth. Fingers slip into my hair, tugging at the strands. She murmurs something against my lips, sending a thrill through my body.
Nothing in her response says no. Quite the opposite. The way she slides up against me screams out a yes.
She climbs on top of me, grinding against my throbbing dick. My hands move up her back, feeling her hot skin underneath my palms. Her curves are soft and full in all the right places, and it's all I can do not to rip off all her clothes in this grimy photo booth.
As her ass continues to pulse against my crotch, her hands slide up to rest on my neck. Excitement flickers in my chest. I have no idea where this is going, but I sure as hell want to find out. Logic momentarily pushes through the fog of lust, reminding me that this isn't the kind of thing I should do.
But I don't fucking care.
Not when I have the most gorgeous woman alive riding me like a fucking animal.
"Time for you to get rid of this tie," she says with a sly curve to her lips. "I think I've done my best to prove to you why shots are the best."
"Oh, did you now?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. But I one hundred percent agree. So far this night has bee
n one hell of a ride, and I can't say the same for nights when I have several glasses of the expensive stuff.
"You tell me." Her movements slow, and she wraps her arms around my neck as she leans back to look into my eyes. "Do you get a lot of women throwing themselves at you in dark corners when you've been sipping on champagne." Quickly, she closes her eyes. "Wait, actually. Don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."
I slide my hands around her ass and squeeze. "I don't, Carrie. Trust me. I love women. But I've never been the kind of guy to sleep with everyone he meets."
"Really?" she whispers. "And why is that?"
I shake my head, not even sure I know the answer to that myself. "It just doesn't feel right to me. Besides, I think I might be picky. I don't want to fuck just anyone."
"How picky?" she asks as she begins to move against me again, slowly, carefully grinding her sweet pussy against my dick. We're fully clothed, of course, which makes her movements a little less intoxicating than they could be. I'm going to have to remedy that. As soon as humanly possible. "Does that mean you don't want me to do this anymore?"
"Fucking hell, Carrie," I growl. "I never want you to stop."
Her entire body shudders, and her grip around my shoulders tightens. With a groan, I let go of my last remaining shreds of self-control. I yank her shirt over her head and take her breast between my lips, shooting my tongue around her swollen nipple. I grip the other tight in my hand, squeezing hard enough to cause a yelp of surprise.
I fucking need her, desperately, and her cries only drive me even closer to the edge.
"Take off your pants," I order, intoxicated by lust and cheap tequila. "Boss's orders."
With a shy grin, she climbs off of my lap before shimmying out of her tight little jeans. My eyes widen, and I whistle lowly, the sound getting drowned out by the jukebox's stereo. In my mind, I'd pictured a perfect body underneath her clothes. I hadn't been fucking wrong, that's for damn sure.
