Liam puts his hand on my back and leads me to the car, but then doesn’t climb in after me. He ducks his head under the roof – a difficult feat for a man so giant – and then says, “I’m going to go and greet some of the fans. It’s not fair that they’ve waited so long for me to just drive away. Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” I tell him, warmth for this man, this down-to-earth and yet godly man whelming in my chest.
“And then it’s the Royal Suite at the Plaza,” he smirks wolfishly.
“The Royal …”
“No arguments,” he says. “I already had my fixer book it on the flight.”
“You’re too much, Liam,” I smile, my heart fluttering.
The Plaza.
I keep waiting for the punchline, the ah-hah moment that will tell me none of this is real, that this amazing crazy goodness can’t be happening to me.
But it is.
And I think it’s time I started to accept that.
I’m not just the nervous, shy girl walking invisibly through the high school corridors.
Under Liam’s gaze and with his support, I feel like I could be so much more.
The Royal Suite is even fancier than the suite on Fight Island, with a plush blue couch sitting opposite golden armchairs on a gold patterned rug, the staircase behind us promising the luxury of the bedroom as Liam pulls me closer to him, lying back on the couch, moving his fingers through my hair so that prickles sway alluringly over me.
“I can’t believe you got the Plaza at such short notice,” I mutter.
“I got lucky,” Liam demurs casually.
“And you’re rich,” I giggle. “That helps, too.”
He smirks, tickling me under the arms so that I squirm in his arms. “Sure, that helps too.”
“You better stop that,” I gasp, slapping his firm chest as the private light of the suite blooms all around us. The curtains are closed, securing us away in our own world. “Or …”
“Or what?” he taunts, grinning as he dives in for another tickle.
I move back.
“Or it’ll be my turn to take the lead,” I say, with my voice somehow not trembling.
With Liam, I feel more and more confidence filling every interaction, every moment, until it’s almost like I can see myself becoming somebody new.
Or not becoming, more like evolving, like with Liam’s support I don’t always have to be shy and withdrawn.
I can let fly with some playful sassiness.
I can say and do those things I always think about saying and doing, but usually reserve for characters in my writing because I’m just too fricking anxious.
I see his face twist in primal lust.
“Don’t say that as a joke,” he growls. “Because I’ll hold you to it, Lola. I want to see you evolve and become more confident in the bedroom. But only with me.”
“Obviously,” I tease, moving closer to him, and then, as quickly as I can, I sit up and swing my leg over so that I’m straddling him on the couch. “I only want you, Liam. I swear I can …”
“What?” he whispers, when I trail off. He leans up, bracing my back in his hand and shifting so that I can feel his manhood pressing through his pants into my panties through the thin fabric of my dress. “Don’t be shy, Lola. You never have to be ashamed, not with me.”
“It’s silly,” I say. “But I’m sure I can already feel your seed in my womb. I can feel our bookish child growing.”
“It must be twins, then,” he banters, stroking his other hand up and down my leg, squeezing my thigh. “And I bet the other is sporty as hell, and will never want to touch a book in his life.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” I giggle sarcastically.
I pause, my sex twitching, my clit screaming at me not to let my anxiety stop me anymore.
“Let’s stay like this,” I whisper, shifting my hips back and forth, grinding up and down onto his manhood through his pants, teasing him just like he teased me in the Caribbean. “Let me ride you, Liam. Let me make you wild.”
“I already am wild,” he growls, grabbing onto my ass cheeks as I shift my hips quicker, in deeper movements. I’ve never felt sexier, not with Liam staring at me like that. “For you. I’ll always be fucking wild.”
I grip his shoulders and squeeze, just loving how hard they are, how there’s zero give at all.
“I’m getting wet,” I gasp, and feel his manhood give an answering twinge in response, like it wants to leap from his pants and fuck me right now. “Fricking hell, Liam, I’m getting wet just grinding on you like this.”
“You keep talking like that,” he growls, lifting up my dress. I shift to help him along, and then he tears it over my head and tosses it over one of the golden armchairs. “And I’m not going to be able to stop from taking you right here.”
“Let’s do it,” I moan. “But my panties …”
He laughs grimly and grabs them in a bunch. “These won’t be a problem,” he growls, tearing them in one quick movement.
They snap against my hips, freeing my sex as I lean up to let him remove the offending material.
“You’re an animal,” I moan, my pussy bare against his pants now, smearing wetness against the outline of his bulging manhood.
“Just for you,” he snarls, massaging my bare ass cheeks, grinding the flesh so that sizzling pleasure moves over my ass and into my pussy. “What’re you going to do next, huh?”
“Is that a challenge?” I fire, sinking into this sassiness, my embarrassment forgotten in the fury of desire.
A smirk tugs at his lips. “It just might be, yeah.”
“Then I’ll show you what I’m going to do.”
I sit up and reach down for his pants, unbuckling his belt and then fiddling with the zipper. There’s a moment when it feels like I won’t be able to free his bulging manhood, but then I finally get the fricking zipper down and pull his underwear down so it’s wedged under his balls.
His manhood springs up eagerly, so huge it brushes my soaked pussy even when I’m leaning up like this.
The whole thing is a tangle of limbs and the position is different, but I ignore my aching body and focus on the feeling of his cock in my hand instead, stroking him from tip to hilt, squeezing to see how hard he is.
And he’s rock-fricking-solid.
“You better sit on this cock,” he growls. “Or I’m going to fuck you like the beast I am.”
“Like this, baby?” I moan, sitting down slowly.
The head of his cock greets my pussy, prying my lips apart slowly, tingling surges going right up into my belly.
Liam’s face contorts as he gazes into my eyes, and then down at my breasts. He grabs the back of my bra and unclips it in one fluid motion, freeing my breasts so that he’s free to lean forward and lick and nibble them softly.
He sucks on my nipple, so hard that half my breast sucks into his mouth, the pressure making it feel like it could go pop in a haze of pleasure.
Finally he slides his hands down to my ass cheeks and lifts me up, sliding our sexes together with furious friction, bringing me right to the tip before lowering me down again.
I gasp, collapsing against him and gripping his rock hard body.
“The way your breasts sway when you bounce like that,” he groans. “It’s like I’m being fucking hypnotized. Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”
A thrill surges through me and I find his lips, kissing him as we begin to buck again, with me using his shoulders to gyrate upward in motion with his guiding, pleasure-filled hands.
The sounds of our slapping flesh fills the suite and he kisses me deeper, our tongues twirling around each other as he leaves red imprints on my flesh, grabbing my ass cheeks, palming, massaging.
My pussy starts to swell with warmth as I find my own tempo, taking the lead with my movements, up and down, over and over until we’re both gasping and short of breath.
But I push through any tiredness I might have, my lust giving me strength, adrenaline and end
orphins flooding through me so that all that matters is his cock, his massive cock, and my searing hot pussy.
I bounce again and again, slamming myself down onto his balls, his cock spearing a path deep inside of me.
“You’re getting tighter,” he snarls. “And wetter. And hotter. You’re close. I want you to drench this cock. Soak my fucking cock.”
I bounce harder, fiercer, everything else drifting into the background as I ride my man’s – my man’s – bulging slick cock.
I feel like I’m leaving the old Lola behind, the shy Lola, as I let my moans ring out loudly and don’t feel any self-consciousness or nervousness prick at me, trying to stop this moment.
I never dreamed I could be sassy and sexy and confident, and especially not in the bedroom, but here we are, here we fricking are, and I’m bouncing and bucking my hips so that now I can tell Liam is close, too.
His brown eyes blaze brightly and his mouth falls open in gasps, his hands clawing at my ass as though for grip, as though he’s going to fall as carnally into the orgiastic celebration as I am.
Then I throw my head back and he grabs my breasts with one hand, making them tingle, sizzle like something cooking, and with the other he props up my back, making sure I don’t fall.
He always will.
He’ll always protect me.
And it’s time I stopped listening to this small self-doubting voice inside.
“Oh God,” he snarls, sucking my nipple, nibbling it softly, making it hard. “The way you’re moving right now. Fuck.”
“Me … too …”
But then words fail us both as I feel my pussy letting go of all the pent-up pressure it’s been clinging to, a gushing feeling as juices squirt over his cock and balls and his cock begins to thrum and vibrate as he shoots his precious seed up inside of me.
Our lips find each other again in the last moments of the shared orgasm, both our eyes wide open, staring into each other as our bodies sing out their last notes of euphoria.
“That was …”
“Amazing,” I finish for him.
He smirks. “Took the words right out of my mouth. But that makes sense for a writer, eh?”
I giggle and slide aside, settling comfortably into his arm when he cuddles me close to him. I rest my head against my chest and close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat, frantic at first and then slowly returning to normal.
But mine keeps beating, a quickening drumming in my chest.
Soon, we’ll have to end this private heaven and go see Mom and Dad.
And break the news.
I try to tell myself it’s all going to be okay, that Dad will react positively, but I’m not so sure.
We’ve done so much untactfully, like us leaving together – Mom must know something – and the photo, fricking hell, the photo the press must’ve got of Liam kissing me.
Has that been published yet?
It was a quick moment.
Did they even capture it?
If they did, has Dad seen it? Does he already know?
And is he going to go crazy on me, on us, for letting him find out that way?
My mind whirs with questions, but no answers offer themselves. I feel stranded, with only Liam to cling onto, but luckily that’s enough. He’s more than enough and always will be.
I close my eyes even tighter, blotting out the world, hiding in the closeness of Liam and the closeness blooming between us.
The love.
I love him, I love him, I fricking love him.
But he hasn’t said that big-as-heck L-word and I’m not about to leap into that particular fire, especially when we still have the furnace of breaking the news of Dad to brave.
CHAPTER NINE
Liam
Lola and I sit in an exclusive booth of Le Feu, the night forgotten as its street-lamps glow high up in the ceiling slat windows, the main light coming from soft bulbs and lamp shades that cast orange rays across the intimate room. Our booth is like something from a French duke’s estate, the wood old and carved and patterned, with our chairs thick and plush and almost throne-like. It’s quiet tonight, but that’s to be expected, since Le Feu or ‘The Fire’ is the most exclusive, private, secret restaurant in all of New York City.
“There are no prices on the menus,” Lola mutters, glancing down at the ornate calligraphy of the items, with helpful printed brackets at the side just in case their patrons can’t decipher the arcane script.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” I say, reading her.
She’s not worried about the menus.
In her fire-red dress inlaid with gemstones, her hair tied up in a bun, a pearl necklace at her throat and heels that match her dress on her feet, I think she’s worried about Seb immediately knowing what’s going on between us. She’s dressed up like a queen, like my queen, and Seb’s no idiot. He’ll be able to tell.
The urge that causes me to grip the wooden table so hard I’m surprised I don’t knock over the candles is fired by how irresistible Lola looks in that dress, even though it’s tasteful and shows nothing sexual, but the way the fabric hugs her body, how fucking perfect it would be to peel it down, inch by tantalizing inch, and reveal the goose pimpled flesh beneath.
“Behave,” she whispers, batting me her sassy eyelashes. “We’ve got serious business to take care of here, Liam.”
“I know, I know,” I groan, my mind flitting back to our suite at the Plaza.
We’re having a late dinner, ten o’clock, and part of me wonders if we should’ve arranged it for tomorrow instead.
But Lola wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, like pulling a Band-Aid off, she said.
Goddamn, I love this woman.
I feel it each time I look at her, a savage certainty smacking me right in the chest.
I want to roar it right now, this second, but the idea of placing that atop the already-flaming bonfire of our relationship before telling her father seems unfair.
What if Seb goes go berserk at this new development in our lives? What if he tries to fight it?
Holy fuck, what then?
It’s only when I see my oldest friend and his wife being led across the restaurant by the suited-and-booted host – with a stiff back and an even stiffer mustache – that I realize I don’t have an answer to that question.
Perhaps I’ve been so certain in our love that I just assumed the feeling would be infectious, an osmosis of acceptance or something like that.
Seb is wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into brown chinos and with a frown already plastered to his face. Suddenly, I feel a stab of regret at the slick steel-shaded suit I’m wearing, wondering if my oldest friend is going to think I’m trying to out man him or some shit.
Anna is wearing a long, flowing party dress with heels, with a secret smile on her face that causes the idea that she knows and approves, to rise in my mind.
But I can’t get ahead of myself.
I rise from the table and offer Seb my hand, which he takes after a few long moment, shaking it briskly.
He lets Anna sidle along into the booth and then sits down next to her, picking at the edge of the table, his blue eyes flitting between Lola and me and back again.
“So,” he says after a long pause, “this is a pretty weird situation we’ve found ourselves in, isn’t it?”
I feel Lola recoil beside me, as though the words have struck her in the chest. Anna sucks in a breath and shakes her head slowly, and then gives Lola a quick look of support, her eyes widening slightly.
I sigh.
“Seb …”
“Can we order some drinks?” he grumbles. “Or are we just going to sit here dying of thirst all night?”
“Of course,” I say, waving for the waiter.
I order a soda and Lola does the same. Seb orders a whiskey, neat, and then drinks half of it down with his eyes closed as though savoring the taste. The waiter then approaches to take our orders, which takes a long, long time, as though Seb
is purposefully lengthening the process by scanning and rescanning the menu.
That way, he doesn’t need to face the conundrum that’s sitting right in front of him.
I feel my patience fraying and have to resist the urge to just roar out that his daughter is mine, that I’m claiming her.
Now and forever.
Maybe I would if Lola didn’t nudge me under the table with her knee, clearly sensing there’s a swell of lava welling up inside of me, ready to explode out like the mouth of a volcano.
“I’m guessing this is your treat?” Seb snaps bluntly.
“Of course,” I say.
He snorts. “Is that a way to disarm me, Liam? Bring me to this fancy-ass restaurant so you look like the big man, and then … What? And then tell me that you’ve decided to take advantage of my daughter?”
His voice rises to almost breaking point at the end of the sentence, and he throws the rest of his whiskey back and slams it down, the table juddering, the candlelight flickering dangerously.
Anna winces beside him and Lola makes a quivering sound.
“Dad,” she says, her voice far stronger than I’d expected. I’m so proud of her. “There’s no need to be like this. Really, it’s—”
“It’s clear as day that something’s going on, is what it is,” he interrupts, moving his glassy eyes over me.
The thought occurs to me that he started drinking long before he got to the restaurant.
“First, that post-fight interview. I mean, well done, Liam. Well done for winning that fight and retiring the way you wanted, really. I mean that. But when you dedicated it to Lola, I was just … Well, Anna tried to tell me it was just a friend-of-the-family thing, but I didn’t buy it. And then I heard you were flying back together and that just sealed it.”
He doesn’t mention the photo, which I’m glad about.
It means the money I spent acquiring and deleting it before publication was well spent.
“So you’re angry,” I note.
“Damn right I’m angry,” he snarls.
“Sebastian, please,” Anna says quietly, touching his forearm. “The other tables are looking at us like we’re complete animals. Can’t we just calm down a little bit?”
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