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“I lied,” he says.
“I didn’t,” I snarl, arching my back in search of the oblivion I crave.
“Actually, I take that back.” He lifts my breast, teeth sinking in to leave a mark, the savage bite injecting an addictive rush deep into my veins. “I warned you. And you begged for my cum. You’re in this just like I am, which is good because me respectfully asking won’t last long.”
“By the end of the night, I’ll be the taste on your lips, the beating in your chest, the goddamn breath in your lungs. The goodbye you can’t bear.”
Or the goodbye he won’t grant.
“Please don’t do this. I can’t.” The room fades to halos of white and shimmery stars. “Jesus,” I purr, but seconds before I explode, I manage to squeak out the question that shouldn’t matter. “What do you want from me, Liam?”
He grunts as we both tremble through another earth-shattering release. “You, Ace. All of you.”
Ace.
It can’t matter. I won’t let it matter. It’s only one night.
LIAM
Celeste and I are currently at a crossroads. I should rephrase that. Celeste is mistaken.
No.
She’s fucking wrong.
Our night together was the kind of night you don’t forget, the kind of night old, wrinkled souls in retirement villages reminisce about over and over again, detailing every damn intoxicating minute, while the other decrepit souls roll their eyes, wishing that schmuck could think of something else to go on about.
I’m never opposed to annoying people—completely down with being that guy.
But there’s two different types of reminiscing. Those who recall the night with the lover they spent their lives with—a beginning to a life full of treasured memories they’ll carry with them until the end of their days.
The other is the remembrance of regret—the lover who got away, who gifted them a night of raptured bliss, only to have it be the bar by which every moment forward would fall short. Maybe it ended in tragedy. Maybe it was a forbidden affair not meant to be realized beyond that one magical rendezvous. Or perhaps they simply didn’t fight hard enough.
Celeste seems to believe we fall into that latter category—the one-night gift. We had hours of etching ourselves onto one another long after the bath. We cooked and cuddled and talked until dawn. And I delivered mind-blowing orgasm after mind-blowing orgasm. My girl was exhausted in the best of ways. And when I held her peacefully sleeping body in my arms, I finally knew the meaning of true contentment.
But our progress paled in one area. By the time my family was arriving home, she was still insisting that we leave it all behind to that one night. Our secret. She swore I’d keep her warm in the chill of her future obligations for years to come. A cocktail-party daydream. A Sunday-brunch secret.
As if that was some sort of consolation.
But Celeste doesn’t know me well enough yet. If I don’t get the cards that I need to win the hand, I fucking take them. Too many years were spent at the mercy of fucked-up dealing. I’m not the guy who makes the best of shitty hands. I’m the guy who swindles the dealer, shuffles the cards in my favor, and claims the goddamn ace.
She’s mine now.
Whether she accepts it or not.
The thing is, I can’t simply take her. She’s too fiery and obstinate. Well, I could—and will if necessary. But she grasps for control in everything because she has none. I’d like my girl to feel empowered to choose me rather than coerced to let go of her fucked-up rescue mission—a plight her family should not be forcing on her. Loss or no loss.
So, for now, I’m allowing her the space to come to the inevitable conclusion that being with me is the only plot twist in her story that makes sense.
Space and subtle acts of convincing, but we’ll get to those in time.
I’m confident I’ll be on her mind for the next several days, simply due to the ache between her legs and my cum that’s probably still wetting her panties.
That’s enough to satisfy me for the time being.
Yesterday was utter chaos. Felicity arrived, intent on making her presence known. The quiet, cooing doll from the hospital found her voice. Smart girl. She already knows how to read a room and own it—unsurprising, considering she’s the product of Ivy and Wells. All that to say, sleep is a distant memory and might be for some time. Even with seven adults taking shifts, we’re still finding our footing.
I’m off duty at present, and while I already miss the feel of my little princess tucked into my elbow, there are some pressing matters that need to be tended to.
