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“Yep.” He lifts his wrist on the arm wrapped around my shoulder, presumably eyeing his watch. “We have seven minutes before Prince Charming returns. I always keep my promises. I’m going to make you come, just like I said I would the last time we were here. Remember?”
I whimper, terrified and enthralled. The booth may be tucked out of the way, but still.
“I knew you’d remember, baby,” he rasps, sliding my panties to the side and feathering over my clit with a heavenly tingle as my eyes close in indecision. “You’re just as depraved as I am. Just as eager to chase this rush, to forget the rest of the world. It’s only you and me. There’s no one else when you’re in the room. You’re mine now, Celeste.”
His.
“Open your eyes, or tell me to stop,” he demands.
“A life without risk is flatlining.” Ben undoubtedly had other risks in mind with that advice, but they were wise words nonetheless.
My lids spring open, lashes fringing my view of him, but my vision is suddenly clear. Only him. “Don’t stop.”
“There she is,” he growls, thrusting a finger inside. “That’s my girl.” Then two. Swirl. And nip. Flick and caress. “So fucking wet for me. I’ve been dreaming about this perfect pussy clamping down on me. Tasting you. Claiming you. Making sure there’s no place you go that you don’t know who owns you. This delicious cunt is mine.”
God, his mouth is so filthy. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I love it.
My legs fall open wider, but I still manage to steady my voice enough to push out a taunt. “Better be quick, Graves. I’ve got plans.”
He flashes a wicked smile, the angelic glint of someone who chooses to luxuriate in fire and brimstone. And his eyes are so feral, so salacious with lust, that my skin prickles and flares and burns under his prowling leer. Jesus, I want to dive inside them.
“That’s right. Show me how strong and feisty you are while you ride my hand, Carver.” He bites and laps and tastes my neck. Tongue flattening to devour me in the most indecent and lewd public display of affection. There’s something so liberating about it, so erotic and enrapturing. “We both know the truth.” Dip. Plunge. Whirl. “You like being my little slut, don’t you, baby?”
Flutters. Chills. Quivering.
A cresting wave of current.
He doesn’t await an answer, which is good because I can’t form words, only whimpers and swallowed moans as his fingers caper in the most decadent cadence over my throbbing heat. A steadfast notion of acceptance washes over me. This man feeds my wildest fantasies—taboo desires I never felt safe enough to ask for. And as my body begins to tremble in his hold, eyes never leaving his, he praises, “There you go. Jesus, Ace. You’re so goddamn breathtaking.”
His pace picks up—massaging, nipping, kissing—while the world chugs on around us, and I begin to spin, soaring into a place where only Liam and ecstasy exist.
“Come for me, baby girl. All over my hand. Now.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as his order tips me over the edge, skin flushing, legs spasming beneath the tablecloth, hair shielding my twisted face and muffling the whines I can’t seem to stifle. I sag against him, riding the aftershocks and absorbing his solid warmth.
“Fuck, that was hot,” he whispers, gliding his fingers in and out of his mouth with a groan and tugging me even closer. Possessive and protective. His own breaths are shallow and harsh, so turned on.
I want to tumble into him, curl up, and never leave. Return the favor tenfold, which, judging by his tented slacks, is needed.
“Such a good girl for me,” he coos, and my heart swells.
Praise. Degradation. It all reads like a sultry lust letter in his suave, commanding bravado.
Even though I’m still coming down, still flying and satiated with a delightful headiness, reality swarms me. “Time?” I rush out.
He peers at his watch. “Two minutes. Listen,” he instructs, his hard-on retreating a little with every word. “I was never here; otherwise, Wells is going to have my head. Finish up and come home to me.”
“Shouldn’t be long,” I say, still airy and strained.
He nods, and the strife coating his features is unmistakable. “Fucking hell, I don’t know how to leave you here.”
God, I feel that, but it will make everything a hundred times worse. “Liam, this is complicated enough. Let me placate my family with a dutiful evening out before I blow everything up.”
He grinds his teeth, but the ticking clock is mocking me. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Panic threads my tone as I practically beg, “Please.”
His silence and stiff jaw envelop me in a restless trepidation until he finally grumbles, “Fine.” He kisses my forehead, combing his fingers through my hair and tucking pieces behind my ear. “So, so beautiful,” he rasps, his thumb dusting over my cheekbone. “Hurry home, Ace. We’re just getting started.”
