The pleasure builds into a tight, screaming coil in my core, fed by the images of his body moving over mine, his low groans in my ear, and the feel of his muscles under my nails.
“Liam,” I gasp as my body convulses. Intense waves crash over me. For a few seconds, there’s nothing but the pulsing aftershock and my heavy breathing.
The satisfaction only lasts for a second before I’m left aching and hating myself.
I’m supposed to be evicting Liam from my mind. How the hell am I going to do that when I’m jerking off to him?
I shut off the water and wrap myself in a towel, then head to my bedroom. I dress and try to purge the shower from my mind. I need food.
I've barely had anything all day except coffee and adrenaline.
I pull ingredients from the fridge for a quick salad. Lettuce, tomatoes, and grilled chicken that I meal-prepped on Sunday before I slept with Liam for the second time.
I'm chopping vegetables when I notice my phone screen lighting up repeatedly on the counter. I wipe my hands and pick it up, frowning.
Then I see the headline that makes my heart stop.
Nova's New Lamborghini Totaled Hours After Purchase
The knife slips from my hand, clattering against the cutting board.
No. No, no, no.
My fingers are shaking as I click through to the gossip site. There's a photo of a mangled green Lamborghini, the front end completely destroyed, driver's side crushed.
“Oh my God.”
I call Liam, my heart hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears. The call goes straight to voicemail. His recorded voice, casual and cocky: “This is Nova, leave a message.”
“Liam, it's me, call me back.” My voice sounds strange, high and panicked. I hang up and immediately try again. Voicemail.
I text him:Are you okay? Please call me.
Nothing.
I try again:Liam, I saw the news. Please just let me know you're alive.
My hands are shaking so badly that I can barely hold my phone. I can't breathe. The kitchen feels too small. The walls are pressing in. All I can see is that crumpled metal, the crushed driver's side, and my mind is supplying horrible images of Liam trapped inside, bleeding, maybe unconscious.
Oh my God.What if I never see him again?This morning floods my mind. The look on his face this morning when I told him to drop it, when I made him feel like he was nothing to me.
What if he's?—
I can't finish the thought.
I don't make a conscious decision. One moment I'm standing frozen in my kitchen, the next I'm grabbing my keys and purse, shoving my feet into sneakers. I'm out the door, down the stairs, ordering an Uber with trembling fingers.
The professional part of my brain, the planner who thinks everything through, is screaming that this is a mistake. That I should call Jennifer, coordinate a response, maintain boundaries.
But that voice is drowned out by a louder, more desperate one. I need to see him. I need to know he's okay.
The Uber feels like it's moving at a snail speed. Every red light is torture. I refresh the news sites obsessively, looking for updates. The articles are all the same. The accident but no word on his condition.
The driver pulls up to Liam's building and I'm out before the car fully stops, not even caring that I'm still wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt with no bra underneath.
“I need to see Liam Novak,” I tell the doorman, my voice shaking. “It's an emergency.”
He recognizes me from my previous visits. “Is he expecting you?”
