He nods. “Just for tonight.”
It’s like he gave me permission to surrender to this all-consuming need that has possessed me. I lift my chin. “What are you waiting for, Stone? Find us that broom closet.”
His pupils dilate, but it’s in contrast with his casual smirk. He leans back in his chair. “Not so fast, Thunder. I might have let you hump my leg before, but when it comes to sex, I’m in charge. So be a good girl, go to the bathroom, and take off your underwear.”
I push the chair back and stand up. “I’m wearing pants. What’s the point?”
“Panties off. Now,” hegrowls.
Jesus.
I’m not proud of myself, but I practically run to the ladies’ room. My pulse ricochets through my body as I shut the stall door, my fingers trembling as I strip. I’m so embarrassingly wet, I’m sure the linen will show it.
This is as exciting and unexpected as my night with Romeo. My pulse is tripping as I put my pants on, shoving my panties into the pocket.
Perhaps I need to pretend to be someone else to step out of my comfort zone.
To leave the woman who needs to deliver, achieve, prove something every single day at the door, and step into this free, liberated version of myself.
Just for tonight.
“I can be someone else.” I smile, and step out into the dimly lit corridor only to collide with something.
Someone.
A wall of muscle stops my forward motion, firm hands gripping my upper arms before I can stumble back.
“Easy,” Liam murmurs. His breath brushes my temple. Warm, controlled, too intimate for a hallway full of strangers.
Except… the hallway isn’t full of strangers. It’s empty.
“You done?” His voice scrapes along my skin.
I nod, swallowing through the sensation clogging my throat.
His gaze flicks down, taking in the outline of my pants and the knowledge of what I’m no longer wearing beneath them.
Heat darkens his eyes, slow and deliberate like the curl of smoke.
“Such. A fucking. Good girl,” he drawls, every syllable filled with worship and lust.
The praise hits harder than the earlier command. My knees almost fail me.
Before I can gather myself, Liam threads his fingers through mine and starts walking. It’s not hurried or reckless. Just purposeful, like he already mapped every shadow in this restaurant and chose one specifically for us.
I follow, and I realize I trust him. At this moment. For this game. For tonight. But I can’t surrender completely. “Where?—”
He squeezes my hand. “Patience.”
We move deeper into the hallway, past a row of framed black-and-white photographs. Every step is a tightening coil inside me, each breath harder to conceal.
He turns a corner into a darkened alcove with a counter. A coat check. Probably closed for the season.
We’re only steps away from the restaurant, but its hum is distant, muffled by thick carpeting anddim lighting.
He pulls me behind the counter and deeper into the room. We’re exposed, but still covered by the rows of empty coat hangers. My back hits the wall, his body blocking mine from the view of the corridor.
He lifts his hand, brushing the backs of his fingers along my jaw, tilting my face up.
