Page 114 of The Tower

Molten Lava

The morning brings with it a strange sense of peace. I’ve been awake for a while now, watching Liam move naked around the room, his thoughts clearly on the day ahead. There’s something vulnerable about him in these quiet moments, something softer beneath all that controlled power.

“We should get dressed,” I say, though I burrow deeper into the warmth of the bed. “The hearing is in a few hours.” I draw a breath, amazed at how casually I’d said those words. The hearing is in a few hours. As if this wasn’t important. As if the outcome of this hearing has nothing to do with the rest of my life.

“We still have a little time before we need to leave,” he says. He bends over me, his mouth finding a sensitive spot beneath my ear. I moan, my entire body shivering in response. How the hell does he do this? Turn me to molten lava with just a touch? Make my mind go blank with just the brush of his lips?

“Grimm,” I whisper, his name somewhere between a protest and a plea.

He takes it as encouragement, his palm sliding up to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple until it tightens, aching for more. I arch my back, pushing into his touch, and hear myself make a sound I barely recognize.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, even as his free hand glides between my thighs, finding me already slick and wanting.

“Don’t you dare,” I manage, twisting in his arms to face him, then reaching for him, my fingers tangling in his hair as I draw him close for a kiss. He responds immediately, his hands teasing, his mouth claiming. But not wild, not desperate. This is languid and exploring, as if the world outside this bed doesn’t exist. His tongue teases mine, his hands charting my body like he’s committing every curve and hollow to memory.

He rolls me onto my back, settling his weight over me. The pressure of him against me feels both sheltering and thrilling. I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him closer, feeling the hard length of him pressing exactly where I need him.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, his voice rough with desire.

I nod, my body clenching with a need so basic it bypasses thought entirely.

He reaches between us, positioning himself, then pushes inside with one slow, deliberate thrust that steals my breath. My back arches off the bed, my body stretching to take him.

“Christ, Sasha,” he groans, his forehead pressing against mine. “The way you feel …”

He begins to move, each stroke measured and deep, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that burns away any pretense. This isn’t just fucking; it’s something else—something deeper. Part of me wants to look away, to hide from how exposed I feel. But a stronger part wants to surrender completely to this man who’s somehow gotten past every defense I’ve built.

I match his rhythm, lifting my hips to meet each thrust, my hands roaming the hard planes of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the strong column of his neck. He’s magnificent in his focus, his control, the way he watches me with those predator’s eyes as he drives me steadily toward release.

“That’s it,” he urges as my breathing fractures, my movements growing erratic. “Let go for me.”

The pleasure coils tighter and tighter until I’m clinging to him, desperate for something just beyond reach. When it finally breaks, it crashes through me like a wave, my body clenching around him as I cry out his name.

He follows soon after, his rhythm faltering, a low groan torn from deep in his chest as he drives deep one final time. For a long moment, we stay locked together, trembling, our ragged breaths the only sound.

Eventually, he rolls to the side but keeps me close, his arm heavy across my waist. I rest my cheek on his chest, listening to the gradually slowing thud of his heart.

“We really should get up now,” I say, though I make no move to leave the warm nest we’ve created.

“Five more minutes.”

I smile against his skin, content to steal this small reprieve from the day ahead. The hearing looms, with all its potential for humiliation and exposure. But right now, in this bed, none of that seems real.

“Are you ready for today?” he asks when our stolen minutes have elapsed.

I sigh, hating reality’s intrusion. “As ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve been waiting years for this, even if I didn’t realize it.”

“You’ll be brilliant. Just tell the truth—everything from your affidavit. Explain what he did to control you, the drugs, all of it.”

“He’ll deny everything. He’ll try to make me look unbalanced.”

“He won’t get the chance,” Liam says, his voice hardening. “And he couldn’t succeed if he tried. We have the evidence. We have Dr. Chen. We have statements from staff who’ve quit. We even have the whistleblower from his company. He can’t squirm out of this one.”

I want to believe him. God, I do. But after watching my father manipulate every situation to his advantage for twenty-six years, it’s hard to trust that this time will be different.

“What if we lose?” I ask, voicing my deepest fear. “What if the judge believes him?”

Liam shifts, propping himself on one elbow to look down at me. His expression is fierce, almost feral. “That won’t happen. But if it did, I wouldn’t let him take you back. Ever.”