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Right then, he silently raises his hand to my face, sliding his fingers through my hair until he’s fisted the strands. He gives a tug in the same second he removes his thigh and slowly I’m lowering to my knees, staring at his thick, muscular thighs. I tip my head back and the sexy slight smile he gives me storms heat back within me. With a small gesture of his chin, I know precisely what he wants.
I reach for his cock placing it in my mouth and sucking him with slow precision, until his shaft hardens again. I taste me, him, and the perfectness of us.
“Eyes on me,” he orders roughly.
I look up at him, bobbing on the tip of his cock. His low groan is more than foreplay to me, it’s like a vibrator to my clit. I cup his balls, enjoying the weight of them, loving how his head falls back. I suck on one testicle and then the other before I grab the base of his cock. Keeping my eyes on him, I treat him to my mouth. His fist tightens in my hair and then his other hand is on the top of my head and he’s thrusting into my mouth. The thickness of his cock stretches my mouth, the tip hitting the back of my throat but moving so fast my gag reflex never reacts. Until he shoves his dick so far in my mouth, I gag once and he backs away, letting me control my movements again.
I slide my mouth off his shaft, and, showing him that I like it rough, too, I gently drag my teeth across his shaft and his hips shoot forward. “Fuck, yes. Again.” He grunts.
I do as I’m told, twice more. That’s when he’s apparently had enough. I’m back in his arms and he’s carrying me to the contour chair which he deposits me into. He hooks my legs onto his arms, entering me again in one swift stroke. My pussy—which hasn’t seen a dick in three years—registers the slight soreness of being used so roughly by him. But Liam won’t be refused today, I see that now. And I won’t stop him. I want to wake up tomorrow and remember this moment and every moment to follow this weekend.
In this position, I see more of him. I run my fingers across his flexed chest, down his hard six-pack, loving the way his thick cock, with trimmed pubic hair, slides inside me. God, he’s masculine beauty. I can’t stop the way my pussy squeezes at him, so greedy for another orgasm, which I know he can deliver.
He reaches for my hips, pins me to him, and then I understand what it’s like to be truly fucked. His thrusts are brutal, punishing me maybe for how long I made him wait. Perhaps even rage induced by the situation we’ve been in these past years. Whatever he’s releasing mentally, he’s doing so on my body, and I’m reaping the rewards.
“Liam,” I scream seconds before I tumble into wave after wave of sheer euphoria that is as hot as it is intense.
When I feel his finger tuck under my chin, I open my eyes, discovering his expression is very similar to what I’d seen before. However, this time, he looks even more intense. As he did before, he reaches for my hair, fisting it, sending me to my knees again. When I look up at him, he gestures at his cock. “Again,” is all he says.
That’s when I realize that I’ve been wrong. This weekend isn’t about fulfilling a fantasy. It’s about draining the lust Liam has for me. And he plans to drain it all this weekend. Now I understand that, it’s not about whether my heart can handle this weekend with Liam.
Can my body survive him?
C
hapter 4
Liam
The next morning, I step out on the terrace of a private restaurant atop one of the nicest hotels at the Santa Monica Pier, a bright sun high in a clear blue sky. A table covered in white linen is set next to the stone exterior of the building covered by rich green ivy overlooking the soft sands of the Santa Monica Bay. Before I can take in anything else, my cellphone rings. I grab it out of my pocket and lift the phone to my ear. “Why are you calling me, Mallory?” I answer the phone in a brisk voice, not pleased with the interruption.
“Yes, you’re going to kill me, I know,” she says quickly, and I can almost hear her cringing when she adds, “Alas, we are finalizing the Bakker offer. Thomas wanted me to reach out to confirm the details.”
I know this can’t wait, and I remind myself while I’m here, my team are all working faithfully this weekend to ensure we get an offer ready to present to Bakker on Monday. “Go ahead.”
“All right.” She draws in a deep breath before she begins. “We’ve included making a yearly donation to the charity Mr. Bakker supports. We’re also putting a provision in that all his employees will remain on with the company after the merger, and the employees are also to receive Christmas bonuses, which is something that Mr. Bakker doesn’t do. Is there anything else you want to add before we finalize?”
I ponder as I watch a seagull soar through the air, then decide. “Our offer sounds strong and solid. Do the clients have any suggestions?”
“No, they felt right in line with what you proposed.”
“Good. Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all. Goodbye.”
Mallory ends the call, and I suspect that her mind is now running rampant with ideas of what I’m up to with her best friend. I’ve never crossed that line with Mallory. I’m sure she recognizes my interest in her friend, as I’ve never hid it, but I’ve never verbalized my desire to be with her best friend, nor will I ever discuss Aria with Mallory. Some lines should never be crossed.
With work behind me, and glad the interruption is over, I turn toward Aria. She’s striding through the small garden on the terrace. Her gait is slow, posture relaxed, as she should be. The pathway is lined by flowers and bushes and pergolas, and in front of the garden is where our table for breakfast is set. This restaurant is as private as it is beautiful, and it’s why I’ve come here for the past few years for breakfast every so often.
When she catches that I’m off the phone now and staring at her, she smiles. “Breakfast on a private terrace, pulling out the big guns, Liam?” she asks with a cheeky grin.
“I only have big guns.” I grin back, approaching the table then pulling out her chair for her.
As she moves toward me then takes a seat, she laughs softly. “Well, I do know for certain you have one big gun.”
Before I can reply, the waiter enters the terrace, the steel door closing tight behind him. Wearing all white with a black bow tie, the dark-haired young man with a thick French accent says, “Good morning, Mr. Maxwell and Ms. Finley.” I take my seat when he stops by the table. “This morning the chef is serving eggs Florentine, pastrami hash, and fresh fruit.”
“Sounds amazing,” Aria says.
