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Bojangles it is.
EIGHT
HANNAH
My head hits my pillow. The wine haze from the restaurant has the ceiling spinning in a counterclockwise motion. It’s not even to say that I got drunk at dinner—I only had three glasses of wine—but unfortunately for me, I’ve always been the world’s biggest lightweight.
Once again, I spent the evening being bombarded by my mother, so the fact that I only had three glasses is a miracle in and of itself. Dinner with the Parks always seems to spiral into her hurling not-so-subtle jabs at my accomplishments as a way for her to praise Jackson and Liam. Now, with this wedding on the horizon, it’s just another opportunity for her to reduce me to being a lesser option to Jackson and now…Gen.
I reach over to plug my phone in, a text from Jackson popping up on the screen.
Jackson
did you get home okay?
Hannah
yeah, just got home.
are you okay? i know mom was a lot tonight…
I’m honestly a little surprised he even noticed since it didn’t revolve around him or Gen. I tamper down that thought and try to be thankful that he cares.
yeah, im fine. thank you though.
however, im heading to bed. ill see you in the morning.
sounds good. love you, bug.
love you too.
To say today was weird is an understatement. Even if you remove my mother and her insistence on being a bitch at dinner from the equation, my mind still keeps wandering to earlier in the day. I can’t find the words to unpack all of it. The memory of Liam’s breath skating over my neck as he leaned over me still sends shivers down my spine. I don’t want to think about why my body reacted the way it did. The warmth between my legs from earlier creeps back with full force, causing my mind to wander to places it shouldn’t.
Damn it, Hannah. Get it together.
The spinning from the alcohol starts to subside, giving me a sense of calm rather than distress. Drifting off into oblivion, a comforting warmth spreads as sleep overtakes me.
“Trust me, princess.” Liam’s voice, commanding, a near growl, travels up my neck. The familiar feeling of my skin prickling crawls up my spine, bathing me in the memory. “You haven’t seen me be a dick. I will ride you so hard that you fall asleep standing up, so don’t test me.”
Unlike the actual moment my thoughts recall, this time Liam’s hand trails up the back of my neck, yanking the hair at the nape and eliciting a gasp from my lungs. My skin erupts in goosebumps, a warmth spreading at the simple aggressive action.
I’m pinned against his desk, my hands braced onto his tabletop calendar, the paper crinkling under the pressure as my hands form into fists. He yanks my head back, causing it to lean against his shoulder, his breath dancing along the shell of my ear as he whispers.
“Be a good girl and don’t make a sound. We wouldn’t want anyone to hear you.”
His free hand begins to snake down my back achingly slowly until his hand crawls around, lifting the hem of my skirt before his hand dips below my panties, inches from oblivion.
“Fuuuu—”
In my hazy half-asleep state, the lines between reality and dream begin to blur. The moment Liam’s fingertips reach my wet heat, I slip my hand below the waist of my pajama shorts, finding myself exactly as expected.
Dripping.
My middle finger finds my clit and I gasp, the pressure pulling a moan from my lips.
“Hannah,” Liam reprimands, causing me to bite my bottom lip, “I said be quiet. I need you to fucking listen.”
The phantom sting at the base of my scalp sends a delicious bolt of electricity down to my pussy. I circle my bundle of nerves more rapidly, biting my lip to remain quiet with so much effort I’m convinced I can taste blood. In my fantasy, it’s his hand bringing me pleasure.
