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In that moment, the fantasy changes.
He’s here.
Liam is in my room with me, but he doesn’t touch me. He simply watches and I revel in it.
“If you insist on doing it yourself, let me see.” His voice carries as I let out a moan, the raspy baritone pulling me back. “I said be quiet, Hannah. Don’t make me tell you again.”
I comply, pulling my pillow to my chest, resting it just over my mouth as a buffer to my mewls.
A finger dips inside me, leaving me aching, wishing for more…wishing for him. I fuck myself with my hand, muffling my moans in the pillow pressed to my lips.
The pressure building inside me causes my strokes to become more frantic, a constant shift between caressing my clit in circular motions and pressing inside. I tense, biting back a scream behind the cotton.
“That’s it, Hannah. Come for me.” Liam’s voice swarms my brain, pushing me over the edge. Ecstasy overtakes me, pushing me past the point of no return. My orgasm hits me, the pulsing sensation consuming me.
Fuck.
The buzzing feeling overtakes my entire body, carrying the pleasure through every expanse of skin.
Coming down from my orgasm, I attempt to quell my racing heart, but it’s no use. The warm, all-encompassing state of satiation unfortunately doesn’t stick around.
The reality of what I just did hits me, along with a healthy dose of shame. I can’t think about him like that, and the reminder of how utterly intolerable his personality is causes my stomach to churn. The memory of his smug expression when he reprimanded me earlier in the day is enough to throw me into a shame spiral.
I’m no novice to the concept of post-orgasm clarity, but if it isn’t a bitch anyway.
Yet, the memory of him leaning over me with his mouth mere inches from my ear, invading my space, has me questioning my sanity and if I have managed to go crazy in the week and a half I’ve been working with him.
That is the most logical conclusion: insanity.
The clock on my nightstand reads 4:00 AM and I groan, rolling over onto my side. I have to be up for work in two hours and, despite my exhaustion and what should be satiation, I’m wired. I squeeze my pillow to my chest and shift back onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, begging for some relief from my mental agony. I lift it to my face and do the only thing I can—I scream.
NINE
LIAM
“How did it go?” My father appears in the doorway of Conference Room B, his hands in his pockets as he leans against the frame.
I gather the papers from the conference table, compiling them into a stack and stuffing them in my padfolio.
“It went well. They appear to have faith in their new representation. Can’t wish for much more at this point.”
He nods in response, but judging by the expression painting his brow, I have a nagging feeling he’s holding something back. As I turn toward him, he pushes off the frame, a piercing look on his brow.
“I can hear you thinking, Dad.”
“Do you have any reservations about your preparedness?”
His thinly veiled implication stings. “Do you think I should?”
Dad shakes his head as he clears his throat. “Of course not. I just wanted to be sure. This is your first big client. I know Jackson has been working on it with you, maybe he could—”
“It is my client, Dad. I have a handle on it.”
He nods. “Good. I am working to lay the groundwork with the board in grooming you.”
This isn’t the first time my taking over Baker & Park one day has come up recently. My dad isn’t getting any younger, so it’s not really a surprise, but it’s always felt like this far-off concept. I thought I had at least another five years before this conversation would be had.
I’ve been a lawyer for two years and I’ve yet to have the opportunity to do anything fulfilling. Baker & Park seldom takes on much outside of corporate law and criminal law when it comes to defending our corporate clients. I had high hopes in taking on the Tollies case, but the further I dive into it, the more I come to realize it’s just another favor to one of our many corporate clients. A romantic partner of yet another CEO thinking their money can get them out of trouble.
