One of his hands braces the frame of the couch while the other trails all over me, moving from my cheek, to my hip, and then upwards to bunch my shirt under my chin. He pulls the cup of my bra down, and my breast springs free to meet the open air as he rubs and pinches in the most sinfully perfect ways. My eyes flutter shut when I feel his warm mouth on me next, but I force them back open, gazing down to watch him with hooded eyes. My hips are still moving—they never stopped—still reaching and grasping for the release I know I could probably find, but don’t allow myself. Waiting will be entirely worth it.
Luckily, I don’t have to wait long. Liam unbuttons my jeans and helps me to ease them off, then stands and tosses them onto the chair a few feet away. I quickly sit up, unclasping my bra and pulling it off along with my shirt. I throw them over my shoulder as he tosses his boxers away and drops to his knees beside me on the couch. He edges me down to lie flat and kisses my stomach as his fingers hook into the sides of my panties. His clever tongue traces delicate patterns across my rib cage as he tugs them down, so slowly that it almost hurts. I squirm and squeeze my thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache. It makes it better. It makes it worse.
We’re both completely naked now, and Liam is looking down at me like I’m something to be worshiped. Savored. He moves his mouth back to my stomach, and I can tell where he’s heading next. Nice as that would be, it’s not what I came here for, and I tell him so, gripping the back of his hair until he turns his head up to look at me.
“Not right now. I want you,” I almost whine, shocking even myself.
Liam nods and starts to stand again, but I don’t let him go. “I need to get something,” he tells me.
“I brought one.” I point to my pants on the chair. I do let him go then as he grabs my jeans and pulls out the foil packet with a smile.
“I guess it’s safe to say you didn’t come here for a friendly chat.”
“No, I didn’t. Why, do you want to chat?” I arch my back as he stands there gazing at me, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as I stretch my arms up onto the couch above my head.
“Perhaps later,” he says. I flash him a coy smirk that he soon kisses away as he slides over me again. The kiss starts out sweet but turns heated as his hand slips down between us, finding me completely ready. He positions himself with my legs around him, sliding forward until we’re finally locked together. Our chests brush with every smooth stroke, building the tension up and up inside of me, so high and taut that I dig my fingers into his back to the point that I might actually leave marks on him.
Liam’s thrusts become less controlled, and his forehead lowers to mine as I feel him starting to shake.
“I don’t want this to end,” he soon groans. “We shouldn’t let it end.”
I swallow his achingly sweet words down, not answering, but kissing him so hungrily that I know he understands. I break around him seconds later, and my whimper gets lost in the side of his neck as he all but growls into the couch cushion beside me. I don’t move as I float in the aftershocks, and Liam does the same, still trembling slightly and snaking his hand down until it finds mine.
A little time after, we both shift, making room for him next to me as I lie half on him, half on the cushions. I stay perched just like that on his chest, our fingers brushing against each other’s as they rest on Liam’s stomach. Eventually, we stop even those soft movements, and I tilt my head up. Liam appears spent, satisfied, and sad. My expression mirrors his.
“I have to go,” I whisper, positive that we’re already close to my predetermined time limit.
“I know,” he answers quietly.
We stay looking at each other, both aware that we’re not just talking about tonight. The realization hurts, but I accept it, reminding myself that we still have some time left, and that makes the pain a little easier to absorb.
“But don’t go yet,” he says. “Stay for a few more minutes, okay?”
I know we’re only delaying the inevitable, but his arms are so warm, and his heart is still beating so fast. What’s a few more stolen moments? We’re not hurting anyone—only ourselves.
“Alright,” I agree, nestling down even more comfortably into him. “Just for a few more minutes.”
20
I walk into the penthouse with more energy than usual the following morning. I should be tired after my night with Liam, but with the pop-up being staged in twelve hours, adrenaline has me completely wired and awake. Ollie is with me. Juliette suggested it would be better for him to spend the day up there, since there’s so much more room, and we’ll be gone longer than usual. She’s installed a dog nanny-cam so we can check on him while we’re gone, and she even bought a little machine that distributes treats throughout the day. Looking around the living room now, I’m only just noticing that space has almost fully morphed into a puppy play place. What was once a flawless London pied-à-terre is now completely Ollie-centered, and it somehow makes the space even more inviting and warm.
“There they are,” Juliette says, looking up from where she’s sitting at the counter, eating her oatmeal and blueberries. “Nice and early and looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
Ollie pulls at the leash to run to her, and I let it drop. It’s becoming more obvious by the day that Juliette’s fondness for him is very much mutual. She hops off her stool to unhook his leash and to give him an enthusiastic petting. I adjust my bag on my shoulder, and Paul’s note feels as heavy as a ton of bricks.
“Happy opening day,” I tell her, stepping forward as she sits back down at the counter.
“Oh, yes. I feel like a debutante all over again. Pray tell, where are my fan and my gloves?”
“Already packed in the carriage, my lady.” I give her a curtsy, and she graces me with a sarcastic bat of her eyelashes.
“Okay,” I say more austerely, getting down to business, “so let’s talk about your schedule for today. We need to be at the venue at ten. Then you’re doing an Instagram Live interview at one, and another at two. We’ll be working on technical aspects throughout the day. The show starts at seven, so if we go anywhere, we have to be back at the venue no later than five. We can either bring dinner and eat there or stop somewhere very briefly along the way.”
Juliette takes her last bite of oatmeal. “Yes to all of that, but I forgot to tell you, I saw Phillip yesterday. He came around looking for you, so I told him you would have dinner with him at four.”
“What?” I ask, completely dumbfounded. “Juliette, there’s no way. Today is going to be nonstop work, and there is zero possibility that I can randomly go out to an early-bird dinner date.”
“You’re not going out for dinner—he’s cooking at his apartment.”
