14. Shiloh

Chapter fourteen

Shiloh

The light sneaks in through the cracks of the motel blinds, painting stripes across the sheets and onto my skin. I'm warm, too warm, and there's a weight on my hip that isn't mine. My eyelids flutter open, and I'm staring straight into his face.

Liam Nolan.

My boss, my ex’s big brother… with his hand possessively resting on my hip as if it belongs there.

Panic grips me like a vice. Last night wasn't just a dream. It was real—the first time we had sex, then the second time when I woke up to find him moving inside me, and then a third...

I remember how he whispered my name, each syllable heavy with lust as he demanded more, gave more, drew climax after climax from me until I was sure my body couldn't take any more pleasure.

My heart races, and I can feel the heat flooding my cheeks.

What have I done?

The memories come crashing back in flashes of entangled limbs and broken moans. There's a dull ache between my thighs, a reminder of how thoroughly he used me all night, leaving me spent and yet somehow still craving his touch.

But the pleasure is quickly overshadowed by a surge of anxiety. This wasn't just a night of reckless abandon; this was with Liam—my employer, my paycheck, my stability. Images of walking into the office on Monday, of whispers and smirks from colleagues who somehow know, start to swirl in my head.

What if he fires me for this?

I can practically see the dismissal notice, the way his cool business tone would cut through any plea.

And then there's Chris.

If Liam tells him… I shudder at the thought. Chris, who once said he loved me, who’s been telling me to get the hell out of his apartment for weeks.

Would he even let me grab my things before showing me the door?

My breath quickens as the walls of the motel room feel like they're closing in on me. The humiliation, the gossip—it could ruin everything. How did one night of surrendering to forbidden desires lead me here, to the edge of losing it all?

I'm spiraling now, each thought more catastrophic than the last. Homelessness looms over me, an all-too-real possibility. No job means no income; no income means no rent and no rent...

I can't even finish the thought.

It's too much.

And the worst part—the absolute gut-twisting, heart-palpitating worst part—is that as I'm drowning in this panic, there's a part of me—a reckless, wanton part—screaming that I would do it all over again. I press my eyelids tight, trying to silence that voice, trying to calm the butterflies—no, more like bees—buzzing wild and erratic in my stomach.

"Shiloh," Liam's voice cuts through the morning stillness like a lifeline—or an anchor—pulling me back from the edge or dragging me deeper down, I can't tell which.

My eyes snap open to find him awake, his gaze on me. It's like looking into a lake at dusk; there's depth there, but it's obscured, unreadable. His hand, the one that's been resting possessively on my hip, tightens just a fraction. A silent communication, a connection that neither of us has the words for right now.

"Morning," I manage, my voice a husk of confusion. I'm not sure what we are in the light of day—boss and employee tangled in sheets, or something far more complicated.

His thumb brushes against my skin in a small, almost comforting gesture, and I fight the urge to lean into his touch.

What is he thinking? Is he regretting this as much as I am? Or is he just as caught up in the tangled web of desire and consequence?

"Morning," he finally echoes, his voice low and rough with sleep or maybe something else.

We're in limbo, quiet before the storm of reality comes crashing down. For a moment, I let myself get lost in it, the sheer insanity of wanting someone who could ruin me with a word. But then the bees in my stomach start humming again, a reminder of everything that's at stake.

I swallow hard, bracing myself for whatever comes next.

"What happens now?" The question is a whisper, but it feels like it echoes off the walls of the motel room. My heart races, each beat a hammer against my chest, as I wait for him to spell out my fate.

But Liam doesn't say anything. Instead, he pushes me back against the sheets, his body hovering over mine with a sense of purpose that sends another wave of those frantic bees through my stomach. His lips find mine, and the world narrows down to the taste of his kiss—intense, demanding, yet somehow reassuring in its fervor.

I can't think, can't worry about jobs or homelessness or the looming shadow of Chris's potential wrath. Liam's hand finds its way to my breast, his touch igniting a moan that vibrates between us. It's a sound that seals my betrayal and solidifies my desire all at once.

His hardness presses insistently against my entrance, an undeniable reminder of the night before. A night where pleasure and passion eclipsed everything else. Without hesitation, I open my legs for him, welcoming the weight of him, the heat of him, the sheer, undeniable reality of him.

"Shiloh," he breathes against my neck as he positions himself, and I feel my name on his lips like a secret vow we're both afraid to keep. “So fucking wet for me… good girl.”

My response is a gasp, sharp and needy, as he pushes inside me. I arch my back, offering him everything, while he props himself up on his elbows above me to get better leverage. His fingers tangle in my hair and pull hard, a sweet sting that spirals into pleasure as I close my eyes and give in to the sensation.

Liam sets a punishing rhythm, his movements quick and dirty, a relentless pursuit of release in the soft light of dawn. He smells like sex—like Liam—and it's intoxicating, overwhelming. It's the scent I've found myself craving since the day I started working for him, a forbidden aroma that promises both peril and ecstasy.

"More," I whisper, not recognizing my own voice.

It's hoarser, filled with a raw desire that only he has ever drawn out of me. Liam responds, his pace unyielding, driving me to the brink of something wild and reckless.

I can't help but move against him, matching him thrust for thrust, lost in the carnal dance that we perform with a desperation that belies the quiet breaking of the day outside our motel room.

"God, Shiloh," he grunts, and there's a hint of wonder in his voice, a trace of something that might be awe—or maybe it's just lust. But right now, I don't care what it is. All that matters is the way he makes me feel: wanted, needed, consumed.

I cling to him, nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, urging him on. Each movement sends me spiraling closer to the edge, to that precipice of pleasure where I know I'll tumble down into oblivion.

And as the morning light creeps further into the room, casting us in its golden hue, I can't help but wonder if this is what falling in love feels like—terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

I thought I loved Chris, sure. But it was never, ever like this.

Liam is relentless, a force of nature that I'm swept up in without any hope—or desire—to resist. His movements become faster, harder, each thrust pushing me further into the mattress, claiming me as his own.

It borders on pain, the intensity of him filling me so completely, but it's the kind of ache I crave, the kind that tells me I'm alive and burning with the same ferocity that ignites within him.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he groans, a sound that vibrates through my bones, setting every nerve ending ablaze. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”

I can sense he's close, and the thought of him reaching that peak inside me sends a shockwave of anticipation through my body. I want to do as he says, I want to obey him. I race toward my own end, my pussy clenching, spasming—

Then he's there, his rhythm stutters, and I feel the hot rush of him flooding me, a heat that seeps into my very core. In this moment, I belong entirely to him, and he to me, even if the world outside these walls would condemn us for it.

Liam collapses onto me for a brief second before pushing himself up to look at me. His eyes are dark with satisfaction, and something softer, something that threatens to unravel me completely.

He lowers his face to mine, his breath mingling with my own, and then his lips are on me, not just kissing but claiming, marking me as his with an urgency that leaves no room for doubt.

His tongue slips between my lips, mimicking the earlier rhythm of our bodies, a final act of possession that has me clinging to him once more. He fucks his tongue into my mouth, thrusting, deep.

There's no gentleness, only the raw need that we've awakened in each other—a need that speaks of more nights like this, more mornings waking up entwined, and the dangerous possibility of wanting more than just the physical connection that binds us.

Then when he pulls away, it’s like it never happened.

Liam pulls out and gets out of bed with a purpose that feels like a slap. He doesn't look back at me as he fishes his phone from the pocket of his slacks slung over a chair.

"We've got to move," he says curtly, scanning the screen. "The mechanic texted. The car will be ready in an hour."

I'm lying there, tangled in sheets that smell like us, trying to catch my breath. My mind races, heart pounding not just from the sex but from the sheer panic at what comes next. I watch his broad shoulders, the muscles shifting as he types a reply.

He moves like he hasn't just turned my world upside down.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Or what’s wrong with me that makes me that easy to discard?

"Okay," is all I manage to say, voice small in the too-quiet room.

I sit up, feeling exposed and suddenly vulnerable under the weight of his indifference. It's like he's flipped a switch, and now I'm just an employee again—or worse, I might soon be nothing at all.

He glances at me then, a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance? Regret? —before he turns away and heads for the bathroom. The door shuts with a click that sounds final, and I'm left staring at the wood grain, wondering if I've lost more than just my clothes in this room.

In the silence, I cling to the sheets, still warm from our bodies. The air is heavy with the scent of sex, a stark contrast to the cold practicality of his movements. I draw in a shaky breath, pressing a hand to my chest where my heart thuds wildly.

I hear the shower start, the sound a harsh reminder that life goes on—that Liam goes on—and I'm just a complication he's washing away. I should feel dirty, used, but all I can feel is this aching desire for more.

"Stupid," I whisper to myself, dragging a hand through my hair. But even as I berate myself, another part of me longs to knock on that bathroom door, to step into the steam and pretend, just for a little while longer, that this is real.

That I am real to him.

The sound of the running water stops, jerking me out of my reverie. It's time to face reality—whatever that is now.

As Liam steps out and starts to gather his things without so much as a second glance at me, I force myself off the bed and into the bathroom. The mirror reflects a girl who looks like she's been thoroughly loved and left bewildered by it.

I don't recognize her.

I step into the shower, letting the hot streams cascade over me. My skin is marked by our night together; a hickey stands out on my breast, another near my collarbone. Evidence of his desire—or just lust? I touch them gently, a mix of pride and confusion swirling inside me.

"It didn’t mean anything," I chide myself, even though that's the last thing I want to hear right now.

When I finally turn off the water and step out, wrapping a towel around me, I feel steadier. But the reflection in the mirror hasn't changed. She's still someone caught between two worlds—the normalcy of her everyday life and this secret chaos she's stumbled into with Liam.

Dressed once again in my business casual garb from yesterday and somewhat composed, I open the door to find him buttoning his shirt with swift, sure movements. His suit jacket is draped over a chair, and he's packing my gas station t-shirt and sweats into his sleek overnight bag as if we're just returning from a business trip—that's all it was, wasn't it?

"Hey," I say, but my voice comes out softer than I intend.

He doesn't look up. "Morning."

There's a cold efficiency to his manner that sends a shiver through me. We might as well be strangers passing by in a hallway. But we're not. We can't be, not after last night. Not after everything.

"Are you—" I start, but what am I asking? Are you okay with this? Are we okay? What happens now?

"Ready to go soon?" he finishes for me, not waiting for my actual question. "We should beat the traffic."

"Right." I nod, even though there's a tightness in my chest that makes it hard to breathe. I'm nothing but an inconvenience to his schedule now.

I watch him move around the room, gathering the last of our things. There's no mention of last night, no acknowledgment of the heat that burned between us. And it hurts—more than I expected it to. Because despite the shame, despite the potential consequences, a part of me—maybe a big part—still wants him.

Wants this.

"Shiloh?" Liam pauses, glancing at me, maybe sensing my inner turmoil. "You good?"

"Yeah," I lie, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'm good."

But I'm not.

Not even close.