18. Shiloh

Chapter eighteen

Shiloh

The copy machine hums, a steady drone that should soothe me, but doesn't. I'm barely glancing at the documents I feed into it, my mind tangled up in thoughts of Liam.

I don't get what I did to flip his switch—from burning looks to icy dismissals, from lingering touches to curt nods, all in the span of hours.

I press 'start' on the copier and lean back against the wall, frustration knotting in my chest. His moods swing like a pendulum, and here I am—caught right in the middle, unable to step out of its path.

Hot one minute, cold the next. One second he's the epitome of kindness; the next, he's slicing through me with words sharp as knives.

But damn it, I can't shake him. The thought of him is like a drug in my veins, and I hate myself for craving the high. I've been alone with my fantasies more times than I care to admit, replaying that wild, intense night over in my head until reality blurs with desire.

I wonder what Chris would think if he knew how many times I’ve touched myself to fantasies of his brother. Especially since that night at the motel.

That evening was reckless, a mistake—no, not a mistake, because how can something that felt so earth-shattering be wrong? But it's forbidden, off-limits... and I want it again. Every heated glance, every brush of skin ignites the memory and stokes the fire.

And I burn, silently, secretly, yearning for another taste of that chaos.

"He’s not interested, Shiloh," I mutter under my breath, pulling the freshly printed stack from the tray.

I need to focus on being professional. Yet as I try to concentrate on the task at hand, the images seep through—the way his hands gripped me, claimed me, as if he'd never let go.

The recollection sends a jolt straight to my core, and I press my thighs together, willing away the heat. The hum of the copier is a monotonous drone in the background, a stark contrast to the chaos of my thoughts.

I shuffle through the documents absently, barely registering the legal jargon and case references that bleed across the pages like a trail of breadcrumbs leading me back to him—Liam, with his infuriating ability to make me feel both cherished and discarded in the same breath.

My fingers pause on a name—a beacon of familiarity in this sea of legalese: Derek Turner. The mention of the case sends a ripple of recognition through me.

We never resolved our fight in Atlanta—how I thought Derek Turner was a monster, how Liam didn’t seem to care. And now, it looks like Derek is at it again.

"Shit," I mutter. Curiosity needles at me, pricking my conscience. I shouldn't be reading this, but the next page is already in my hand, my eyes scanning the paragraphs hungrily.

Derek is suing Nora.

My heart sinks. She broke her NDA, went public with her story of cheating and swinger clubs on the Atlanta Blaze. I remember the hushed conversation at her house, the sympathetic looks shared over coffee cups as Liam coldly told her she would suffer if she told the press.

Nora has kids; this could ruin them.

"Damn you, Derek," I say through clenched teeth, the papers crumpling slightly in my grip. My own problems with Liam fade into the background, replaced by an indignant rage on behalf of Nora.

How could anyone do this to a family? To children?

I'm not supposed to know any of this, but now that I do, I can't just stand here, idle while injustice unfolds around me. With the documents clutched tight against my chest, I turn away from the copier, propelled by a newfound resolve.

Nora needs someone in her corner, and if the billionaire boys' club won't stand up for what's right, maybe it's time for someone who isn't afraid to break a few rules to step into the ring.

A surge of determination propels me out of the copy room, my heels clicking against the marble floor like a metronome ticking down to confrontation. The office is silent, abandoned by the nine-to-fivers who've retreated to their families and evening plans. Only the echo of my footsteps keeps me company—until I reach Liam's office.

The door swings open with more force than I intend. Liam's head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine. He has that disheveled look about him—sleeves rolled up, hair tousled as if he's been wrestling with his own thoughts just as much as I have. It's infuriating how attractive he looks, even now when my blood boils with indignation.

"Shiloh?" His voice is a mix of surprise and annoyance. His eyes are already narrowed, like he’s ready to yell at me.

I stride forward, slamming the file down on his sleek, polished desk.

"Why is Derek suing Nora?" I demand, my voice echoing off the high walls of his spacious office. My hands tremble with anger, but I plant them firmly on his desk, leaning forward into his space.

Liam looks at the file, then back at me, his expression unreadable. But I don't need him to speak; I need him to answer for this injustice, for the lives that are being tossed aside in the name of legalities and corporate pride.

"Talk, Liam," I insist, my gaze unwavering. "What does Derek think he's going to achieve by dragging Nora through the mud?"

"Nora broke her NDA," he says with a cool detachment that sets my teeth on edge. "It's as simple as that. It's the law. She signed a contract."

My hands ball into fists, my nails digging crescents into my palms. How can he stand there, so calm and rational while someone's life is being torn to shreds?

"Simple?" I echo, my voice rising in disbelief. "There's nothing simple about this! Nora has kids, Liam. This is going to destroy their family, all because Derek can't handle a bruise to his ego!"

His jaw tightens at my words, but his face remains an infuriating mask of indifference.

Doesn't he get it? Doesn't he see that there are real people behind these cases, not just names on a legal document?

My heart races, blood roaring in my ears as I wait for him to say something, anything, that proves he's human. But he just watches me, silent, his eyes like chips of ice.

"Great," I bite out, sarcasm dripping from each word. "Glad to know where your priorities lie."

"Priorities?" Liam's voice slices through the tense air, sharp and sudden. "You think I don't understand? My parents' marriage fell apart because of cheating. I know better than most what it does to a family."

The accusation in his tone hits me like a slap. I recoil, my voice a venomous whisper, as I say, "Hypocrite."

With a swift motion, Liam stands up. His chair rolls back with an ominous thud against the wall. He's a towering presence, the lines of his body rigid with barely restrained anger—or is it something else?

I take an involuntary step backward, but there's nowhere to go. My retreat is halted by the solid bookshelf behind me, its contents—a collection of antique legal tomes and old novels—barely registering as my back presses against them.

I'm acutely aware of the cityscape to my right, the twinkling lights a distant memory compared to the darkness brewing between us.

My breath catches, and for a moment, all I can focus on is the rise and fall of Liam's chest and the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. There's no denying the jolt of heat that courses through me at the sight, even now, even here where anger and desire tangle into an impossible knot.

It's wrong. It's so damn wrong, but that doesn't quell the flame.

Liam advances, a predator closing in on its prey. He's mere inches from me now, leaning forward, effectively trapping me. I can feel the heat radiating from his body as he leans down, his grip firm on my chin, forcing me to meet his stormy eyes.

I want to keep fighting him, to tell him how much of a monster he is…

…but the dumbest words possible slip out.

"Am I being bad again?" My question tumbles out in a soft voice, laced with confusion and an undeniable undercurrent of arousal. He shudders, a barely perceptible tremor that tells me he's affected, too.

"Shiloh," he breathes out, his voice rough like gravel. His hand slides up my side and cups my breast through the thin fabric of my shirt. The pressure is insistent, possessive. "You infuriate me. Your smile, your attitude... your damned morals." His thumb brushes over my nipple through my shirt and bralette, and I can't suppress the gasp that escapes my lips.

"And the way you never wear a damn proper bra," he continues, his voice dropping lower, "I see those perfect nipples every day, Shiloh. Every time you lean over a file or reach for a cup of coffee, and it drives me insane." His fingers tighten, twist, sending a jolt straight to my core. "I've fantasized about how they tasted since the night we…"

He cuts off, leaving the sentence hanging heavy between us. But we both know what he's talking about. We both remember the taste, the touch, and the forbidden heat of that one reckless night.

"Can't stop thinking about it, can you? Me either. I thought you regretted it," I say, the words catching slightly as his hand continues its maddening exploration. My back is pressed against cold wood, the hard spines of books digging into me through my blouse, but all I can focus on is him—his touch, his scent, his proximity. “Figured you thought it was a mistake.”

Liam's laugh is dark, a low rumble in his chest that vibrates against me. "I don't make mistakes, Shiloh." His voice is a growl now, sending a shiver of desire down my spine despite the chaos of emotions swirling inside me

Before I can respond, he leans in, and I feel the heat of his breath against the sensitive skin of my neck. He kisses me there, softly at first, then with a growing urgency that has me tilting my head to give him better access. The stubble on his jaw grazes my skin, and I bite back a moan.

His mouth finds my earlobe, and he nibbles it gently, causing my knees to go weak. One of his hands is still on my breast, kneading through the fabric, while the other slides down my leg, his fingers tracing the line of my skirt until they find the hem. He begins to pull it up slowly, bunching the material in his strong grip.

"Take off your panties for me, Shiloh," he murmurs against my ear, his voice a command laced with an edge that makes it clear this isn't just about desire—it's about possession, about claiming something he believes is his.

My heart races, and for a moment, I'm frozen by the intensity of the moment—the danger, the thrill, the sheer insanity of it all. I know I shouldn’t… anyone could come in; the door is unlocked—

I can't believe I'm doing this, but my body betrays my mind's protests. My fingers work quickly, sliding the thin fabric of my panties down over my hips.

The cool air of the room kisses my exposed skin as the panties pool around my ankles. I bend to step out of them, feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way that's both terrifying and exhilarating.

"Good girl," Liam murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He reaches down, his hand brushing mine as he takes the delicate garment from me, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm keeping these," he says.

My pulse hammers in my throat as I watch him pocket my underwear. Everything else fades away—my concerns about Derek Turner, Nora's predicament, the forbidden nature of what we're doing.

There's just Liam and the overwhelming need I have for him.

"Want to be good for me, Shiloh?" he asks, his tone teasing yet commanding.

“Yes,” I gasp.

“I want you to suck my cock, Shiloh. Can you do that?”

I nod, wordlessly sinking to my knees on the plush carpet of his office. My hands are slightly shaky as I reach for the buckle of his belt, undoing it with practiced ease.

His slacks follow, the zipper sounding impossibly loud in the quiet of the room. As my hands linger at the waist of his briefs, his cock jutting out against the soft fabric, my gaze flits to the door.

"We're alone," Liam assures me, his voice low and rough. "No one will interrupt us."

His words are meant to comfort, but they only serve to heighten the illicit thrill. Alone. Just Liam and me, and the raw desire that pulses between us like a living thing. With a deep breath, I try to steady myself, focusing on the man before me and the undeniable connection that refuses to be ignored.

I slide the briefs down, and his cock springs free. It’s hard, demanding attention, and I take it in my hand. The weight of him, the feel of hot skin against my palm sends a jolt through me. I stroke him, watching as he groans, head thrown back at the sensation.

"Shiloh," he says, voice strained with pleasure as he looks down at me.

Suddenly, his hand reaches out, fingers pulling the pin from my hair. My blonde curls cascade over my shoulders, framing my face. He wraps a fistful of my hair in his grasp, a gentle yet firm pull that sends a message—I'm his to control, here and now.

With no more words between us, I lean forward and part my lips, taking him into my mouth. The taste of him, the heat, the unmistakable scent—it's intoxicating, it's Liam. I run my tongue along the underside, then take him deeper, feeling every inch of him.

He fucks my mouth slowly at first, guiding the rhythm with the hold on my hair. But soon, his hips begin to move with more urgency. And it's not just about the physical anymore; I can tell he's lost in this as much as I am.

"Shiloh," he breathes out again, his voice barely above a whisper but loaded with all the tension we've been dancing around. "This...working with you. It's fucking torture."

His admission strikes a chord deep within me, igniting a spark that threatens to consume us both.

"From that first day you walked into my office," he continues, his thrusts becoming more erratic, "I knew I wanted you. Wanted to bend you over my desk, claim you as mine."

Hearing those words, knowing they echo my own hidden desires, I feel a surge of arousal between my legs. The forbidden nature of our relationship, the taboo of wanting your boss—my brother's ex—becomes the very fuel that drives my need for him.

As I suck him harder, drawing out his pleasure, I know that I'm not just addicted to the push and pull between us. I'm addicted to Liam, to the way he makes me feel both powerful and powerless at once.

And right here, on my knees, I'm exactly where I want to be.

His hand tightens in my hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp thrill through me. I can't help the moan that escapes as I take him deeper, feeling every inch of his desire.

Liam's groans grow louder, filling the room with the raw sound of his need.

"God, Shiloh...you don't know what you do to me," he confesses between ragged breaths. "Every damn meeting, I'm picturing this—your mouth on me."

The thought of him sitting there, in board meetings, imagining my lips wrapped around his cock, sends a hot flush through my body. I'm drenched, and it's not just from wanting him; it's from the power of being wanted uncontrollably by someone like Liam.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

I glance up, locking eyes with him, and find them darkened with a hunger that mirrors my own. In this moment, we're not boss and employee, not brother's ex and sister-in-law. We're just two people, consumed by a need so intense it blurs all the lines we're not supposed to cross.

"Shiloh, I've dreamt of this since the first time I saw you," he admits, his control slipping as he fucks my mouth with growing fervor. "I wanted to make you mine, even when I knew I shouldn't."

His pace quickens, his grip on my hair tightens. Suddenly, he yanks me upward, his strength undeniable, and I’m on my feet in an instant back against the bookshelf. A heavy thud echoes through the room as an antique legal text is knocked loose, tumbling to the floor with a cloud of dust.

“I’ll get it,” I pant, half-dazed

"Don’t bother. Wrap your legs around my waist, sweetheart," Liam instructs, voice low and rough. His command brooks no argument, and I don't want to argue. I want to obey, to feel him, to be consumed by him.

My breath hitches as his hands find my hips, gripping firmly. With a deft motion, I entwine my legs around him, my skirt riding up to my waist. His fingers dig into my flesh, possessive and unyielding, and for a moment, we're suspended in breathless anticipation.

Then, he's inside me, my pussy clenching around him.

We both gasp as he fills me completely, stretching me in the most delicious way. My head falls back, hitting the bookshelf with a dull thud that I barely register over the roar of blood in my ears.

One of my heels slips off, clattering onto the floor, but the loss of balance only draws me closer to him, our bodies melding together in a frenzied rhythm.

"God, Shiloh," he groans, his thrusts deepening, each one lifting me higher against the wall. The books rattle ominously behind me, threatening to fall, but all I can focus on is the feeling of him moving within me.

"Liam..." I cry out, my voice a broken whisper of pleasure and desperation. My fingers claw at his shoulders, seeking purchase, needing something to hold onto as he drives me toward oblivion.

His breath is hot against my ear, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my entire body.

"You're fucking perfect, Shiloh," he confesses, the raw edge in his tone sending shivers down my spine despite my earlier resolve to avoid such clichés. "I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you."

My heart hammers in my chest as his words wash over me, a filthy litany that stokes the fire within me. His hand slides up my back, pulling me impossibly closer.

"Remember Thanksgiving?" he growls, and I can feel his smile against my skin. "When Chris introduced us? I would’ve taken you right there on the dining room table, family be damned." His other hand roams freely, tracing fire along my thigh.

The mention of Chris—Liam's brother and my ex—should bring a reality check, but the actuality only adds kindling to the flame. It’s wrong, so wrong, but God, this feels right.

"You've been in every dirty thought since then," he admits with a gruff intensity. "Every damn fantasy. And now that I've had you..." He pauses, his grip tightening. "I can't stop. I won’t."

The confession sends me spiraling, and I clench around him, my orgasm ripping through me like a storm. "Liam!" I scream, giving in to his command, uncaring of who might hear, lost in the moment.

He follows soon after, his body tensing, his groan guttural and filled with release. "That's it, Shiloh... let them hear. Let them know who you belong to."

Our heavy breathing fills the room, the only sound aside from the distant hum of the city below. I don't care about the mess, the scandal, or the rules we’re breaking. Right now, in this slice of stolen time, it's just Liam and me, and the undeniable truth of our tangled desires.

And I’m coming, coming…

Liam's lips crash against mine, raw and demanding as if trying to brand me with his kiss. I respond with equal fervor, my hands clinging to his broad shoulders, not ready to let go.

The world beyond the walls of his office fades into insignificance; there is only his taste, his touch, his heat enveloping me. My orgasm finally recedes as liquid heat fills my pussy… but I still don’t want him to pull out.

After a moment that stretches into an eternity, he pulls back, eyes dark with lingering desire as he gently sets me down on the floor. My legs feel like they might give way, but his firm hold steadies me. He zips his pants up with swift precision, the sound jarring in the aftermath of our passion.

What’s even more jarring is what he says next.

"Go home, Shiloh," Liam says, voice surprisingly steady. He's all business now, the mask of the untouchable billionaire firmly back in place. "Get some sleep. I'll take care of the rest of the copies."

There's a finality in his tone that catches me off guard. No words of what just happened between us, no whispered promises or even hints of regret. Just a simple directive that sends a clear message: this is where our liaison ends, at least for tonight.

"Wait," I find my voice, even as it trembles with the rush of emotions threatening to spill over. "What are we doing, Liam?" My eyes search his, looking for something—anything—that might tell me this wasn't just another meaningless encounter to him.

He studies me for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable.

"I'm still figuring that out," he finally admits, and there's a trace of conflict in his deep voice. It's not much, but it's enough to slice through me, leaving me feeling exposed and foolish.

The urge to argue bubbles up, to demand answers or some semblance of certainty in the chaos we've created. But as I stand there, my discarded panties clutched in his hand, the fight drains out of me.

Maybe it's the vulnerability reflected in his eyes, or maybe it's the realization that I'm not sure I want to know his true thoughts.

I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it impossible to speak. Without another word, I turn away from him—from us —and step towards the door.

Tears blur my vision as I reach the door, my hand trembling as I pull it open. I don't look back at him; I can't. The office feels colder now, emptier somehow as if the heat we generated has been sucked out into the night.

The soft sound of my crying is the only noise in the otherwise silent corridor. I press a hand to my mouth to stifle the sobs, willing myself to hold it together until I'm safely hidden away in the privacy of my car, where no one can see me break down.

Liam's words echo in my head, a haunting reminder of the uncertainty that now lies between us.

I'm still figuring that out.

And with each step I take away from him, the shame settles heavier on my shoulders, a crushing weight I have no choice but to carry.