19. Liam

Chapter nineteen

Liam

Fuck… now that I’ve done it twice, I won’t stop.

I can’t.

The silence is thick when I step into the office the next morning, my shoes clicking a sharp rhythm against the marble floor. It's early, but Shiloh's at her desk, her posture rigid, fingers dancing across the keyboard like she can ward off the tension by staying busy.

"Good morning," I say casually like she wasn’t screaming my name in this very office last night.

She doesn't look up… but I see her blush, watch her breath hitch and her nipples harden in yet another one of those skimpy bralettes. It's a small victory, but it crawls under my skin—possessive satisfaction that she's feeling this as much as I am.

The air between us is charged with a silent acknowledgment of what happened, what we did.

I lean against the doorframe, watching her avoid me, letting the moment stretch out. She's got her guard up, but her body tells a different story—the way she tenses when I'm near, the quickened breaths.

She already wants me again, and damn, the feeling is mutual. A smirk tugs at my lips. This dance we're doing—it's only just begun.

Lunchtime drags itself in, and I'm at my desk, hands clenched into fists, trying to focus on the court records. The words blur, meaningless. All I can think about is Shiloh, her scent still clinging to my office air, her taste burned onto my lips.

"Shiloh," I bark into the intercom, "my office. Now."

I hear her heels clicking a staccato on the hardwood as she approaches, a rhythm that's rapidly becoming my favorite sound. She stands at the door, leaning halfway in, and her eyes darting around like I'm some wild beast ready to pounce.

"Close the door," I order, but she hesitates, leaving it ajar. Her caution lights a fire in me, mingling with my frustration from this morning.

"Need you to grab a file for me," I say, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside.

She steps in fully, but keeps that damn door open—a sliver of rebellion. I can't help but smirk at the memory of how we fucked last night, right here, with that same door wide open.

She edges toward the desk, a delicate fawn stepping into a lion's lair, her movements cautious and measured. She’s in control, or so she thinks.

"File's on the desk." My voice slices through the tension hanging between us.

Shiloh leans over the mahogany surface, stretching to reach the folder. Her body language screams reluctance, as though she fears I'll latch onto her at any second. I can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind.

As her fingers brush against the file, I catch her hand, firm but not forceful. She gasps—a sound that hits me straight in the gut, sending a familiar rush of heat coursing through my veins.

"Remember what I told you about wearing a proper bra?" I keep my tone even, but it's a struggle. Every inch of her skin under my touch is a reminder of last night's transgressions, and it's all I can do not to pull her closer.

Shiloh’s breath hitches, her eyes darting away before locking with mine again. "I'm not sure what you mean," she stammers, but the quiver in her voice betrays her. She's as affected as I am, and it's damn satisfying.

"Really?" I lean in closer, until her scent wraps around me, intoxicating and familiar. “In that case, maybe I need to buy you some new lingerie, sweetheart.”

“Liam…” her face is flushed pink, lips swollen with desire. “We can’t—what if…”

"You think leaving the door open is going to stop anything? Did it stop us last night?" My words are a low growl, filled with the memory of our reckless abandon, right here in this office with the city lights as our only witness.

She doesn't respond, but her body tenses further, a shudder rolling through her.

It's all the answer I need.

Still grasping her hand, I pull over a notepad from the corner of the desk, all while keeping her trapped in my gaze. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, so close to my face that I can almost taste the sweet skin I had my lips on just hours ago.

"Let's make one thing clear," I say, the pad now under my free hand. I grab a pen now, not breaking eye contact. "This—us—it's inevitable. Always has been.”

“So we’re…” I see the ghost of a smile on her lips and feel a surge of satisfaction. Yes. Yes, she wants this as much as I do. “We’re a thing?”

"That’s one way to put it," I chuckle. "Doesn’t change the fact that tonight, we're going to be together again."

I jot down an address on the top sheet of the notepad, the pen scratching in quick, sure strokes. Ripping the paper from the pad, I hold it out to her without releasing her hand. "Be there at nine p.m. No questions asked."

Her eyes widen just a fraction, a silent question flickering in their depths before she squashes it. She knows better than to ask; this is a command, not a request.

"And Shiloh," I say, my voice dropping an octave as I lean in closer, so close that our breaths mingle. "Wear something nice. I want to take it off you slowly."

Her breath hitches, and I can tell she's caught in the web of desire we've spun around each other. With a final squeeze of her hand, I press the piece of paper into her palm, the rough texture contrasting with her soft skin.

She nods, a quick, jerky movement that betrays her nerves.

"Okay," she whispers, and then she's turning, a whirl of blonde hair and slender limbs, making for the door like it's her lifeline.

"Shiloh," I call out, a smirk tugging at my lips. She stops dead in her tracks, her back to me, stiff as a board.

"You forgot something," I remind her, gesturing to the file on my desk with a tilt of my head.

With a sharp intake of breath, she turns, and I can see her mentally brace herself as she walks back towards me. It's clear she's trying to keep her composure, but the way she leans over the desk to grab the file, offering me a view that sends heat coursing through my veins, tells me all I need to know about her true state of mind.

Her hand trembles slightly as she reaches for the folder, and I can't resist.

I lean forward, my voice low and steady. "I can’t wait to taste you again."

The color rises to her cheeks, a beautiful flush that I'm determined to see spread across her whole body later tonight. Shiloh straightens up, clutching the file to her chest, and I swear I can almost hear the rapid pounding of her heart.

"Nine p.m., don't be late," I say, letting each word hang between us, heavy with promise.

"Understood." Her voice is barely above a whisper, but it's music to my ears.

As she hurries out of my office, I lean back in my chair, allowing myself a moment of smug satisfaction. Shiloh might act like she’s running away, but we both know she'll come back to me—she always does.

And tonight, I intend to remind her why.