21. Liam

Chapter twenty-one

Liam

The cab rolls through the streets, slick with the evening drizzle, and I'm acutely aware of every inch of Shiloh’s skin pressed to mine. Her breath is even, and a faint scent of her perfume mixes with the rain-soaked city air filtering in through the cracked window.

I can't stand it—the distance, mere inches, feels like miles.

"Shiloh," I whisper, my voice barely above the hum of the cab's engine. The sound of her name on my lips feels like fire, and it's all I can do not to pull her into me right here, right now.

With a practiced ease that belies my racing heart, I let my hand fall onto her thigh, acting as if I'm merely steadying myself as the cab takes a sharp turn. But then, purposefully, slowly, my fingers inch their way up, tracing the curve of her leg.

I feel the heat radiating from her before I reach the hem of her skirt. It's ambrosia—this hidden, forbidden warmth—and I want more.

"Lean on me, sweetheart," I murmur, the words rough with desire. "I'll give you some relief... just don't let it show."

Her thigh trembles under my touch, and when my fingers slip higher, teasing the edge of her panties, I find evidence of her arousal—a dampness that sends a jolt straight to my cock. She shifts slightly towards me, her body unconsciously seeking my touch, and it's all the permission I need.

I keep a lookout for the cab driver, making sure his eyes stay glued to the road. The last thing we need is an audience or, worse, to get thrown out onto the street. My ego couldn't take the hit, and neither could the fierce need clawing at my insides.

"Good?" I ask, voice low, as I caress her through the fabric, feeling her pulse quicken.

“So good,” she replies, breath hitching.

There's no going back now. Not that I'd want to.

Shiloh bites her lip, silencing the sounds threatening to spill from her. I can feel her restraint, her struggle to stay quiet—it's like a live wire under my fingers.

With every stroke, every gentle press, she quivers, and I have to remind her, "Hush now. We don't want to end our ride on the pavement."

The cab's suspension is no match for Boston's streets, and each bump aids my cause, sending my fingers deeper, her body rocking subtly against them. It's an exquisite torture, doing this here, where anyone could see if they looked close enough.

"Keep still," I whisper, though it's an impossible command. Her control is slipping, just like mine.

And then, with a precision honed by desire and the knowledge of exactly what makes her unravel, I bring her to the edge. She's breathing hard now, her chest heaving, her face buried in my neck as she clings to me. I can feel her pulse racing against my skin, the sweet scent of her hair filling my senses.

"Let go, Shiloh," I coax, my own voice strained with need. "Just let go."

With one final push, she shudders, her body tensing before waves of pleasure wash over her. Her nails dig into my shoulder through the fabric of my suit, a silent cry caught between us. She's trembling, her face pressed so close to my neck that I can feel the rush of her breath, hot and erratic.

"Good girl," I murmur, kissing her temple as she comes down from the high. Pride swells within me—pride and something far more dangerous that I'm not ready to name.

I've never wanted to protect and possess someone as much as I do her right now.

The cab halts smoothly in front of my brownstone—an elegant, old-world structure that stands like a sentinel amidst the charm of Beacon Hill. I slide out of the car, feeling the crisp night air brush against my skin, ghosting over the heat that still simmers from our encounter. My hand reaches for Shiloh; her fingers are delicate yet strong as they slip into mine.

"Come on," I say, voice low and steady.

With her hand in mine, we climb the stone steps leading to the front door. The click of her heels on each step rings out like a subtle prelude to what's about to unfold within these walls.

I unlock the door, the sound echoing softly in the quiet Boston evening. I stand aside to let her enter first, following close behind, shutting the door with a soft thud that seems to seal us away from the rest of the world.

Her gaze sweeps across the foyer, taking in the dark wood floors, the high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, and the grand staircase that spirals up to the second floor. Her eyes widen—a mix of wonder and curiosity—and it makes me see my own home through new eyes.

"Wow," she breathes out, and there's something about the way she says it—like a secret shared between just us—that sends a jolt of pleasure through me.

"Like it?" I ask, though it's not really a question. I want her to love it here—to imagine herself in every corner, in every shadow.

She turns to look at me, her lips parting ever so slightly.

"What are you looking at?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, but it's enough to pull me back from the edge of my thoughts.

"Just how you fit into this place," I confess, letting truth color my words. "How much I..."

I trail off, catching myself before I reveal too much, before I cross a line I've drawn a thousand times in my mind. I let the bag of leftover dessert drop to the floor with a soft thud as I take a step toward her.

It's an unconscious act, one that underscores the gravity of what's pulsing between us. I close the distance between us in two strides, my hands finding the cool wall beside her head, trapping her gently within my space.

I lean in, my breath mingling with hers, and admit in a hushed tone, "I'm imagining having you here permanently... making you mine in every possible way." The words hang heavy in the air, a confession wrapped in desire, and it takes all I have not to lose myself in the idea of it.

Her eyes search mine, sparkling with a hope that makes my chest tighten. "What does that mean, Liam?"

I hesitate, the truth threatening to spill over, but I shove it back down. I can't afford the vulnerability—not now, not with her.

"It means I'm thinking about all the different places and positions I want to fuck you," I say instead, my voice rough with a restraint I barely feel.

The hope flickers in her eyes, replaced by a flash of understanding or maybe disappointment—I can't tell. But it's better this way. It's better to keep this dance of ours on the edge of something dangerous, something forbidden, than to dive into the depths where I might just drown in her.

I spin Shiloh around, her chest against the cool plaster, and she gasps—a sharp intake of breath that tells me she's caught onto my urgency.

"Hands on the wall, legs spread," I growl, low and commanding. She obeys instantly, palms flat against the surface, her obedience sending a rush of heat through me.

My fingers are rough as they hike up her skirt, no time for teasing, no patience left in me. The fabric bunches at her waist, and I pull at the delicate lace of her panties, yanking them down just enough to bare her to me.

When I slip my fingers between her legs, she's already wet, and I feel a sense of triumph—that even with my harsh words, her body can't help but respond to mine.

"Scream for me," I order. My voice is barely more than a whisper, but it's laced with an edge that brooks no argument.

She bites her lip hard, enough that I can see the indent of teeth on the plush flesh. Her hands clench into fists on the wall as I find her rhythm, the slick sound of her need filling the room. It's all too much—the tightness in my chest, the way she moves against me, seeking more, always more.

"Shiloh," I hiss when I feel her getting close. Her name is a prayer, a curse, a claim, all in one.

And then she's there—her body rigid as I push her over the edge, her voice echoing around the foyer of my house. The sound of it nearly undoes me; I'm so turned on I'm struggling to draw breath, every pulse point in my body thrumming with the need to possess her fully, to mark her as mine in ways I can't afford to consider.

"Fuck," I exhale, watching her come undone, feeling the tremors of her release against my fingers. It's raw, it's messy, and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Her climax keeps rolling through her in unrelenting aftershocks, and I feel the savage triumph of having wrung that response from her body. But my own need is a living thing inside me, clawing its way to the surface. The image of Shiloh spread out on my bed flashes in my mind, but I know there's not a chance in hell I'll make it that far.

"Sorry, beautiful. Can't wait," I rasp, my voice a rough edge of desperation.

She's still panting, her body pliant and warm, when I free my cock with a haste that borders on violence. My hands shake as I line myself up with her, and for a brief moment, I pause, the head of my cock nudging at her entrance.

"We have all night," I promise, though it's more for myself than for her—a reminder that this isn't just about the burning need tearing through me.

Then, without further preamble, I thrust into her in one hard move.

Shiloh gasps, a sharp intake of breath that seems to fill the room. Her inner walls clench around me, hot, wet, and oh-so-tight. It’s perfect, almost painfully so.

"Shiloh," I groan, holding myself deep within her, trying to memorize the feel of her around me. This is where I belong, where I've always belonged, even if neither of us knew it until now.

I wrap my hand around her throat, not too tight, just enough for the control to surge between us. I start moving, each thrust hard and sure, our hips slapping together in a rhythm that's as old as time yet feels brand new with Shiloh. She's mine, here and now, and I want to claim her in every way that counts.

"God, I should have you work from home," I mutter under my breath, the thought striking like lightning. The idea of her on video calls, trying to keep her voice even while I'm buried deep inside her sends a jolt of pure lust straight to my groin. "Wouldn't get a damn thing done."

"Would you?" she gasps. “I don’t… I don’t understand…”

"I’m saying I want you,” I hiss. “Riding my cock all day and all night."

The fantasy takes hold, igniting my desire into an inferno. Her body meets each of my thrusts, willing and eager. It's more than sex; it's a dance of power, possession, and unbridled passion.

Shiloh clenches around me again, and that's all it takes. I come, hard, spilling into her with a groan that rips from my throat. My head drops to the crook of her neck, my breath hot against her skin.

"Beautiful," I murmur against the salt of her sweat. "You're perfect."

Kissing her neck, I move up to her shoulder, nipping gently. The taste of her is addictive, the feel of her skin against my lips is something I could get used to. And right now, all I can think about is keeping her this close... forever .

A tremor runs through her as I pull back, the sound of our ragged breathing filling the room. There's a warmth spreading through my chest, something that goes beyond the afterglow of sex. It's terrifying in its intensity.

"Shiloh," I whisper, and it's more than just a name—it's a realization, a truth I've been fighting not to acknowledge.

She turns slowly, her eyes meeting mine, and there's an openness there, a vulnerability that matches my own. In this moment, stripped down to nothing, there's no hiding from the truth.

I'm falling for her .

The thought crashes into me with the force of a tidal wave. It's dangerous, so damn dangerous. She works for me, for Christ's sake. She's supposed to be off-limits. But here she is, looking at me like I'm her whole world, and fuck if I don't want to be just that.

It's not just about wanting her body—though I do, desperately. It's the laughter we share, the way she challenges me and pushes back when no one else dares.

The way she looks at me, not just seeing the billionaire boss, but Liam—the man with flaws and fears and a heart that suddenly feels too big for his chest.

I'll keep her safe, even from myself if I have to. Because what scares me more than falling for her is the thought of ever losing her. And that's a risk I'm not willing to take—not now, not ever.

I need to make my intentions clear that this is purely physical… even if that’s a lie.