23. Liam

Chapter twenty-three

Liam

Every time, I tell myself it's the last time and that I can't keep doing this with Shiloh. But here we are, in my office after hours—no one to hear her soft moans as I press her against the mahogany desk, our clothes a crumpled testament to reckless abandon on the floor.

"God, Liam," she breathes out, and I lose myself again in the heat of her body, in the urgency of our movements.

I'm her boss, for fuck's sake. This shouldn't be happening. Not on the desk where I sign multi-million-dollar deals, not in the copy room where we pretend to be searching for extra toner as an excuse just to touch each other.

And definitely not in my bed, where she spends most nights tangled up with me, leaving her scent on my sheets.

As I move inside her, her back arching off the desk, I catch a glimpse of us in the glass pane reflecting the city lights. We look desperate, consumed by something that's spiraled far beyond control.

I should stop; I should end this before it destroys us both. But when she looks at me, eyes dark with need, I can't pull away.

I don't want to.

"Shiloh, I—" I choke off the words as she pulls me closer, nails digging into my back, urging me on.

I'm addicted to her.

It's a truth that settles deep in my bones with every secret rendezvous, with every shared glance that promises more illicit encounters. Even now, as sanity screams that I should cut ties, all I can think about is how empty my bed felt those nights she wasn't there, how the office air seems stale without her laughter spilling through it.

"Come home with me tonight," I pant against her neck, not caring about the implications, about the rules we're breaking. "Please."

She nods, and something perilous and exhilarating lodges itself in my chest. I can't let her go, not now, maybe not ever.

What started as a game, a forbidden thrill, has rooted itself too deeply.

The clock on my office wall ticks, a steady rhythm countering the erratic beat of my heart. In mere minutes, I'm supposed to be on a call with Derek Turner, discussing the intricacies of an NDA case that could make or break my firm.

My attention should be on that—on the legal strategies and precedents—but my focus scatters as Shiloh returns to her desk, right outside my office.

She's back from lunch, her presence like a jolt of electricity in the charged atmosphere of my office. Our eyes lock, hers wide and knowing, mine probably screaming desperation.

"Shiloh," I say, voice a low command belying the turmoil inside, "bring me the Turner files."

"Right away," she replies, a hint of something more than professionalism laced in her words.

I watch her go, her hips swaying subtly, a silent siren's call. She disappears into the file room and returns moments later, a stack of folders in her arms.

Her movements are graceful and efficient, but all I can think about is how those hands have mapped every inch of my skin in stolen moments just like this one.

"Close the door," I tell her, and there's no mistaking the double meaning in my tone.

Without a word, she complies, the soft click of the latch sealing us in together. It's reckless, what we're doing.

It's madness to crave her touch with such intensity that even the threat of exposure isn't enough to deter me. But here, in the dimming light of my office, with anticipation thrumming between us, I can't bring myself to care about the consequences.

Shiloh's lips curve into a shy smile, a stark contrast to the smoldering looks we've shared in secret. I push back from the desk, creating space "Come here," I murmur, not a command now but a plea laced with the raw edge of desire.

She approaches, a graceful doe to my lion's lair, and perches on my lap. Her hair, a cascade of golden waves, spills over my arm, soft strands teasing my skin. My hands find her waist, and I pull her closer, needing the contact, needing her. Our lips meet, gentle at first, a tender exploration that quickly ignites into something fiercer, something hungrier.

"I can't stop touching you," I confess against her mouth, voice barely more than a growl. It's truth laid bare, a vulnerability I allow only with her. "Can't stop kissing you. I just can't get enough."

"Me neither," she breathes, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw before tangling in my hair.

We're kissing again, deeper this time, all pretense of restraint abandoned. The world outside this office, with its rules and its judgments, fades away until there's nothing left but the heat of our intertwined bodies and the relentless craving that drives us to madness.

It's a dangerous game we play, here in the heart of my empire, where walls have ears and eyes are always watching. But as Shiloh's kiss brands me, as her touch sears through the fabric of my carefully curated life, I know one thing for certain: I am irrevocably addicted to this woman, and I don't want a cure.

The video call rings on my laptop, and I groan in frustration, pulling away from her. "You can go now. I have a call with Derek."

"Okay," she replies, but her eyes dart down at the obvious erection under my slacks. “Are you sure?”

I can see where she’s going with this, even if she won’t say it out loud. I grin, wicked and knowing I’m corrupting her with every touch… and still unable to stop myself. "Or you could do something about that."

She pauses for a beat before asking, "What do you want me to do, sir?"

"Take care of it," I reply, my voice laced with desire.

Shiloh sinks down on her knees under the desk, and I groan as her fingertips graze my cock.

Fuck.

This is a very bad idea.

Derek appears on the screen, and we start going over the NDA case, but all I can pay attention to is Shiloh's hands on me.

"Have you thought about what I said earlier?" Derek asks.

"Yes... yes, I have," I reply, trying to sound coherent.

"Good. Because I think we should move forward with the lawsuit against Nora," he says firmly.

"Listen, Derek, I don't think that's a good idea," I try to reason with him.

"Excuse me?" he says, clearly taken aback.

"Look, I know you're angry with your wife, but suing her will only make things worse," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. It isn’t easy. Shiloh is unzipping my slacks, pulling my cock out, stroking me…

Fuck, fuck her mouth is on me—

"Are you kidding me? She swore she wouldn’t go to the press, then did it anyway. She deserves to be punished," he argues.

"Let's not make a hasty decision," I manage to grind out, gripping the edge of my desk as Shiloh’s touch becomes more insistent.

The file concerning the NDA case lays forgotten on the polished surface, my attention entirely hijacked by the woman beneath my desk.

"Are you alright, Liam?" Derek's voice cuts through the haze of sensation.

"Fine, just... reviewing some details here." The words come out strained, my focus splintering.

"Alright. But I expect action, Liam. We've discussed this."

I grip the desk tighter, my breath hitching. Shiloh's mouth is on me, and god, it's impossible to think straight.

"Listen to me, Derek," I say, trying to keep a level tone. "Suing Nora will just drag this whole thing through the mud."

Derek's impatient voice crackles through the speaker. "She breached the NDA, Liam! I want her to pay for it."

Each time I feel like giving in to Derek's demands, Shiloh seems to sense it, her pace slowing almost to a stop. That's all the incentive I need to dig in my heels.

"Look, if you pursue this case against Nora," I press on, my voice growing firmer despite the waves of pleasure Shiloh is sending through me, "it's against my professional advice. You could be looking at a countersuit for defamation, and the media will have a field day."

Derek's tone sharpens. "So now you're refusing to do your job?"

"No, I'm advising you as your lawyer that this isn't wise," I say, clenching my jaw as Shiloh takes me deeper, her movements growing more fervent beneath the desk. "If you insist on going forward with this, I might have to pass it off to another attorney."

There's a pause on the line, and then Derek's anger is palpable even through the screen. "This is bullshit, Liam!"

Just then, Shiloh moans softly, the sound muffled but unmistakable.

My heart stops.

"What the hell was that noise?" Derek snaps, his face contorting with suspicion.

Shiloh freezes, her eyes wide as she looks up at me. I shoot her a warning look, shaking my head slightly. Quick thinking is needed to save the situation.

"Uh, must be some interference on the line," I blurt out, trying to sound annoyed rather than breathless. "These video calls, you know? Technology." I give an awkward chuckle, hoping he buys it.

"Right," Derek says, but his skepticism is as clear as the disapproval in my chest. "Think about what I said, Liam. We'll talk later."

"Fine," I mutter, frustration sharpening my voice. "We'll schedule another call." My finger hovers over the 'end call' button, aching to shut this down.

The moment the screen goes black, I slam the laptop closed with more force than necessary. The sound reverberates through the room like the final gavel at a trial.

I reach down, my hands finding Shiloh's shoulders as I pull her up in one swift motion. Our lips crash together, a mess of need and desperation. She tastes like sin and feels like salvation, all wrapped up in one forbidden package.

"Sorry," she whispers against my mouth, a hint of mischief in her voice that tells me she's not really sorry at all.

"Shut up," I growl back, my hands fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, popping them open with unsteady fingers. Her hands are just as frantic, tugging at my belt, pulling it loose with a clink of metal

Clothes become inconsequential obstacles that we discard with urgency. There's no time for finesse or foreplay—not now. Not when every second without her is a second wasted.

And then, with a sigh that's part relief and part longing, she's sinking onto me, her warmth enveloping me completely. Her hips find a rhythm, and I lose myself in the sensation, in the sheer rightness of being buried inside her.

Everything else fades into insignificance—the clients, the cases, the rules we're breaking. There's only Shiloh, and the way she makes me feel like I'm more than just a billionaire attorney with a roster of high-profile clients.

I'm just Liam—a man desperately, irrevocably addicted to the woman in his arms.

The desk is a battleground of scattered papers and blinking devices, but none of it matters—not when Shiloh rocks on my cock like she's made for this, for us. Her hands grip my shoulders; her breath comes in quick gasps that sync with the rhythm we set. And God, the sound of her—it's a melody that drowns out the buzz of the city below.

"Liam," she sighs, desperate. Lust thickens every syllable, making it a confession, a plea, a prayer all at once.

"Right here, sweetheart," I soothe, looking into her eyes. In them, I see a reflection of my own reckless desire, the same wild abandon that's driven us to this point.

I thrust up into her, harder, deeper, each movement a testament to the craving that consumes me. My office chair creaks under us, an unsteady metronome to our frantic coupling.

I'm close—too close—but I hold on, because this, right here with Shiloh, is where I've found something I didn't even know I needed.

Her fingers dig into my shoulders, her body tightens, and I can feel her teetering on the edge. With one final push, she shatters around me, her cry a sweet release that triggers my own undoing. I follow her over the precipice, our names mingling in the air as we cling to each other, riding out the storm.

After, the silence is profound. It's just us, breathing hard, our hearts pounding in unison. The city sprawls beneath us, unaware of the seismic shift that's just occurred in this high-rise office. But right now, the world outside doesn't exist.

"Damn clients," I murmur, half-joking, but the truth is clear in the way I hold her close, unwilling to let go.

Clients come and go, but what I have with Shiloh—this is irreplaceable.

And for all the wealth and power at my fingertips, she's become the one thing I can't afford to lose.