28. Liam

Chapter twenty-eight

Liam

Tonight is the night everything changes. I can feel it.

I lean back in my chair, hands behind my head, eyes closed. I focus on the silence that follows the rest of the staff’s departure, the kind of quiet that makes you confront the big stuff. And damn, there's nothing bigger than what's ricocheting around in my mind right now.

I want her. Shiloh. With her shy smile and her sharp mind, the one who challenges me every step of the way. The woman who’s found her way under my skin. I want to see where this thing between us could go—really go—if we gave it a shot.

And if she wants me in Dublin next year? Well then, I'll pack my bags. No hesitation. Simple as that.

The choice seems so clear now, stripped down to bare bones in the empty echo of my office. It's a leap, sure, but hell, I've never been afraid of jumping before. Not when it comes to business, anyway.

Love though? That's uncharted territory. But maybe it's time to explore it—with her.

The Turner case files are spread across my desk, a labyrinth of legalese that usually holds my attention with an iron grip. But tonight, the words blur together, meaningless in the wake of what feels like a seismic shift inside me.

I hear movement from the office outside, the soft shuffle of footsteps that I've come to know so well. The door swings open, and there she is—Shiloh, her cheeks tinged pink from the crisp November air, or maybe it's something else. She's wearing her coat, a simple white puffer jacket that somehow complements her understated elegance.

I rise from my seat and push back the chair with a scrape that sounds too loud in the silence. My gaze flicks toward the door, and without a word, she steps inside and closes it behind her, clicking the lock into place. We’ve learned a certain kind of silent language for each other—a wordless office etiquette just for the two of us.

"Hey," she says softly, a question in the curve of her lips.

"Hey," I reply, barely above a whisper. My heart hammers against my ribcage, betraying my calm exterior.

I cross the room, fighting the tremor in my fingers as I reach for her coat. She stands still, eyes widened just a fraction as I slip the fabric off her shoulders. It's a simple, intimate gesture, but it feels monumental right now.

Her coat hangs on the rack by the door, and I turn back to face her. Without hesitation, I close the gap between us, my hands finding her cheeks, cupping them gently.

I lean in, and our lips meet—a kiss that's soft, questioning, almost hesitant. It's a stark contrast to the commanding presence I usually bring to this office, to every aspect of my life.

But with Shiloh? With her, everything feels different.

I pull back slightly, searching her eyes for any sign of retreat, any hint of doubt. There's a vulnerability in this closeness, one that's as exhilarating as it is terrifying. I'm not used to this—this nervous flutter, this raw edge of desire mixed with something deeper, something real.

"Drinks with Jackie go well?" I ask, my voice steadier than I feel. I'm grasping for normality in a situation that's anything but.

She chuckles, a light, musical sound that fills the space between us. "Actually, I didn't drink. Wine hasn't been sitting right with me lately." Her eyes drop to the floor for a moment before meeting mine again. "I just ate cake instead. Lots of it. I don’t know if you’re the one who picked it out…but it was really, really good."

I can't help but laugh, the tension breaking like a wave against the shore. It's such an innocent admission, so quintessentially Shiloh.

"Sorry, that's not very appealing," she murmurs, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink.

"Shiloh," I say, tilting her chin up gently so she's looking at me again. "Everything you do is appealing to me." And it's the truth.

Every little thing about her fascinates me—the way her nose scrunches when she laughs, how her fingers dance along the keyboard when she's deep in work, the passionate tirades she goes on about her favorite novels.

Seeing her blush deepen, I realize that what started as a forbidden flame has turned into a wildfire. The rules be damned—she's the one thing I've let myself want more than success, more than control.

I guide her over to the window, and we settle on the broad windowsill. The Boston skyline serves as a backdrop, lights twinkling like technicolor fireflies. I take Shiloh's hand, feeling the softness of her skin against mine, and bring it to my lips, kissing each knuckle in turn. It feels like some old-world gesture of courtship, but right now, with her, it's just right.

"Is this why you wanted to see me?" She clears her throat, sounding unsure. "Is this a booty call?"

The question stings a little, not because she asked it, but because I hate that it even crossed her mind. I shake my head, feeling an uncharacteristic heat rise in my cheeks.

"No, not at all." My voice is emphatic, urgent even. "I wanted to talk to you."

She looks at me, her expression softening, waiting.

"About the other day—in the copy room—I was out of line," I confess. "I got gruff about the printer..." I trail off, remembering the frustration that bubbled up, frustration that had nothing to do with printers or copiers.

"It's okay," she interrupts, waving away the concern. "You were right. I should've checked if it was free for personal use."

But I can't let her take the blame for my irritability. "That's not the point. It wasn't okay how I spoke to you." I lock eyes with her, willing her to understand. "I don't like the idea of losing you, Shiloh."

There. I said it. It's the naked truth, stripped of pretense and posturing. Her eyes widen, and I search them for a sign that she comprehends the depth of my confession. My chest tightens with anxiety.

"I'm saying this... because I'm falling for you, Shiloh,” I continue. “I want to be with you. I want you to be mine."

There's a vulnerability in laying your heart bare to someone, a fear that they might not feel the same. But it's out now, hanging between us like the Boston skyline illuminated against the night.

Shiloh squeezes my hand, and her other hand drifts to her mouth, nibbling at her lip in a way that sends my thoughts spiraling. Her brow creases, and I sense hesitation. "What's wrong?" My voice barely carries over the hum of the city below.

Using my free hand, I gently coax her chin up, directing her gaze back to mine. She meets my eyes, and there's a storm brewing in hers—a tempest of emotions and decisions.

"I want that too," she admits, her voice a quiet resolve. "But my application to Trinity... I owe it to myself to go if I’m accepted."

I nod, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I would never keep you from that—you know that, right?" I say, earnest and insistent. "You're too smart to just be a secretary."

Her eyes narrow slightly, a hint of defense there. "There's nothing wrong with being a secretary," she retorts.

I can't help but chuckle, not at her statement but at the notion of Shiloh, with that sharp mind and quick wit, spending her days arranging someone else's schedule.

"That's not what I mean," I explain, trying to get her to understand. "I want you using that brain for bigger things. I want to sit in a lecture hall and listen to you talk about Bront? or whatever topic sets your soul on fire."

She looks at me, perhaps seeing the sincerity in my gaze, and then asks the question hanging in the air between us. "What does this mean for us now?"

My pulse quickens as I think of the plan I’ve been chewing on all day—a plan that could change everything for both of us.

"Every year," I begin, "I take a couple weeks off before Thanksgiving. I go out to my place in the Hamptons to clear my head." My voice steadies as the picture becomes clearer. "I want you to come with me."

"Take time off work?" she asks, a flicker of surprise crossing her features.

"Yes," I confirm, standing closer to her. "Spend time with me. And when we come back, we'll make it official. We’ll tell HR." Her breath catches, and I realize just how much I’m asking her to risk—her job, her reputation...but I need her to know how serious I am. "I've figured it all out. I want to be with you so much that I'm willing to risk everything. Are you?"

The room feels charged with potential, with the possibility of a future together. It's a gamble, one that could cost us both dearly. But as I look into Shiloh's eyes, filled with hope and uncertainty, I know without a doubt it's a bet worth making. I watch her, waiting for a response. She's silent, pensive, her eyes searching mine.

"What are you thinking?" I ask. “Please answer me.”

Shiloh lifts her hands, her fingers brushing against the fabric at my neck, playing with the collar of my shirt. "I'm thinking," she breathes out, her voice barely louder than the hum of the city outside, "that I need you to kiss me."

The corners of my mouth curve upwards in a smile that feels as if it's been forever since it last touched my lips. I pull her closer, eliminating every inch of space between us. My lips find hers, and we kiss—a deep, consuming connection that's been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Her taste is sweet—vanilla frosting—and I can't help but deepen the kiss, driven by a hunger I've denied myself for ages. My tongue slides against hers, a tender invasion that has Shiloh moaning into my mouth. Her sound vibrates right through me, lighting up every nerve ending.

I tangle my fingers in her hair, holding her to me, unwilling to break this moment of raw honesty where everything else falls away. It's just Shiloh and me and the undeniable truth that this is where we both need to be—right here, together.

I draw back just enough to catch her gaze, her chest heaving against mine, breaths coming fast.

"Liam," she says, voice tight with need, "I need you."

"Anything," I tell her, and it's the goddamn truth. "You've got me wrapped around your finger, Shiloh." My hands are on her throat now, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her skin, trailing down to the buttons of her blouse. "Tell me what you want."

Her eyes lock onto mine, a storm of desire swirling within them.

"I want you," she says, each word punctuated with urgency, "inside me."

That's all it takes.

In one swift move, I stand and draw her up with me, my hands finding the hem of her skirt and hitching it high. The sight of her in those blue lace panties ignites something primal inside me. But there’s no time for slow undressing; this is a raw need.

I slide the delicate fabric aside as I free myself from the constraints of my clothing, my cock springing out, hard and eager to be inside her. There's a moment of pure heat, our bodies aligning in anticipation, and then I'm turning her to face the window, her hands pressed against the glass.

The lights of Boston stretch out before us, but all I can focus on is Shiloh—her warmth, her wetness, the way she pushes back against me, seeking more.

I guide myself to her entrance, pushing in slowly, with an intention that's both torturous and tender. I'm careful, so damn careful because this isn't just a fleeting moment of passion; it's an admission I haven't had the courage to voice yet.

My body moves with measured intensity, each thrust a silent vow of what's blooming in my chest.

"Shiloh," I whisper into her ear, my lips brushing against the shell of it as I speak. "Look at the city lights." My hand finds hers, guiding them towards the cool glass pane, our fingers interlocked. "That world out there? It’s yours for the taking."

She glances out, pupils dilating as she takes in the sprawling cityscape of Boston under the cloak of the night—the buildings a constellation of human ambition, the street veins pumping life through the urban body.

"Everything you see, I'll make sure you get it," I promise with a conviction that surprises even me. The resolve in my voice feels like a cornerstone being set in the foundation of our future. "I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy, Shiloh."

It's not just words tossed into the dark; it's a declaration, one that has been building since the first time I saw her smile light up an otherwise dark Thanksgiving dinner, cutting through my well-constructed defenses. She is the unplanned variable in my meticulously managed existence, the exception to every rule I've ever set for myself.

A gasp escapes her as I pull back, only to surge forward again. Her fingertips press into the glass, a delicate counterbalance to the force of my body against hers.

"Liam," she breathes out, her voice laced with a mix of wonder and caution, "What if someone sees?"

"Let them," I growl lowly, my gaze fixed on the reflection of us entwined—a powerful man undone by a woman who's slipped under his skin. "I want everyone to know you're mine."

It's reckless, maybe, but in this moment, my usual self-control is overshadowed by the primal urge to claim her, to mark her as mine before the world.

The city lies witness to our connection—distant lights casting shadows over us as we move together, silhouetted against the vastness of the night. Shiloh tightens around me, a sweet crescendo building within her, pulling me in deeper.

But even as my own peak looms near, I hold myself in check. I can't let go, not like this—not when I need to see her eyes as I cross that threshold.

When she finishes, a soft laugh hiccups from her throat—a sound that tethers me back to the present. I quickly pull out, my hands already moving with an urgent need to peel away the layers between us. Fingers fumbling, clothes shedding, our lips crash together in a kiss that speaks of pent-up longing and imminent promises.

Dragging her towards the leather sofa in the corner of my office, I'm so consumed by the proximity of her body, the heat emanating from her skin, that I misjudge the distance. My heel catches on the rug, and I stumble backward onto the cushions.

Shiloh's laughter is a melodic reprieve from the intensity of our desire, a sound that makes my heart thump erratically against my ribs.

"Careful there, Mr. Control," she teases, standing over me while her fingers work the buttons of her blouse with deliberate slowness—each tiny pearl clasp releasing a little more of her to me.

"Never been less in control," I admit, voice hoarse as I watch her undress. The sight of her, confident and beautiful, peeling away her clothes to reveal the soft curves I've come to crave—it's nearly my undoing.

She straddles me then, her gaze locked with mine. A small smile plays on her lips, but it's the depth of emotion swirling in the depths of her eyes that captures me completely.

She sinks down, enveloping me in warmth, and a groan tears from my throat. My hands grip her hips tightly, not just to steady her, but because touching her feels like the only way to anchor myself in this storm of sensation.

"Shiloh," I murmur, the words teetering on the edge of a confession. Love—that dangerous, all-consuming force—is clawing its way up my throat. It's there, so close I can taste the delicacy alongside the lingering sweetness of her kisses.

I want to say it. I want to tell her. But the weight of the word is heavy, loaded with implications and vulnerability I haven't allowed myself to feel in years.

Without warning, she starts moving, and the world narrows down to just us. She rocks her hips, grinding against me, each movement stoking the fire that's been building since the moment we touched. Her skin is hot against mine, slick with desire, and I'm lost in the sensation of her.

She reaches up, her fingers digging into my shoulders for leverage, her nails a sweet pressure point against my skin. Her eyes open, deep chestnut brown reflecting something fierce and tender, and the words tumble from her lips, unhurried but loaded with everything we are together. "I love you, Liam. I love you."

Those words hit me harder than any physical touch could. It's as if she's reached inside me and flipped a switch, igniting something primal and needy. My hands move to her back, pulling her closer, desperate to feel every inch of her against me. Our kiss is hard, a clashing of lips and teeth, tasting the truth and rawness between us.

"Shiloh," I manage between breaths, the rest of the declaration lodged in my throat like a prayer I can't quite release.

We're frantic now, our movements uncoordinated in their urgency. It's as though every thrust is a word, every gasp a sentence, and every moan a paragraph of the story we're writing together—one of need, of hope, of a future that's suddenly within reach.

And then, as the crescendo builds, I'm teetering on the edge, holding onto her like she's my lifeline. With one final push, I come undone, a silent roar in the quiet of the room. Our climax washes over us in waves, a tide too strong to resist, pulling us under and leaving us breathless and entwined on the couch that's become our sanctuary.

We go still, breath to breath, just looking at each other. I know she’s waiting for me to say it back… and I know I want to, but I can’t seem to form the words. My brain has short-circuited.

She lifts her hand and drags it through my hair, down my face.

“Liam…” she whispers.

My name has never sounded better than it does on her lips.

I can't stop staring at her, Shiloh still straddling me, her body settling as my cock softens inside her. The intimacy of this moment wraps around us like a cocoon, sheltering us from the world outside my office.

I drag my hands up her sides, feeling the smoothness of her skin under my fingertips, and watch as a shiver runs through her. My thumbs brush over her nipples, eliciting a gasp that fills the room with its sweet sound.

"Shiloh," I breathe, my voice laced with an emotion I've never allowed myself to truly feel until now.

I lean in, capturing her lips with mine once more in a kiss that's a promise, a future, a surrender. It's softer this time, a contrast to the urgency before. A testament to the depth of what's blooming between us. When I pull back, our eyes lock, and I see everything I feel reflected back at me in her gaze—wonder, vulnerability, strength.

"I love you too," I say, the words spilling out raw and honest.

The declaration hangs in the air, heavy and significant. It feels like stepping off a cliff and finding out you can fly.

She gasps, blinks… and then she smiles, that heart-stopping, sunshine smile that could light up the darkest corners of any room—or any heart, especially mine. Her hands cup my face, tender and possessive all at once as if she's holding something precious.

"Say it again," she whispers, her eyes dancing with unshed tears and laughter.

"I love you, Shiloh."

And I do.

More than I ever thought possible.