THIS COULD NEVER WORK
FRIDAY NIGHT WE got married.
By Saturday morning, I’d walked out on him after he made it offensively clear that, per his supersmart man brain, our marriage could never work as I was practically family. Oh, and that I was his own, personal hair shirt and self-flagellation tool. Tired of always coming up short, I’d left.
In retrospect, giving Liam space was a mistake. He’s clearly used his alone time to come up with a new plan, and equally clearly, he thinks I’ll require convincing to go along with it and he’s here ready to play hardball. The delicious vegan tacos I just finished are proof of that.
I cup his cheek with my hand. Stubble shadows his jaw, inviting me to rub my face against his until his bristles mark my skin. The sexual jolt I feel is stupid, so instead I answer his question.
“One. You’re filthy rich and I’m not. Two. I like having sex and you’ve made it clear you’re not putting out. And three: you don’t fit into my life—it would be like adding a chef’s kitchen to a double-wide. The kitchen would be expensive and the appliances top-end, but the infrastructure work would be a bitch and no one would ever be able to figure out the resale value.”
He gives a slow blink.
“I’m trying to do the right thing here,” he says. And just like that Liam is back to being the suit. You know how medieval knights wore all that armor when they rode into battle and you pretty much had to pry them out of it with a can opener? Just substitute designer suits for chain mail and you have Liam. He’s happy if he gets to be the one discussing spanking and other sex acts, but he shuts down if I mention those three little letters: S, E and their best friend X.
“I could ignore the first and third issues if we established a few ground rules like I pay my own way, but the no-sex thing is a deal breaker, so perhaps you’d care to discuss the sexual elephant in the room?”
“Not particularly.” The growly look he aims my way might scare the pants off someone who hasn’t known him for years, but he’s said it himself. He’d never hurt me. It undermines his ability to negotiate a killer deal.
“We did it. We had sex. Based on your reaction the other night, I either really did it for you, or you’d just come off a sexual drought. Since the Instagram posts seem to suggest you’re a man-whore and generally make yourself available to San Francisco’s population—mind you, I’m not judging—I think you just really liked getting your rocks off with me. I’m not going to force you to tell me if you’ve been entertaining secret fantasies about me for years, but I’m not averse, either.”
The look on his face turns contemplative. “How is man-whore not judgmental?”
“True.” I make a show of tapping my lower lip with my finger. “Okay. We’ll call you the Father Christmas of sex, passing out orgasm gifts to all the good little girls. I want a turn while you want a vestal virgin for some nefarious business purpose. It puts us at an impasse, if you see what I mean.”
I’m hoping he won’t figure out for himself that I can’t actually stop him from keeping me on a sexless pedestal. His penis really has to cooperate with the idea, and I won’t cheat on him. He kind of already has what he wants.
Would I have agreed if he’d asked me before the sex party? I honestly don’t know.
I’m still holding on to his hand, so I force myself to let go. It’s harder than I expect—my fingers want to cling to his, to stroke his hand, to tickle the palm with my nails until he gives me his slow, lopsided sex-god grin. I’m not ready to let go of him yet.
Because holy shit, the man gets hotter every time I see him, which may have something to do with the fact that I’ve seen him naked. There’s no unseeing naked Liam.
He looks at me with his poker face. “What are you proposing?”
Play it cool. “This would have to be a partnership, Liam. Not an employee-boss relationship.”
Hot boss would be a super fun fantasy to role-play, but I’m not going to make it a real-life thing. Liam would run roughshod over me.
He narrows his eyes. “Okay.”
I grin at him. “Give a man a fish, and you’ll feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, and you’ve fed him for a lifetime.”
Does it sound like a tangent? Sure, but Liam rolls with it. “Confucius?”
“Probably.” I wave a hand dismissively. “But getting back to the bigger picture, you have an image problem. People don’t think you’re nice. I’ll teach you how to be nice and then you won’t need me as a prop.”
His forehead puckers in a frown, but I barrel ahead. “And in exchange, you’ll give me bad-girl lessons. Based on today’s conversation, I clearly need more practice in that department. I’d never even considered spanking, so obviously you have a ton to teach me.”
And...
There is one more sexual elephant we need to address.
“Unless you’re not attracted to me,” I continue, so quietly that it takes him a moment to make out what I’ve just said. I know when he has because he tenses beneath me. “In which case, I get that certain things are off the table. I’d like to have really memorable sex with you, but only if that’s what you want, too.”
His eyes darken, his fingers tightening on my bare shoulders. “Attraction’s never been the problem.”
He runs a finger down my shoulder and along my side and my breath catches.
“I want you,” he says roughly. “And if dirty sex is something you’re curious about, I can help you out with that, too. But are you sure it’s what you really want?”
“Is it a binary kind of proposition?”
“Maybe you’d like a taste,” he said, his finger moving lower. “Before you make up your mind about us. Say yes and I’ll show you what I could give you.”
I straighten. “We’re in public.”
The problem is that Liam thrives on a challenge. His fingers skimming lower, his big body beneath mine, the obvious ridge of his arousal between us—these things make it clear that he’s more than willing to get busy in the back of my truck. When he touches me, when he’s close, I can’t think. All I can do is feel, and it scares me as much as it pulls me in and makes me want to hold on to him. “People will see.”
He drops his other hand between us, shifting me until I’m straddling his outstretched legs, my knees hugging his thighs. I feel his palm slip beneath the fabric of my skirt. “Yes? Or no?”
“I can’t think. I should say no.”
“But you want to say yes. Think of me as the treat you’re allowing yourself. I’m going to make you feel good and then later I’m going to fuck you.” He pauses, clearly wrestling with his Boy Scout. “If that’s what you want.”
“I can’t imagine not wanting this.”
You.
What happens if I always want you?
What happens if you don’t feel these things for me?
I lean back, trying to force my sex-focused brain to think objectively. This is what I wanted, right? This is Liam finally seeing me as a sexual partner. It’s exactly what I asked for, but it’s also a little more immediate than I’d anticipated. If pressed, I’d have said that I’d imagined a bed with luxury sheets, possibly after a nice Chianti. Better underwear and mood lighting would also have factored into my fantasy.
He trails his fingers over the bare skin of my thigh, tracing small circles as he moves higher. “Tell me yes.”
Liam Masterson is touching me.
“Tell me you’re not drunk.”
He shakes his head. “Never again.”
“And you’ll remember this—” me “—later.”
“Absolutely.”
Heat flushes my face, sweeping down between my legs, part arousal, part nerves. My heart pounds, unsure and excited. Liam is in charge and I both love and hate it.
“What if someone sees?”
“You’ll enjoy it.” His fingertips curl over the edge of my panties, stroking through the cotton.
My breath catches. “Liam.”
“You’ll have to be quiet,” he says. “If you don’t want anyone to hear you.”
God.
Oh.
Maybe?
I glance around, as if somehow cataloging our potential audience will help. It’s noisy enough that I could probably scream his name and no one would notice. The usual cheerful cacophony of the farmers’ market is like a noisy, comforting cocoon that suddenly seems fraught with dirty possibilities. My truck is a fairly safe distance from the main aisle, parked on what’s pretty much the edge of the market. And if I’m really doing sexual math, the truck bed is deep enough that no one will see more than our heads and upper chests. It will just seem like I’m sitting on Liam’s lap and possibly grinding on him. Totally normal dating behavior, right?
And yet I feel my cheeks grow warm. This is why I need to practice my bad-girl vibe.
“Can I do whatever I want?” Big fingers tug on the cotton of my panties and heat sears through me.
I nod because if I actually try to speak words, all that’s going to come out will be babble or maybe a plea for him to fuck me now goddammit.
He eases my panties down, tucking them beneath the curve of my butt. I can’t believe he’s doing this, that powerful, smart, take-charge Liam Masterson is playing a game with me.
And he’s totally rocking it.
“Should I make you come?” He whispers the question against my ear.
It’s not as if I want to say no, not now, but I could. He’d stop right away and put me back together and somehow we’d finish our conversation. But I want him to touch me more than I want dignity or privacy or anything else.
“Do it.”
He grins, as if we’re just two people in the back of the truck having a picnic and not a dirty conversation. Not—
He moves his fingers, stroking lightly up and over me as if he has all the time in the world. As if we haven’t both been waiting a week to do this again. His hands are amazing, his fingers roughened by all the rock-climbing and manly extracurriculars but also strangely gentle.
I can’t believe we’re doing this. We’ve been a possibility in my head for so many years and then after last weekend, I’d thought that maybe that was it. I lean into him, pressing my face against his shoulder. There’s the faint scent of starch and cotton, and beneath it, the woodsy, outdoor scent of his cologne and the warmth of his skin. God, I could breathe just him forever.
His fingers brush over me. Up and then down, as if he’s testing his control or maybe just spinning the moment out because it feels good to him, too. My eyes drift shut, my world this man, his shoulder, those fingers. I squirm with each little shock of pleasure as he slides back and forth, carefully screwing himself deeper into me.
A dog barks and I jump. His other hand—the one not between my legs—presses against my shoulders, tugging me tighter against his chest. I remember this feeling from his ridiculous circus party, the secret thrill of almost, maybe getting caught, of giving in to the pleasure and doing exactly what I wanted because Liam would make everything okay.
“Is that all?” I whisper, surprising myself. “You’ve left me waiting for a long time.”
“Rude,” he agrees quietly. “I should make it up to you.”
“Right now,” I demand.
He sinks one finger knuckle-deep into me, his thumb moving around my clit in small, controlled circles. His other hand is wrapped around my shoulders, a warm, delicious weight. I don’t understand this beautiful, dirty man who is somehow my husband, but my body recognizes his touch.
I turn my face harder into his shoulder, pressing my cheek against his dress shirt. I know he’s watching me, watching me get lost in his touch. He can hear each catch in my breathing, the rough sound I make when he slides a finger down me and presses inside. He makes opening up for him easy, petting my slick skin. I breathe into his shirt, tasting the warmth of him, my fingers curling against his chest, slipping beneath the buttons of his dress shirt only to find more cotton, another barrier. I want him naked but I can’t have that here.
I’ve fantasized about him for so long, and now suddenly, he’s here with me. I ease my head to the side so I can watch his face. He looks gorgeous, his forehead furrowed as he concentrates, watching me. He said he’d make me come and I don’t think Liam has ever lied to me. This was just sex—not even sex, just a game—but it was the most intimate thing I’d ever done. I needed to come, but he made me wait for it, his wicked, dirty fingers teasing me. My muscles tightened, my breath catching, all of me freezing and lifting and it was right—
there—
yes.
I’m afraid to blink, afraid if I look away, I’ll wake up and this will be just an amazing sex dream and I’ll be alone. I have to close my eyes, just for a heartbeat, just while the delicious, hard pulse between my legs goes supernova and Liam makes a quiet grunt, a rough sound that says maybe he’s imagining making space for himself there and sliding inside me. I want to pull him in deeper, take him all the way, melt beneath him as I whisper to him that I’m coming.
And he tells me that he knows I am.
That he needs me to come right now.
Here.
So hard.
I know this is a game, and I know we’re playing by Liam’s rules—Mr. In-Charge, who has sex parties and wild sex in positions I’ve never dreamed of—but he’s here with me, his beautiful mouth whispering words into my hair. Words like yes and please and you’re so fucking gorgeous, and so I let go.
Liam’s got me.