Liam #3
I stop in my tracks and pin Damian with my death glare. “You know what, Damian? Why don’t you go and fuck yourself. You’re fired!”
“You can’t fucking fire me,” he snarls back at me.
I turn around to face the man now inching toward me. Dylan remains close and has a firm grip on my arm.
“I’m the boss, and I can do whatever the hell I want. And I certainly don’t need to justify myself to you. I will see to it that your stuff is sent to you via courier. Now I suggest you make that drink your last and get the hell out of here before I have security throw you out.”
He opens his mouth to speak but then stops himself, obviously noticing my facial expression.
Dylan pulls at my arm and we walk away. I don’t turn around to check what Damian is doing.
Instead, I take another sip of my drink and then Dylan takes it from my hand and props it down on one of the tables.
“Hey, I wasn’t finished,” I tell him.
“I think you’ve had more than enough, don’t you?”
“What are you, like my therapist now?”
“I’m stopping you from making the biggest mistake of your life,” he replies.
“What mistake? This is a Christmas party. Having a few drinks isn’t exactly a crime.”
“No. But decking the shit out of someone in a public place is. Do you realize what would have happened if you’d hit Damian?”
“As if anyone would believe a word he says. It’s his word against mine. And besides, he had it coming.”
“Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”
“Why are you being such a party pooper?” I ask.
“Because I’m trying to save your ass from getting sued.”
Speaking of asses.
Trying to be as discreet as possible, I narrow my eyes onto his ass, and I can see the tight outline of his cheeks as they press against the fabric with every step he takes.
“I need another drink,” I say, heading toward the bar.
“I think you need to slow down a little, don’t you?”
“Nope. This is a party, and I intend on living the night to its full potential.”
And hopefully that potential means having you down on your knees, wedged between my thighs and sucking my cock by the end of the night.
“Oh, hello, Dylan. I didn’t see you come in. When did you arrive?” I hear Monica ask.
Making the most of the opportunity, I sneak away and head to the bar.
I ask the bartender for a scotch and Coke, then swivel around on my chair and find Dylan still in conversation with Monica.
The bartender slides my drink across the counter and I take a swig, then look around at the crowd of people mingling with one another.
This is why I don’t do parties. While I may be a drinker, I don’t socialize for shit.
In fact, I hate crowds, and you wouldn’t know it by the way I act around people, but that’s all just part of the game to win Dylan’s attention.
Taking another sip of my drink, I look over the rim of my glass to see Colton and Dylan together on the dance floor, dancing rather close.
Too damn close, actually.
I down the rest of my drink in one large gulp then get to my feet and start making my way toward the dance floor.
When I approach Dylan, I rub my body against his, until my crotch is pressed hard up against his ass.
He turns around, and when he notices me, he tries to move away, but I place both my hands on his hips and hold him in place.
“I love how you move,” I tell him.
“Liam, get your hands off of me,” he orders.
I ignore his request. Instead I press my body harder against his, and I feel my cock harden as it rubs against his ass through the fabric of his pants.
“Yeah, Liam. I was here first,” I hear Colton say.
“Well, I’m here now, so you can just walk away and run along,” I tell him.
Colton gives me a filthy grin and is about to open his mouth to speak when Jerry grabs him by the arm and pulls him away. I continue dancing with Dylan, until he finally manages to spin around to face me and our noses are touching.
“What the fuck are you doing, Liam?”
“I’m having a good time. Isn’t that what parties are all about?”
“No, you’re being an ass and embarrassing yourself,” he tells me.
My head starts to pound and my vision becomes blurry, clearly a result of the alcohol I’ve consumed starting to take effect. I take a step forward almost losing my footing, then fall straight into Dylan’s arms.
“Now are you convinced that you’ve had too much to drink?” he asks.
“I’ve only had two … maybe four … I don’t know. But who cares? I’m not drunk,” I tell him, almost tripping over my own two feet.
“Yeah, okay. I think we’re done here. It's time to go home,” I hear him say.
He helps me stand tall, and with his assistance, we move through the crowd and over to the bar where some of the other employees are still drinking.
“Goodnight, Monica. I’ve been instructed by my bodyguard that I need to go home and be babysat,” I slur, tapping her on the shoulder.
“I think that’s a very good idea,” she replies. “Dylan will make sure that you get home okay, won’t you, Dylan?”
“Yeah, you’ll do that, won’t you Mr. Dylan, my bodyguard and babysitter.”
He says nothing but as we walk by the bar, I wave goodbye to my coworkers, and Dylan escorts me to the front entrance where we arrived earlier this evening.
It’s dark, and the night air is freezing, so I snuggle closer to Dylan until my body is pressed hard up against his, making it difficult for the two of us to walk.
When we get to where my car is parked in the parking lot, I reach into my pocket and pull out my keys.
I fumble around with the buttons, trying to get the damn clicker thing to work, but to no success.
“I think I better drive,” Dylan says, reaching for the keys.
“Nobody drives my car but me,” I tell him.
“Liam, you’re completely trashed. There’s no way I’m letting you drive and risk killing us both as well as have you on a DUI charge.”
I stare at him through hazy vision, and my head hurts from pounding so much. I squint my eyes and almost lose my balance again, but Dylan catches me. He stretches out his hand and I look down at it, then angle my head up at him and gaze into his eyes.
Damn, he’s gorgeous.
“If you so much as put a scratch on my Ferrari, I’ll chop your fucking balls off. You understand me?”
“Loud and clear,” he confirms.
He pulls open the passenger side door, then helps me into the vehicle.
Once I’m seated and my seatbelt is fastened, he closes the door and walks around the car to the driver’s side.
He steps into the car, secures his seatbelt and then starts the engine.
The engine roars to life, and I feel the car vibrate beneath my seat.
Slowly, he pulls out of the parking lot and before long, we’re driving along the main highway.
With his eyes on the road I glance over to him, and although my vision is blurred, and my head is still pounding from the effects of the alcohol, I can still make out his complexion.
“Hey, you know something?” I ask.
“What?” he replies, keeping his eyes on the road.
“You’re fucking hot.”
He says nothing but keeps his eyes focused on the road ahead of him.
He keeps one hand on the steering wheel and the other is on the stick.
My eyes wander up and down his body, taking in every single delicious inch of him.
Then my eyes shift from his thighs to the muscular and very veiny hand resting on the stick.
As I continue to ogle him through hazy eyes, I allow my hand to casually wander on top of his arm, and I slide it down.
He doesn’t flinch, so I lower it further until my hand is now finally resting on top of his, while molded to the stick.
Dylan continues to drive, and with my vision hazy, and my head pounding, I slowly close my eyes.
I’m woken sometime later to the sound of mumbling, and as I flicker my eyes open, I see Dylan reach across my waist and unclip my seatbelt.
Then I feel him take hold of my arm and fling it over his shoulder, while he helps me get out of the car.
Once I’m somewhat on my feet, he closes the door, and I hear the sound of the central locking device, and see the lights flash.
With his assistance, I stumble up the driveway, onto the patio and we stop by the front door.
I open and close my eyes several times, trying to stay awake as Dylan opens the front door.
Once inside, he turns on the light and assists me down the corridor and up the stairs to the other end of the house where my master bedroom is.
He flicks on the light and we enter my room, then move toward the center of the room where I sit on the foot of the bed.
“Okay, you’re going to have to help me get you out of these clothes,” I hear him say. At least, that’s what I think he said.
“Mhmm,” I murmur.
“Where are your pajamas?” he asks.
“Top drawer of the nightstand,” I tell him.
He goes to my drawer and I watch him out of the corner of my eye. Then, just as he bends over to slide the drawer open, I fall backward and collapse onto the bed, closing my eyes and within a few seconds I’m passed out.