Chapter 8
Avery
Liam’s eyes darken, turning deep and stormy. He takes my hand, his fingers lacing through mine, and leads me down the hallway.
We move in silence through corridors of cool marble and dark wood, past abstract art on the walls. My heart is a frantic drum against my ribs, a mix of anticipation and screaming doubt.
This is Nova. I’m walking into the lion’s den by choice.
He pushes open a double door, and I stop on the threshold, my breath catching.
This is not a bedroom. It’s a suite. The entire back wall is glass, offering a breathtaking view of the city lights. The room is massive, dominated by a low-slung platform bed that seems to float in the center.
A charcoal velvet headboard, slate-colored silk sheets, and a deep pile rug that feels like clouds under my feet as I take a hesitant step inside.
It’s impeccably, severely masculine. And utterly luxurious. There are no personal touches, no scattered photos or messy piles of books.
“Avery.” Before I can form a thought, he’s in front of me.
His hands come up to frame my face, his thumbs stroking my temples. “Last time,” he says, his voice a rough whisper that slides over my skin, “in Chicago, I let you take charge. I let you set the pace.”
A shiver runs through me at the memory. That night, I was channeling pure feminine confidence, with a hot man I thought I would never see again. I had let all my inhibitions down.
“Tonight,” Liam continues, leaning in until his lips are a breath from mine, “is my turn.”
The part of me that loves control melts under the heat of his gaze, turning me into a pool of pure, liquid want.
He kisses me again, and then his hands leave my face to journey down my body. He peels my clothes away with a frustrating, exquisite slowness.
Each brush of his knuckles against my skin is a fresh torment. By the time I’m standing naked before him in the middle of this opulent room, I’m trembling. He’s still fully dressed, a fact that makes me feel incredibly vulnerable and unbelievably aroused.
Liam gently lays me back on the cool, sinfully soft sheets and follows me down, still clothed. He kisses a path from my mouth to my jaw, down my neck, to the frantic pulse at the base of my throat.
His big hands roam my body, relearning me, tracing the curves of my hips, the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. He’s everywhere at once, but he’s avoiding the one place that aches for him.
“Liam,” I gasp, my hips arching off the bed, seeking friction.
“Patience,” he murmurs against my breast, his tongue flicking over my nipple before he draws it into the heat of his mouth. I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair.
He’s reducing me to a raw nerve ending, to a collection of desperate needs.
Liam’s mouth stills for a moment, and he lifts his head, his gaze searing into mine. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” he breathes, his voice thick. “Three months, Avery. There hasn’t been anyone since that night in Chicago. I haven’t been able to think of anything but you.”
The confession renders me speechless. The knowledge that this sexy, crazy man has been as consumed by this as I have is utterly intoxicating.
His hand slides from my hip to my waist, gripping me hard. “And you?” he demands, his voice a low growl. “Tell me.”
My breath hitches. “No one,” I say. I can’t believe I’m saying this. Making myself vulnerable in this way. “There’s been no one since you.”
A low, primal sound rumbles in his chest. It’s a sound of pure satisfaction. “Good,” he says, then he moves lower, his breath ghosting over my stomach.
He hooks my legs over his shoulders, and the first touch of his tongue has me letting out little cries.
He licks and sucks with a focused intensity that has me moaning, my fists clenching in the sheets. He explores me like he has all the time in the world, finding every sensitive spot until I’m writhing, completely at his mercy.
The pleasure is so sharp, so overwhelming, I’m babbling and begging.
“Please, Liam, God, please…”
He doesn’t stop. He drives me higher, until an orgasm crashes through me, leaving me boneless and gasping.
I’m still shuddering when I feel him move away. I hear the rustle of clothing, then the tear of a foil packet. I pry my eyes open.
Liam is naked now, all hard planes and taut muscle. He’s sheathing himself, his eyes locked on mine, dark with a hunger that matches my own.
He comes back to me, covering my body with his, then brushes the hair from my damp forehead.
“You still with me?” he asks, his voice gruff.
All I can do is nod. He kisses me, and I wrap my hands around his neck.
Moments later, he positions himself at my entrance, and I’m so sensitized, so ready, that the pressure is almost too much. He pushes in slowly, filling me completely, and a broken sob escapes my throat. It’s a feeling of total surrender.
He holds himself there for a long moment, buried to the hilt, letting us both adjust to the shocking, perfect fullness. Then he begins to move.
It’s not a frantic, desperate pace. It’s slow, and each withdrawal is a sweet agony, each powerful thrust soothing my ache. His hips roll against mine, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
A low groan vibrates from his chest. “Avery,” he breathes against my neck, his voice thick. “Look at me.”
I force my eyes open, meeting his stormy gaze. He’s watching every flicker of pleasure on my face, learning what each movement does to me.
“You feel…” he starts, but words seem to fail him. He drives into me again, harder this time, and a sharp cry is torn from my lips. “So fucking good.”
My nails dig into the hard muscles of his back. “Liam,” I gasp, my voice ragged. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
He shifts the angle slightly, and a new, sharper pleasure arcs through me. My back arches off the bed. “There,” I cry out. “Oh, God, right there.”
Liam focuses on that spot, his thrusts becoming more relentless. The slow, building tension coils tight in my belly again, a pressure that threatens to break me.
“I can’t…” I pant, my head thrashing on the pillow. “Liam, I’m going to come.”
The coil snaps, and a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain crashes over me. My body convulses around him, a scream on my lips as the orgasm rips through me.
Liam doesn’t stop. His rhythm becomes faster and more urgent. He buries his face in my hair, his thrusts growing deeper.
“Avery,” he grunts in a raw, guttural sound.
His whole body tenses above me, and with one final, deep surge, he finds his own climax.
His cock pulses, and with a groan, he orgasms, then collapses on top of me.
His body is hot and heavy on top of mine.
A kind of pressure that I find myself welcoming as I hold him for a little while longer while we catch our breaths.
Slowly, Liam pushes himself up and pulls out. With a kiss to my forehead, he disappears into the adjoining bathroom.
As soon as the bathroom door shuts, the haze of pleasure begins to recede, replaced by cold reality.
Liam’s opulent master bedroom suddenly feels like a crime scene. I’m a publicist. He’s my client. The most powerful, scrutinized client I’ve ever had. Worse, he’s the kind of man I’d sworn I’d never touch again.
I scramble upright, pulling the sheets up to my chin, heart racing.
What have I done?
Liam returns to the bedroom, completely at ease in his nakedness. He sees me huddled there, and his satisfied expression falters.
“Avery?” he asks, his voice tinged with confusion. “What’s wrong?”
He reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my cheek, but I flinch. His hand stills. A shadow crosses his face.
His eyes search mine, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, laced with a doubt I’ve never heard from him before. “Did I disappoint you?”
I inhale deeply. Can’t this man, who indulges every whim he has, understand that I've been here before?
That Kai taught me exactly what happens when you think an athlete will choose you over the spotlight, over the attention, over the endless parade of options?