Chapter 17
LIAM
The Uber glides through the city.
Emma sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off her skin. Her curls catch the streetlight as it flickers past, each strand glowing like spun gold. Her breathing is shallow, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matches the tension crackling between us.
The air feels electric.
The driver’s oblivious, eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel.
But I’m not lost in thought—I’m consumed.
Every subtle movement she makes, every brush of her hair, every flicker of her lashes pulls me deeper into the quiet storm brewing between us.
I rest my hand on the seat. It’s innocent enough until she shifts closer. The fabric of her dress brushes my knuckles, a whisper of contact that feels like a live current running straight through me.
I don’t breathe.
Her gaze flicks to mine, lips parted like she wants to say something, but she doesn’t. Or maybe she knows that words aren’t necessary.
Not with the driver’s presence looming like a third wheel.
Slowly and carefully, I pull the side of her dress higher. Her thigh is smooth, warm, and soft beneath my palm, and I feel a surge of dominance as my hand slips beneath the fabric.
Her breath catches, sharper this time, and she bites her lip, a tiny movement that says everything.
She wants this.
Needs it. Just like I do.
My fingers find the edge of her panties, already damp with anticipation, and I hook them to the side without hesitation.
Her pussy is already wet, her body throbbing with need, and I feel a primal satisfaction at the evidence of her desire.
I slide a finger inside her, slow and deliberate. The quiet hum of the engine masks the soft gasp she tries to swallow, her hand flying to her mouth. Her nails dig into the seat, her body trembling as she struggles to stay silent.
The driver remains oblivious, his focus on the road ahead, but I’m not seeing anything past her.
She squeezes around me, hot and tight, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from groaning.
My free hand grips her thigh, holding her steady as my fingers move deeper and more relentlessly.
The scent of her arousal fills the confined space, musky and sweet, and my cock throbs against my jeans, painfully hard.
Emma’s eyes lock with mine, her irises dark with want, her pupils dilate with need. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. I can see the tension winding through her body, the way her muscles tighten, her slick heat pulsing around my fingers.
She’s close.
So fucking close.
Emma’s body tenses, her muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. I lean closer, my voice low and commanding as I whisper, “Come for me, baby.”
Her eyes flutter shut, a soft, broken moan slipping past her lips as she falls apart. The sound is quiet, but I feel it—her walls clenching around my fingers, her body trembling as she rides it out, her slickness coating my hand.
I pull my hand free, her wetness glistening on my fingers, and bring them to my lips. Her taste is sweet, intoxicating, and I close my eyes as I savor it. Emma catches her breath, her chest heaving, her face flushed with the aftermath of her orgasm.
The Uber rolls to a stop, the driver glancing in the mirror, clueless about the sin sitting inches behind him. Neither of us moves—the air hums with heat, heavy and electric, like the world’s holding its breath.
My pulse is still hammering, my body taut with lingering desire. Emma’s gaze meets mine, her lips parted, her breath trembling, and I know this isn’t over.
Not even close.
The second we pull up to my place, we’re mumbling thanks and practically bolting from the car, hands tangled, hearts racing.
Every step to the door is a blur of want, every thought a flash of everything I’m about to do to her.
Then a chill creeps up the back of my neck as I slide the key into the lock.
And Marcus O’Rear steps out of the shadows at the side of my house.
“Learning all kinds of new things about you these days,” he says, a gleaming metal crowbar in his hand as he looks Emma up and down in a way that makes me see red.
I step in front of her to block his view. “Emma, go in and lock the door.”
“But—”
“Just go. I’ll just be a minute.”
She hesitates but does as I ask.
When I hear the click of the lock behind her, I say. “What do you want, Marcus?”
He chuckles. “Three million dollars. Same as I always want.”
“I don’t have it. You know I don’t have it. And it’s not my debt to pay. Go to hell and get it from my father.”
He makes a tsk sound. “Oh, Liam. The tally just keeps growing with each day you refuse to pay, puck boy. You make millions a year. You have it.”
“No. I don’t.”
He sighs. “Well, I cannot say I don’t enjoy a good beatdown. I enjoy inflicting pain on people, but I do feel sorry for you at this point. Just pay the debt, and I’ll be gone. No more of these little meetups. Nothing more for you to worry about.”
“Just leave,” I say. “My friend has probably already called the police.”
“No, I doubt that very much. And friend?” He clucks his tongue. “Don’t lie to protect that little thing. If I wanted to make your life a hell of a lot worse, she’d be the first person I would use to do it.”
My heart slams against my ribs. I never should’ve brought Emma here. I should’ve known something like this could happen. Now they’ve got even more leverage.
More ways to break me.
I stand frozen, unsure of what to do. Marcus grins like he can smell the fear on me.
“This is boring,” he says, lifting the crowbar. “Take your beating like a good little bitch.”
He swings, but before the blow lands, headlights flood the driveway. Tires screech. A black SUV stops hard, and two massive men climb out, guns already drawn.
For a split second, I think it’s over.
This is how I die.
But I realize the guns are trained on Marcus, not me. And the look of pure panic on his long, thin face is almost comical.
“You’re fucking around in Campisi-Barkov territory,” one of the men says, his voice thick with a Russian accent. “Move along, Irish.”
Marcus straightens, all lean muscle and bravado, rises to full height, and lifts his chin. He’s trying not to show fear, that initial look of panic replaced by a cocky grin.
“I call bullshit,” he says. “This has always been Browning turf.”
The two big Russians laugh. “Browning has five blocks on the South Side and not an inch more, so piss off before we put a hole in your greasy head.”
Marcus bares his teeth, then turns to me with a hiss. “Since when do you have protection, Callaghan?”
I hold my hands up. “This is just the neighborhood watch.”
He spits at my shoes. “This ain't over, Liam. We’ll get what we’re owed.”
He steps away, his shoulder hunched as he passes the bigger men.
“Shoo, shoo,” one of the Russians says, watching as Marcus walks down the street and gets in an unassuming sedan, starting the engine and driving away.
Only when he’s gone do the men look at me. Their SUV still idles in the middle of the street, with the doors wide open.
“Thanks?” I say, more of a question than a statement.
“A gift from the boss. Have a good night.”
They leave, holster their weapons, get back into the vehicle, and head off into the night.
I stand there for a minute, feeling sick. Emma saw all of that, the full proof of how weird and fucked up my life is right now.
When I finally go to the door, Emma is quick to open it, her eyes wide with fear.
“Oh my God, Liam,” she breathes. “That was the Irish guy? The O’Rear guy?”
I nod. “I’m so sorry, Emma. I shouldn’t have brought you here. It was stupid and dangerous. I don’t know what I was thinking.
Suddenly, her body is flush against mine, her arms wrap around my waist, and her head rests on my chest. I’m rigid at first, but then I melt into her hug, pulling her close and burying my face in her hair.
We stand like that for a long, long time.
She pulls back just long enough to grab her phone and turn on soft music. Then she’s back in my arms, swaying against me. I follow without thinking, the two of us turning slowly, like two kids at a middle school dance.
It feels good, just holding her and feeling her body soft against mine.
The only light in the room is soft, coming from one of my dad’s heinous, old lamps. This place is nothing special. I keep it clean, but the furniture is old and ratty.
I’m embarrassed.
She deserves more. She deserves a place with a huge, king-sized bed and a soft, white comforter. She deserves to be worshipped in a new, clean, and beautiful space.
“Stop overthinking,” she says against my chest. “Relax.”
“We should go to—”
“No,” she says, making a shshshsh sound, like she’s trying to calm a crying child.
“This place is—”
“It’s your home. It’s fine,” she says. “Liam, I’m not like that.
..whatever you’re stressing about, it doesn’t matter.
I share a two-bedroom apartment with my son and my sister.
It’s nothing special, and that’s okay. We’re just humans.
We’re people, and we have lives, and sometimes those lives are good, and sometimes they’re shitty.
I accept you for who you are, for the person you are. ”
“Emma—” I say, there’s a dozen things tangled up in my voice. Stay. Go. I don’t want you to get hurt. I need to know what happened.
She shakes her head softly. “Not now,” she whispers. “Just… dance with me.”
She tilts her face up, and when our eyes meet, it’s like no time has passed. Every feeling I ever had for her comes rushing back, all the things I buried just to survive.
Tears are glistening in her eyes, and I know she’s thinking the same thing.
I never doubted our love back then. When everything else was chaos, she was the one thing that made sense—the one thing that kept me grounded.
And now, with her in my arms again, it feels like coming home.
I know I should be careful. I should take this slow. I should send her home, have an honest conversation, and demand answers.
Should. Should. Should.
But then I look at her and those parted lips, perfect and begging, every rational thought disappears.
So I kiss her.
At first, it’s soft, just the brush of our lips as we sway to the faint music. Then her mouth opens, her tongue flicking against my lower lip, and my hand slides to the back of her neck, pulling her closer.
When my tongue finds hers, she gasps, and that little sound makes my cock twitch, growing harder, ever more uncomfortable being confined in my jeans.
We keep moving, keep kissing, the rhythm slow and desperate.
My mouth drifts to her jaw, then her neck, then back to her lips again.
Our bodies fit together like they always have—too perfectly.
I could stay like this all night, lost in her taste, her warmth, her everything.