29. Liam
LIAM
I still choose you.
For a woman who could’ve had any of those men—my best physiques, my most disciplined players, men trained to tempt—she hunted for me instead.
“So here’s what happens next,” I say, maintaining my Red Fox voice. “I’m going to take you apart, Hellion. And by the time you realize what I’ve done, you’ll forget other men were ever enough.”
Her eyes behind the mask turn hungry on me. She knows.
I lean into her. Our masks brush as I slide my body against hers, letting her feel exactly what she’s done to me.
I capture her mouth with the authority of a guard over a prisoner.
My tongue presses at the seam and she parts for me obediently.
I deepen the kiss, swallowing the small sound that escapes her.
I hook a finger beneath the strap of her dress and let it stretch against my knuckle. Her breasts press against the fabric—no bra—daring a man to keep his hands to himself.
“You came prepared,” I mutter.
I remember the afternoon the designer came to me with options. I chose the plunging neckline for this exact moment, when the dress slipped from her body at my whim.
I work the straps down. Sheer weave glides over skin, exposing more with every inch. Her breathing falls unsteady, her chest lifting. My palms cup her bare breasts, testing their weight, absorbing their warmth. They respond instantly—tight, flushed, already aware of what’s coming.
The dress slides over her hips, and down the length of her thighs. My knuckles brush her bare skin as the dress keeps falling, goosebumps blooming in its wake.
“You’re fucking sensitive.” I watch the reveal the way a man watches something he already owns. When the fabric pools at her feet, I step closer, one hand firm at her waist, the other tracing the curve I’ve just uncovered. She’s wearing lacy panties, almost innocent, until I imagine tearing it.
My hand glides from her hip toward the space between her thighs. She shivers, and I’m hard just thinking about tasting her.
“You have no idea,” I tell her, my voice deepening, “how painful this is going to be for you.”
Her hips curl as my finger brushes the seam of the lace. “I’m yours. Take whatever you want.”
My hand leaves her, even though every part of me is primed to press forward.
The ache behind my zipper borders on reckless.
But I don’t rush what I plan to do. I promised her it wouldn’t be gentle.
And if I’m going to push her that far, I’ll make sure her body trusts me first. I’ll make sure she opens.
So I warm her, kiss her until the tension melts from her shoulders. My hand returns to her tits, cupping them fully, my fingers grazing over rigid peaks until her breath turns loose and needy instead of tight with anticipation.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Hellion.” I lower my mouth to her throat, tasting her pulse. “You went past every man in this place. You ignored temptation. You chased me.”
She grips my shoulders, her nails digging through the fabric. “Because none of them were you.”
My patience gone, I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation. I let her feel how hard I am for her.
Her breath stutters.
“That’s what your choice bought you,” I say as her body molds to my erection.
I guide her down until her back meets the rug.
It’s a Moroccan piece handmade by a renowned master weaver.
Now her skin glides over its lush texture, the lacy panties across her hips contrasting the saturated color.
She settles into the pile, breasts heaving with each breath, hair spilling around her like a dark halo across the pattern.
I take her mouth again and shrug out of my jacket without breaking the kiss. The tie follows, sliding loose from my collar. She helps with my shirt, her impatient fingers popping buttons while I work my way down her body. My shirt is cast aside, my belt drawn free beneath her eager hands.
“Damn…” she sighs, staring at my bare torso. “You’ve been hiding that under tailoring?”
Her palms roam over my chest, then my stomach, pressing into muscle. I let her. When her touch slides lower and she feels the full, rigid proof of what she’s doing to me, a broken sound leaves her throat.
She might assume this is routine for me.
It isn’t.
I don’t undress like this in the Game. I control the room. I satisfy the woman. I walk away untouched in ways that matter.
Hellion changes that.
She doesn’t know that I’m already beyond the choreography. Because I want her that much. Too damn much. My hand slides down her thigh, my fingers catching the elastic at her hip. I drag the lace down, and she lifts her ass to help me.
I inhale the heat rising from her flesh. “You smell fucking incredible. Do you know that?” I push my last piece of clothing aside and let her see my hard cock.
She writhes beneath me, one hand wrapping around my shaft. The first stroke sends white-hot pleasure straight down my spine.
“Jesus—”
She releases me only to slide her leg free, and maneuver it so her foot reaches my cock, brushing it along my painful length.
“Fuck, Hellion.”
I grip her thigh and lower myself between her legs, parting her with intent. The sight of her like this—flushed, open, slick with want—drives something dark and possessive through my chest.
“You chose me,” I murmur against her skin. “So everything that happens next…belongs to me.”
She lifts her head, eyes shooting at me in challenge.
I take my time with her. My mouth works with patience that borders on cruel. She’s hypersensitive. My lips barely touch her clit and she trembles like she’s being shocked.
“Fox…” she gasps, her hips lifting, hands fisting in the rug. Her body arches as if every nerve is wired straight to me.
I press her down, dictating every inch of her.
“Take it,” I command. I want her wrecked by sensation. I want her mind blank except for me.
Her thighs squeeze around my shoulders. Her breathing turns ragged as my tongue circles faster. She’s close, I can feel it in the way she tries to grind against my mouth.
And then—
I stop.
I lift my head to find her eyes snap open, wild and unfocused.
“You fucking asshole,” she pants, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.
I smile slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“You’re going to learn how to wait,” I say.
Her glare would scare weaker men. It only makes me harder.
I smirk as I crawl up to her. She fists a hand in my hair, yanks me down, and claims my mouth in a bruising kiss. Her other hand wraps around my cock, stroking me fast as if punishing me for leaving her wanting. I never gave her permission, yet I make no move to stop her.
“Jesus, Hellion,” I breathe against her mouth. “What are you trying to do?”
She keeps going.
I groan, forcing myself not to thrust into her grip, not to end this too fast. She squeezes once more, then releases me abruptly.
I inhale like a man who just barely leashed his own hunger.
“I’ve let you had your fun. Now I don’t trust those hands,” I say, catching both her wrists and pinning them above her head.
From beneath a cushion, I pull the length of silk I placed there earlier. Her eyes flash. I bind her wrists together before she can move. She tests it instantly, writhing against the restraint, rubbing herself along my thigh like I don’t already know how hungry she is.
“You want to see how far I’ll go?” I murmur, nodding toward the pool.
The water is barely a foot deep, made for bodies, not laps. The turquoise tile is lit from beneath.
I step in with her cradled against my chest.
The water slides up my calves. The steam rising from the tiles carries a whisper of roses, softened by heat. When I lower her, it coats her in a sheen that makes her body gleam against the mosaic tiles.
She can’t brace herself with bound hands, so she hooks her legs around my waist instead. Her lower back meets the base of the pool and her hair spreads across the water. Her chest breaks the surface, droplets tracing over her breasts and down her stomach.
There’s a small metal loop embedded discreetly in the tile near the pool’s edge, installed for decorative lanterns. I secure the loose end of her bind there. Now her arms are stretched above her, wrists bound, body anchored against the pool wall.
“Now you’ll do as I say,” I warn against her ear.
I brace one hand beside her, keeping her pinned with only her face above the surface. Ripples form around us with every movement. My other hand trails down her body, playing with the line of her pussy.
“Fox!” the word breaking wetly at her lips.
I push my fingers into her, twisting, hooking, agitating her core.
She’s beyond words, only her body answers. Her beautiful tits bounce as water breaks against her in bright arcs. I don’t let up until she’s completely weak.
I cup her cheek. She’s burning beneath my palm.
“This is only the beginning,” I murmur, then step away.
She watches me cross the pool. I reach near one of the large clay urns where I’d placed what I’d need. When I turn back, I let her see the foil in my hand. I take my time, never breaking eye contact.
Then I move back to her.
Water parts around me as I crawl over her. I grasp her jaw, lifting her face to me so I can see her. She’s still sober enough to move on.
Hands still tied above her, I flip her body. She resists my grip, but it doesn’t take long before she lets me take charge again. This time I let her float face-down. Droplets scatter over her back, her delectably rounded ass protrude without shame.
“Remember,” I murmur close to her ear, “you have the safe word if it’s too much.”
She smiles. “Do your worst.”
I slide a hand under her pelvis to support her.
Then I slap her ass.
She yelps.
Look at that damn mound shivering, reddening, sensitized beneath my attention.