Chapter 23
REGAN
It’s dawn when I find Liam sitting near the windows with a glass of bourbon at his elbow.
He’s in a shirt and pants. There’s a splattering of blood staining the front of him. I frown, blinking sleep from my eyes, and check the clock. It’s just after six in the morning. Sunrise sends long golden rays across the furniture.
“Hey, Liam… are you okay?”
He hardly reacts. I walk to him and kneel down beside his chair, carefully sliding the alcohol away. The ice is melted and it looks untouched.
“Hey. Liam. Hey, what’s going on?” I reach out to brush his cheek and notice the long cut from ear to lips. It’s shallow and the blood’s already scabbing. “What happened?!”
I hurry to get a fresh rag from the kitchen, wet it, and come clean the wound. He flinches, cold eyes fixed on mine as I do it. Worry wraps around my core.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I was quiet,” he says, voice raspy. “Didn’t want to wake you.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” He catches my wrist and gently moves the rag away. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You have blood on you again.”
“That’s what happens when you’re around me.” He turns back to the windows, shoulders tensed and hunched.
I leave him and make coffee. When it’s done, I bring him a mug and make sure he drinks some. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair’s messy. He needs to shower, change, and get eight hours of sleep. I’m guessing he’ll do two of those things. I make him some toast and he eats it reluctantly.
“Now do you want to talk?”
“Not particularly.”
“Was it the job? Last night? I know you went out—“
“It’s nothing. Let it go, Regan.”
I pull back, clutching my mug between two hands, and turn my back on him.
Liam’s beautiful and free in ways I’ve never been, but there’s a shadow inside of him, like a twisted and feverish dream rotting around his heart.
I don’t know why or what makes it come out, but sometimes it takes over him, and I can’t do anything about it.
“I saw my brother last night.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Fine. Alive. He said you saved him.”
“Tried to, but he didn’t want to be saved.”
“Still, thank you for doing that.”
Liam’s lips press together, like he’s not sure if he’s happy. “You wanted me to keep him safe.”
“Does that deal still stand? I’m worried about him.”
“He’ll be fine.”
There’s that word again, fine. I have to maintain my composure. “He’s doing something, Liam. I don’t know what, but he’s involved in this war thing that’s happening. With the Baranovs? Vera and Max and Kieren. I don’t know what they want or why this is happening, but Luke’s involved, isn’t he?”
Liam’s jaw ticks. “Everyone’s involved now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s war, Regan. Your brother is who he is. What do you want me to do about it?”
“I don’t understand why you’re being such a dick.”
Liam surges to his feet. He’s six-foot-four, bristling with muscle and rage, the nightmare coming to the surface as he comes toward me.
I back away, my coffee mug falling from my hands.
It hits the floor and clatters away, spilling all over.
He doesn’t even hesitate as he pins me back against the huge windows overlooking the city.
“Do you know how many times in my life I fucked up a simple pat down?”
“Liam, stop it.”
“Do you know?”
“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Never. Not once. But last night, I missed a knife because I was too busy worrying about you.”
“About me?! But I was at my dad’s place… I was safe…” I struggle against him, but his body pins me harder. His breath is warm against my neck as his mouth roughly finds my throat. “Liam…” I whimper his name, a thrill running between my legs.
What the hell is happening right now?
“I was thinking about what might happen… which is even worse…”
“Please… I wanted… to talk about Luke…”
“Fuck your brother. He's not your responsibility. Don’t you see that yet? He doesn’t want you to look out for him anymore.”
I grunt, twisting, but he grips my hair.
I gasp, mouth open, and he crushes his lips to mine.
I curse into the kiss, calling him a bastard, a piece of shit, but he devours me.
I tumble into the taste of him despite myself, mint, bourbon, blood and honey, sweet and iron sharp.
I hate it, hate how much he makes me lose myself, but I also crave it.
I want to fall. I want to tumble and careen and lose my grip on reality.
He’s my only way out.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he growls as he roughly rips up my thin t-shirt. I’m not wearing anything underneath. I was in bed twenty minutes ago. His palms grip my breasts and his lips find my nipples, sucking them hard. I pull at his hair but that only makes him groan and bite down.
“Fuck, Liam.” I arch into him. His hand grabs my ass and yanks at my shorts. “Here I was, worried—“
“You don’t have to worry about me, love.
” He wrenches my arms behind my back. One of his big hands easily encompasses both my thin wrists.
He drops to his knees, keeping my hands in place, pulling back to make sure I’m against the window as he uses his other hand to get my panties off.
“No, I’m cursed to do all the fucking worrying for both of us. ”
This is when I should say stop. I should say no, please, don’t, but instead I moan his name as his mouth latches on to my pussy, and I wonder, if I married a monster and liked it, does that make me a monster too?
I don’t know what I am anymore, but I’m sure of one thing.
I like him right where he is.
Down on his knees, the sunlight filtering through his hair, as his mouth sloppily and greedily sucks and licks my pussy, tongue doing its filthy job. He moans as he does it, his other hand reaching down between his legs. He fists his cock through his pants, stroking himself.
I’ve never seen anything more glorious.
A massive, wounded, angry man, beautiful as sin, sucking and licking my pussy, keeping me pinned and under control, touching himself because he can’t help it. He wants me so badly he’s behaving like an animal.
And I love it.
I grind against his mouth. His stubble tickles and I push harder, whimpering his name.
“Greedy girl, such a lovely greedy girl,” he moans, sucking my clit. “You taste so damn good baby. I wish you could taste it too. Maybe when I’m done I’ll make you lick yourself from my cock. Would you like that?”
“Liam, god, yes, keep going.”
“You want to come, don’t you?” He licks faster, teasing. “God, you’re so beautiful, Regan. I dreamed of your corpse, bullet-torn, bloodied, and it fucking killed me. I couldn’t sleep. I have to taste you, love, have to feel you—“
He gets up in a frenzy. He rips off his pants, his boxer briefs.
One hand grabs my throat as he slams his mouth to mine, still pinning me against the glass.
His cock pushes on my belly and he’s so hard it’s iron.
I grind into him, moaning, choking from the pressure on my neck.
His mouth pulls back, gasping, and then turns me around roughly, tip grazing up and down my slit from behind.
“I have to feel you,” he says, voice shaking as he slides himself inside.
Fuck, it’s so good. I arch, taking more, and more, as he sinks deeper and deeper. I’m spread, fucked, filled to the brim, brain aching and mind racing with how much I want him to ruin me. I want him to fuck me, make me bad, make me good, make me his.
Liam drives deeper, grinding and fucking, making animalistic snarls as he bites my shoulder and thrusts harder.
His hips smack my ass in a toe-curling rhythm, his moans of desire ringing in my ears.
“Fuck, Regan, love, I’m going to come inside of you, you feel so fucking good. I can barely control myself.”
The big monster is so terrifying—except for when he sinks between my legs.
I grind back into him, bucking and moaning. My hands press flat against the glass. He holds my tits, thrusting and slamming into me, and we’re fucking in a wild frenzy, a mindless and greedy knot of need and want and everything building between us.
“Fuck me, Liam, please,” I moan, and I hardly recognize the girl saying it. I didn’t know I could talk like that and decide to lose myself to the moment. “Fill me with your big dick. God, break me, Liam, please.”
“Fuck baby,” he groans.
“You feel so good. Your big dick is heaven. Fuck me deep and make me your dirty girl, please, Liam don’t stop.”
He growls and goes faster, grabbing my hair in a fist. “When did you get such a dirty mouth?”
“When you shoved your dick between my lips.”
“Oh fuck,” he whispers. “Baby, I’m going to come. You fucking dirty girl with your bratty filthy fucking mouth—“
“Keep going!”
I arch, pushing back, as the world tilts—
And I shatter all over his cock.
He moans and his warmth floods me. I come and come, and his ropes fill me to the brim, and we’re a tangle of body and blood and cum, everything good, everything real.
He slams his mouth to mine when he’s done, kissing me hard.
I grab his dick, rubbing my hands around his tip, and pull back, hips pressed out, breasts pooling, and lick my hands clean.
“I’ve never seen anything more perfect before in my life,” he whispers, voice thick with reverence.
“You don’t think it’s weird?”
“Not at all, love.”
“Good.” I kiss him, pulling him to me. “Does this mean you’ll stay to have breakfast?”
He lifts my chin to him and kisses me. “I’m going to do anything you want, love.”
“Good.” I lean my face to his chest and breathe him in. “That’s good. All mine.”
I feel perfect. A steady, heavy calm lowers around my shoulders. This is my safe place. Right here in his arms.
It lasts until his phone rings and rings, goes to voicemail, and starts ringing again.
With a frustrated curse, he storms over and answers. “What the fuck—“ Silence. His brow furrows. “Yeah? Right now? Alright, see you soon.”
Disappointment bubbles in my stomach. “Who was that?”
“Finn.” He tosses the phone to the couch. “I’m sorry. Can we have breakfast later?”
“It won’t be breakfast by the time you come home.”
“Probably not. Lunch then.”
I chew my lip. Is this how it’ll always be? Second place to his work?
“Lunch will be good.”
He hurries into our bedroom. The shower starts. I grab a robe and wrap myself.
By the time I’m spooning yogurt into a bowl, he’s already gone.
And he never answered any of my questions.