6. You’re a Nightmare
YOU’RE A NIGHTMARE
DEEPIKA
The elevator was too small, too bright, and the air between us crackled like a live wire. He smelled delicious, a devastating mix of spicy cologne that smelled like cedarwood and the sharp, sweet taste of the champagne he’d been knocking back all night.
My head was spinning from the way his storm-gray eyes darkened as the elevator climbed, the numbers blinking too slowly, teasing us with every floor.
I didn’t think. I couldn’t. The space between us shrank until there was nothing left but the sound of his ragged breath and the way my body betrayed me, leaning into his heat like a moth to a flame.
His jaw was infuriatingly sharp enough to cut glass. The kind of jaw I’d fantasized about smashing for years, but now, in the dim light, it looked obscenely kissable and all I wanted was to feel it scraping against my inner thighs.
I lunged, my fingers curling into his damp shirt, the fabric clinging to the ridged, hard-earned muscle of his chest. When he groaned into my mouth, the vibration traveled straight to my core, making my toes curl in my stupid high heels.
The clumsy kiss tasted of alcohol and terrible decisions.
His tongue was possessive and demanding, as if he wanted to brand me from the inside out. It was messy, desperate, and tasted like a decade’s worth of loathing finally catching fire.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open, and the cold rush of air did nothing to cool the fire burning under my skin.
Liam pulled back, his chest heaving, his gaze locked on me like a predator sizing up prey. Without a word, he grabbed my wrist, his grip firm enough to bruise, and dragged me down the hallway.
We fumbled with the key card, laughing breathlessly as we tripped over each other’s feet, practically falling through the door.
The city lights bled through the curtains, painting Liam’s face and golden hair in silver and shadow as he backed me toward the two queen-size beds.
The sheets were cool against the backs of my knees when we stumbled towards the nearest bed.
I fell, pulling him down on me, and his weight pressed against me.
His thigh slid between mine, and I gasped when the thick, rock-hard ridge of his cock ground directly into my aching center through the thin fabric of my dress.
Shit. He’s big.
“Fuck,” Liam muttered, his voice rough as gravel as he glanced at the bed. “This bed is fucking tiny for me. I should’ve booked the suite.”
“Deal with it, fish boy,” I said, rolling my eyes. My breath hitched when I felt the heat of him pressing into me.
“You’re a nightmare, Sharma,” he said, his hand sliding up my ribs, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast. I could feel the calluses on his thumb catching on the silk of my dress, sending jolts of electricity straight to my nipples. “It’s too fucking small for what I want to do to you.”
As he kissed me again, I felt it. The hard, undeniable length of him pressing against my thigh. Holy shit. My heart did a frantic somersault because he felt even bigger than before.
It had been a lifetime since I’d been with anyone. The ghost of my ex, Yash, flickered in my mind. His lazy, selfish touches, the way he would leave me aching and empty after he got his pleasure.
I was shoved out of my head by a sharp, sudden sting near the column of my neck. Liam growled, biting the sensitive skin and glaring at me.
“Stop thinking about that dumbass when I’m the one making your pussy wet,” he hissed against my skin.
His hand was large and calloused as it slid between my thighs.
I gasped, my face flushing as I arched toward him.
His long fingers hooked under the hem of my dress, dragging over the silk of my panties.
I whimpered when he pressed his palm flat against me, rubbing in a slow, agonizing circle that made my vision blur.
“Fucking hell,” he breathed, his eyes widening. “You’re dripping, Deepika. I can hear how wet you are.”
I swallowed hard, my pride dissolving into a desperate ache. “Hurry up,” I said, almost begging. Almost.
He groaned, a sound of pure agony and want, as he yanked my dress up to my stomach.
He didn’t wait to strip me. No, he just lowered his head, his mouth closing over my nipple through the fabric, his teeth grazing the peak until I screamed.
He sucked hard, the friction of the wet silk against my skin making my clit pulse with need.
“Fuck you,” he growled, licking the damp spot he’d made.
“Fuck you too,” I shot back, my voice trembling.
“I hate you.”
“Feeling’s mutu—”
His hand clamped over my mouth, silencing me as his other hand slid between my thighs.
“Why do you have to look so fucking sexy today?” he demanded, his voice dropping into a smoky, deep tone.
“In this tiny fucking dress—shit. You want me to make you cum, Sharma?” he taunted, his breath hot against my ear. “Or are you just going to lie there and pretend you don’t?”
Why does he have to be so sexy? It’s not fair.
I glared, but my hips betrayed me, rocking against his palm. He chuckled, dark and knowing, as he dragged his fingers over my panties, the lace already ruined and clinging to my skin.
“Pathetic,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “Beg for it.”
I reached up and swatted his hand away. “You better make it worth my while, fish boy.”
He sat back on his heels, his shirt hanging open, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest. The muscles of his stomach were so defined they looked carved from marble.
Gold medalist indeed.
Every inch of him was built for power, and right now, that power was focused on me.
“I thought I’d ruin my pants, but then you had to throw champagne at me—what the fuck are you doing?” He snapped when I reached down, my hand wrapping around his wrist where it sat between my legs, and I pushed. I forced his fingers harder against me, demanding the friction I was dying for.
“Oh, you just want me to finger your sopping wet cunt?” He asked, letting out a dark, jagged chuckle. “Is that it?”
He was enjoying this way too much.
He let out a patronizing tsk. “Didn’t know I’d be alive to see the day Deepika Sharma was begging for my fingers.”
A shiver ran through me because he looked like—no. I can’t let him see how much he affected me.
“Now,” I said, trying to regain some shred of control. “Are you going to do something about it, or should I do it myself?”
I hated that I sounded so out of breath despite lying on a slightly uncomfortable bed.
We should have booked a suite.
Liam paused, a slow smirk spreading across his swollen lips, his blond hair glittering in the dim-light. He had soft angel hair, but managed to look absolutely devilish with that dirty smolder curling on his lips.
“By all means, Sharma. Show me how you fuck yourself.”
The arrogance in his voice made my blood boil. It ignited something feral in me, and I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face more than I wanted to breathe.
I slid my hand beneath the waistband of my thong. The lace was barely holding on as my fingers trembled, finding my clit and circling it with a frantic rhythm. Liam’s eyes went nearly black as he watched, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
I let out a shaky moan, my eyes locking onto Liam’s gray eyes that went nearly black. The smugness vanished, replaced by a raw, predatory hunger.
Having him watch me pleasure myself felt hot, and I couldn’t ignore how embarrassingly wet I was, the sound of slippery—
Before I could process the shift, he was moving.
“Fuck,” he whispered, diving between my thighs with a growl. His tongue dragged over my panties, the silk doing nothing to muffle the heat of his mouth. His head disappeared beneath the hem of my dress, making me gasp.
OhMyGod.
“W-what are you doing?” I cried out, my fingers tangling in his thick hair to pull him away, but he was solid and relentless.
“I’m just... having a taste, that’s all,” he whispered against my sensitive skin.
I know you have already orgasmed.
Stop being so selfish, Dee.
I pursed my lips, trying to snap out of the different thoughts. But I couldn’t. The pressure to perform washed over me, so I arched my back, letting out a performative, high-pitched moan that felt wrong the second it left my lips.
Liam stopped. His gray eyes snapped to me as he pulled away, his lips glistening and pupils blown wide.
“Did you just fake an orgasm with me?” He asked, baffled as I closed my legs, trying to look anywhere else but at him.
Why did he notice? How did he notice?!
I feigned ignorance. “What? No, I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Deepika,” he said, his eyes narrowing at my face.
“I’m not lying!”
He cocked his head and chuckled. It was dark and low, making me clench my thighs. “You wanna play this game?” he asked, gliding his hand over my leg. “Then we can play. I’ll keep making your pretty pussy cum until you forget your own name—”
“I’m sorry, okay?” I snapped. “I didn’t mean to.”
Liam huffed. “Oh, yeah, sure. You didn’t mean to fake an orgasm with me?!”
He said it as if it was an insult. Which, by the way, it probably was. He was a gold champion and an infamous player, so of course, he was competitive as fuck. And by the look on his face, I knew no one had ever faked an orgasm with him.
What the hell was I thinking?
He nudged my leg gently. “Why did you do it?”
Is he pouting?
Liam James… pouting?
I licked my lips and said awkwardly, “Yash… my ex could never make me a-and I thought if I—”
He cut me off. “Well, you thought wrong.” Liam shook his head, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles under my knee was making me feel weird. “Why did you even stay with him? And he never found out that you faked…?”
He trailed off, and I shook my head. I thought about the times when my ex would get his pleasure and leave me unsatisfied on the bed while he snored.
Firm hands grasped my thighs and spread them apart. My eyes widened as Liam leaned in, his nose brushing against the damp lace of my thong. He inhaled deeply, a low, guttural sound vibrating in his throat.
“Now it’s my mission,” he whispered, his voice husky.
“Your mission?”
“To make your pretty cunt cum so many times you forget his name.”
“That’s ambitious.”
“I’m an Olympic gold medalist.” He smirked. “I don’t do anything halfway.”
And then he bit my inner thigh, making me gasp and try to squirm away from him.
“That’s for faking an orgasm with me,” he whispered between my thighs. His pink tongue licked the bite mark, making me whimper before he moved lower to where I pulsed and ached for his touch.
He moved lower, his mouth pressing against the silk of my panties. He blew a hot breath through the fabric, making me shiver, before his tongue lashed out, tracing the slit of my pussy through the lace.
I whimpered, my hands tangling in his blond hair. He did it again, slower this time, until he groaned in frustration. With one violent tug, the lace snapped. He tossed the ruined silk aside and stared at my pussy with raw hunger in his eyes.
“Now, this is for me,” he growled. “Fuck. Look at her… so fucking wet and needy. I’m going to eat her out for my pleasure. Until I’m satisfied.”
And then his mouth was on my pussy.
On my clit.
“Why the fuck do you taste so good?” he growled against my sex.
His hot tongue was a broad, rhythmic muscle that swept over my clit with the same ruthless precision he used to dominate the pool. I sobbed, my head hitting the headboard as he used his thumbs to spread my labia wide, exposing every sensitive nerve to his heat.
“Liam,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “I can’t—”
“You can,” he growled, his fingers sliding inside me, stretching me as his tongue worked my clit. “You faked an orgasm with me, so I’m just reminding you… and this perfect pretty pussy how much I can make her cream.”
His filthy words fueled the pleasure. It was unbearable, and my body wound tight as a bow. My toes curled and my back arched.
“Liam, wait—” I gasped, but he didn't wait.
He sucked my clit into his mouth, his tongue flickering at a speed that made my brain short-circuit. The sensation was intense and an explosion of white-hot heat. I tried to pull away, but his hands were like vices on my thighs, holding me open for his feast.
The orgasm tore through me. My internal muscles clamped down on nothing, pulsing in violent, rhythmic waves.
I screamed his name, my back arching off the bed until only my heels and head were touching the mattress.
It felt like every nerve ending was being set on fire, a cascading rush of prickling heat that poured down my legs and up my spine.
But Liam didn't stop. As I began to come, he dove deeper. He slid two long fingers inside me while his tongue continued to lash my clit. It was too intense since I was still sensitive from the previous orgasm. The pleasure turned into a sharp, electric overstimulation that made me sob.
“Liam! Please, it’s too much!” I cried out, my body twitching uncontrollably. Every touch felt like a lightning strike. My pussy was so sensitive it hurt, yet the pleasure was still climbing, dragging a second, smaller peak out of me before I could even breathe from the first.
“Please,” I begged, my voice sultry. “Fuck!”
“Nuh-uh,” Liam said, slurping on my juices, his fingers curling inside me and finding the sensitive spot.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I snapped, trying to move away. “I didn’t mean to—oh, fuck.”
But it was too late.
The third orgasm tore through me, even more powerful than the previous two. White hot lust blinded me, making my body writhe as the climax ripped through me, leaving me completely undone. My muscles clenched around his fingers, my body betraying me as I came again, my breath coming in broken sobs.
“There,” he said, his voice rough as he licked his glistening fingers clean, making me blush. “Now you’ll remember to never fake anything with me.”
He finally pulled back, his face glistening with my heat, his blond hair a mess. I lay there, panting, my legs shaking so hard they felt like jelly. I was completely exposed, my dress pushed up to my neck, and my skin flushed.
I barely registered that I was lying there completely naked in front of the man I had spent years publicly demeaning.
My nemesis.
If I had any dignity left, I would get up and push him away. Get dressed and leave the hotel room with two queen-sized beds that smelled like sex, alcohol, and sweet temptation.
But my body was a traitor. It didn’t care about the rivalry as Liam hovered over me in nothing but his pants. He was pumping his cock, his face glazed with a mix of agony and need.
My mouth went dry at the sheer size of his dick. It was intimidating and thick with veins on his shaft. It throbbed and my thighs clenched instinctively.
This is not good, Deepika. You should leave. It’s not too late.
Instead, my fists twisted the hotel sheets until my knuckles turned white.
I looked up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“I fucking hate you,” I whispered, the words sounding more like a prayer than an insult.
Liam leaned down, his smirk returning, though it was softer now, scorched by the heat between us.
“Me too.”