19. I Got Hard
I GOT HARD
LIAM
“Liam James.” Deepika’s mother cornered me by the dessert table while I was trying to figure out which sweet thing wouldn’t give me a sugar coma before my morning training session.
She said my name like a warning, as if she were about to deliver news of my imminent death.
I turned, plastering on my most charming smile. “Mrs. Sharma. Have you tried the gulab jamuns? They are incredible.”
“My daughter,” she ignored me and continued. “She looks happy with you.”
“I hope so.” I swallowed.
“But she has been hurt before.” Her eyes went hard and sharp. The look that said she’d bury my body where no one would find it if I stepped out of line. “That stupid boy hurt her badly and broke her trust.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” She stepped closer. I was six-foot-three, and she barely cleared five-five, but somehow she was the one looming. “Because if you hurt her, and if you make her feel small or unwanted or not good enough, I will make sure you regret it. Olympic medal or not.”
I believed her. Completely.
“I won’t hurt her, ma’am,” I said, meaning it. “I promise.”
She studied my face for a long moment and then nodded once. “Good. Now eat. You’re too skinny for an athlete.”
I blinked at her as she piled two gulab jamun on my plate and walked away, leaving me holding a plate of sweets that I had to finish.
Ethan had warned me how Indian parents were.
Kiara’s mom, when she was alive, would invite Ethan over often and feed him a lot, and if he didn’t finish his food, she’d get disappointed.
So I had to finish it. And I did.
The guests started trickling out sometime after dinner, the aunties and uncles hugging Kiara and Ethan and offering unsolicited advice about married life. Kids were dragged away mid-game, protesting loudly.
I found Deepika in the living room, slumped on the couch, looking exhausted. The heavy silver earrings, called jhumkas, were clearly bothering her. She kept reaching up to adjust them.
I sat down beside her. “Want help with those?”
She looked surprised, but she nodded. I knew she was tired when she didn’t fight me.
I reached up carefully, finding the hook mechanism. My fingers brushed her neck, and she shivered. The earrings came off easily, and they were heavier than they looked.
“The maang tikka too?” I gestured to the piece of jewelry sitting on her forehead, connected to her hair. She looked like an Indian princess dressed that way with traditional jewelry.
But I’d rather choke than tell her that.
“Go ahead.”
I unclasped it gently, trying not to pull her hair, and she sighed in relief when it came free.
“Better?”
“So much better.” She stretched her neck, rolling her shoulders. “These things are beautiful, but heavy after a while.”
“Want me to carry you everywhere? Save your pretty feet?”
She playfully slapped my arm. “I’m not that fragile.”
“I didn’t say you were. I’m just offering my services as a human transportation device.”
She giggled, making my heart do something weird. “I didn’t know you could be nice.”
I grinned. “Don’t tell anyone, or else it’ll ruin my image.”
She chuckled, shaking her head, and stood to help with the cleanup.
My gaze followed her across the room. The way the lehenga moved with her body. The way she immediately jumped in to help without being asked. The way she smiled at Kiara and Ethan as they laughed. That was the real Deepika and not the fake smiles she had been wearing around Yash.
“You love her.”
I turned. Eveline, Ethan’s little sister, sat on the couch beside me, eating gulab jamun with her hands, syrup everywhere.
“I don’t—” I started.
“You do.”
I bent down to her height. “How would you know?”
“I know because my moms look at each other like that. And Ethan looks at Kiara like that.” She took another bite. “And you look at Deepika like that.”
I blinked at her and ignored the way my stomach felt warm.
I grabbed the spoon from her plate and fed her a bite before she could continue. “Don’t say this to anyone else, or I won’t get you that Barbie house for your birthday.”
Her eyes went wide as she said with her mouth, “The big one? With the elevator?”
“The biggest one.”
She nodded seriously, her mouth full.
Phew. Crisis averted.
If Ethan knew about this, he would go full Dad-mode on me and demand that I end it.
As if.
Xavier was finally happy with the sponsors I was getting, and my image looked stable for the first time in years. And it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be spending my days with her.
It wasn’t like I purposely stayed up late to wait for her and make sure she ate whatever my cook had made before she went to bed or anything like that. Nuh-uh. I was just making sure she stayed healthy and fit.
For her career. Yes. That’s it. Nothing else.
The drive back to my place was quiet as Deepika dozed in the passenger seat, head tilted against the window.
I couldn’t stop looking at her.
The wedding planning had been intense. We were trying to coordinate two ceremonies, one in Napa Valley which would be the white wedding. And another one in San Diego for the traditional Indian wedding that would last a full week.
Kiara had insisted the white wedding come first because she didn’t want henna showing in her photos in the white wedding.
Deepika had taken notes even though there were three wedding planners present and offered opinions, laughing at Ethan’s terrible suggestions.
She fit in as if she had always been there. I felt so stupid to try to antagonize her when we were kids, thinking she was stealing my friends.
I pulled my jacket from the backseat and draped it over her when she shivered. She made a small noise but didn’t wake.
God, she’s so fucking cute.
Stop smiling, you doofus!
When we got home (when had I started thinking of it as a home for both of us?), I parked in the garage and sat there for a moment, watching her sleep and feeling my lips curl at the sight. After a few moments, I got out of the car, walked around, and lifted her into my arms.
She stirred when I was walking upstairs with her cuddling my neck. I didn’t want to wake her up, but her warm breath tickled my neck, and I was trying my best not to laugh.
“What are you doing?”
“Being a decent human being.”
“Wow. So surprising,” she said, her words slurred with sleep. “Are you the real Liam or his doppelg?nger?”
I sighed and dropped her.
She screamed, then sighed in relief when she bounced on her bed.
“Asshole.”
I smiled. “I missed that.”
She threw a pillow at me. “Jerk.”
“Aw, stop it.” I caught it, grinning. “You’ll make me blush.”
She rolled her eyes, suddenly tired, and turned around. “Help me unhook the blouse?”
I froze.
“Liam?”
“Y-yeah. Sure!”
I moved behind her, fingers finding the tiny hooks that held the blouse together. But my hands were not steady.
I could see the curve of her spine. The dip of her lower back. The way she held perfectly still, barely breathing.
The last hook came free, and I stepped back, clearing my throat.
When she realized I wasn’t walking out of her room, she turned around, holding the blouse to her chest. “What are you doing?”
“Staring.”
“Why?”
“Because you were drooling.”
She frowned, wiping her mouth. “I did not—”
I cupped her cheek, thumb brushing the corner of her lips. “Yes. Right here.”
And I kissed her.
She went still for half a second and then melted into me, kissing back.
It was a soft kiss. A gentle one. But then it turned deeper and more passionate with her hands curling my kurta, pulling me closer as I groaned against her mouth.
We pulled back, both of us gasping.
She looked down, and her eyes widened.
“Well. Someone’s needy.”
I followed her gaze and my erection was visible through the outline of my kurta and slacks, straining against the fabric.
I scowled, stepping back. “It happens when I’m—”
“When you are?” She asked, teasing me, her eyes bright with mischief.
“When I’m horny.”
She rolled her eyes, reaching for the waistband of her lehenga. “Shocking.”
The lehenga fell in a whisper of fabric, pooling around her feet.
Deepika stood there in a pair of tiny cotton shorts and an unhooked blouse that hung precariously off her shoulders. She was completely unaware of the absolute havoc she was wreaking on my nervous system.
My cock gave a sharp, painful twitch against the constraints of my slacks.
“Back in that closet,” I said before I could stop myself. “During seven minutes in heaven…”
She frowned. “What about it?”
“I was pissed at you because my body reacted in a way I didn’t like,” I admitted, my voice dropping an octave.
She blinked, her dark, almond-shaped eyes widening as the gears turned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I was fourteen and I hated your guts, yet I was standing there in the dark with my cock hard as a fucking rock just because you breathed near me.”
Deepika’s jaw dropped. A slow, wicked grin began to spread across her face, making her look absolutely devilish. “Oh my god. Liam James. You were attracted to me. You had a crush on your mortal enemy.”
I scowled, trying to maintain some shred of dignity. “It wasn’t a crush. It was… just a biological malfunction. An involuntary reflex.”
She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder with enough drama to win an Oscar. “An involuntary reflex to my hotness?”
I pursed my lips, fighting the urge to let out a laugh at her sheer arrogance. “Yes, Sharma. To your annoying, undeniable hotness.”
She saw the corner of my mouth twitch and lunged forward, poking me hard in the stomach. “Stop laughing! I know you find me hot—hey, stop giggling!”
The laughter broke out of me, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated in my chest. She huffed, her face flushing a beautiful shade of rose, and stomped toward the bathroom.
I followed close behind, my eyes locked on the rhythmic sway of her hips and the way her unhooked blouse teased the skin of her back.
She let out a playful squeal when I didn't stop at the doorway, but instead started stripping with efficient, practiced movements. “What are you doing, you golden-haired pervert!”
“I’m showering with you. Duh,” I said, pulling my kurta over my head and tossing it toward the hamper. I made quick work of my slacks, kicking them aside until I stood before her completely naked.
I could feel the steam already starting to curl around us as I reached past her to crank the handle. The shower hissed to life, the heavy, rhythmic drum of water hitting the tiles.
I stepped into her space, my hands finding the soft, pliant skin of her waist and pulling her flush against me. My cock, thick and heavy, pressed firmly against her stomach.
“I don’t remember inviting a fish boy into my—”
I cut her off by cupping her face in both hands, my thumbs grazing her cheekbones. “Shut up, Sharma.”
I crashed my mouth onto hers, and the banter died instantly.
I kissed her until she melted, her fingers tangling in my hair and pulling me closer.
The bathroom filled with the scent of jasmine and the sharp, clean aroma of my sandalwood soap.
I walked us backward into the spray, the water turning hot and stinging against my back.
The deluge soaked us both in seconds. Her hair turned into a dark, silken curtain. I could taste the salt of the water and the sweetness of her mouth as she kissed me back with a desperate, hungry intensity, her tongue tangling with mine in a frantic rhythm.
I slid my hands down to her ass, lifting her so her legs wrapped around my waist, her wet skin sliding perfectly against mine. The friction was electric, a searing heat that made my head spin.
I wish the water could wash away the strange, terrifying feelings bubbling in my gut. A weird ache that felt less like hate and more like something I wasn’t ready to name yet.