Page 26

From the corner of my eye, I catch movement at a nearby table. Someone with what looks suspiciously like a camera phone.

Right. The performance.

Liam follows my gaze, and when he spots our amateur photographer, something lethal slides across his features. The easy warmth disappears, replaced by something cold and dangerous.

When he turns back to our waitress, his voice could freeze hell over.

“I’m here with my girlfriend.” Each word drops like a stone. He reaches across the table, fingers threading through mine with deliberate possession. “Keep it professional.”

The way he says ‘girlfriend’—rough and claiming and absolutely final—sends liquid fire straight to my core. His thumb traces across my knuckles, slow and deliberate, like he’s marking territory.

The waitress backs away so fast she nearly trips over her own feet.

“Thank you,” I breathe, pulse hammering in my throat.

“For what?”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, I did.” His grip tightens, and there’s something almost feral in his eyes. “No one disrespects what’s mine.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. What’s mine. Not ‘you when you’re with me’ or ‘my fake girlfriend for the cameras.’ Mine. Possessive and primal and so raw it makes my thighs clench under the table.

“You’re not what I expected,” I admit.

“What did you expect?”

“Honestly? An entitled pretty boy with good genetics and zero substance.” I meet his eyes. “I was wrong.”

“You were.” His smile is crooked, boyish. “I’m way prettier than you thought.”

I burst out laughing. “And modest. Don’t forget modest.”

“Modesty is overrated. Confidence, on the other hand—”

“Is incredibly attractive when it’s earned.”

“What have I earned?”

The question is loaded, dangerous territory we probably shouldn’t explore.

“You’ve earned the right to be confident about being decent,” I say finally. “Most guys would have let that waitress flirt because they liked the attention. You shut it down because it made me uncomfortable.”

“Of course I did.” His voice drops, intimate and rough. “You matter, Kat.”

The simple statement hits harder than any elaborate declaration.

Our food arrives and we dive in with enthusiasm that isn’t entirely feigned. The duck is perfection, my pasta a revelation that makes me close my eyes in bliss.

“Good?” Liam asks, amused.

“Incredible. Want to try?” I twirl pasta around my fork, holding it out.

He leans forward, lips closing around the fork in a way that sends heat pooling low in my belly. His eyes stay locked on mine as he chews.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he murmurs.

I know he’s talking about the food. But my body responds like he’s talking about something else entirely.

We share bites throughout the meal, the intimate gesture feeling more real than anything else we’ve done tonight. Each time our fingers brush, each time he makes that soft sound of appreciation, I sink deeper into the fantasy that this means something.

By the time we finish dessert, I’m buzzed on wine and possibility and the way he’s been looking at me all night.

Like I’m beautiful.

Like I’m wanted.

Like I’m worth celebrating.

The drive home passes too quickly, soft music filling the comfortable silence. When we pull up to my building, my heart starts hammering.

“Thank you,” I say as he walks me to my door. “For tonight. For making it feel...” I pause, searching for words that won’t reveal too much. “Real.”

“It was real.” His voice is quiet, serious. “Whatever else this is, Kat, tonight was real.”

I don’t think.

I kiss him before I lose the nerve

It starts soft, tentative—a question I’m not sure I want answered. Then his hand grabs my face and he kisses me back, and everything changes.

This isn’t polite or careful or safe. This is hunger unleashed. Weeks of wanting compressed into a single moment of contact. His tongue sweeps against mine and I melt into him, every nerve ending lighting up like I’ve been struck by lightning.

He tastes like wine and ruin and the memory of his tongue between my legs. And I let him kiss me like I don’t already know how filthy his mouth can get.

His hands fist in my dress like he’s seconds from tearing it off, the other slides into my hair. And I let him. I let him take whatever he needs because I’m seconds from giving him everything.

I feel him hard against me—thick and urgent—and it’s everything I can do not to slide my thigh between his and ride the tension until it breaks.

I slide my hands down, fingers already on his belt. He pulls back just an inch, panting. “Kat—”

“I want to,” I whisper, already sinking to my knees. “Don’t stop me.”

His jaw clenches so tight I can see it twitch. His hands hang at his sides like he doesn’t trust them not to grab me.

“Fuck me,” he mutters. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

But he doesn’t stop me.

I tug open his belt, unfasten his pants, and push them low enough. And Jesus—he’s thick, already flushed, heavy against his thigh. Not just hard—hungry.

I wrap my hand around him and the sound he makes punches right through me. No words. Just a sharp breath that breaks into a groan. Like I caught him off guard.

He’s hot in my hand. My fingers tighten and I stroke once, slow, just to watch him fall apart.

“Shit,” he growls. “You’re killing me.”

I lean in, kiss the underside first, then drag my tongue up the shaft. He twitches. His breath catches. When I lick across the head—messy and slow—he shudders like he might break in half.

His hips jerk when I take the tip into my mouth. Then I sink lower, slow and smooth until my lips hit my hand.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters. “You’re not playing fair.”

I hum around him in answer, and the vibration makes his knees lock.

I start to move. Up and down, slow at first, then faster. My hand follows, twisting just right. His cock glides through my lips slick with spit, and the sounds—the wet pop every time I pull off, the thick drag of him over my tongue—drives me wild.

His hand slides into my hair, gripping just tight enough to anchor, not force.

“Just like that,” he rasps. “Don’t stop. You’re—fuck—you’re unreal.”

I take him deep. Let myself go messy. Drool hits my chin as I bob over him, faster now, popping off the tip only to swallow him again.

“Fuck... shit... fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked and barely holding on.

My name leaves his mouth in a growl. “Kat... Jesus, I’m gonna—”

I look up. Don’t stop. Let him see everything I’m giving him.

And that’s when he snaps.

“Shit—no. No, Katarina, we can’t.”

He pulls back, panting, hand still shaking in my hair as he eases me off.

The rejection hits like a slap.

“Liam,” I breathe, confused, wrecked, lips swollen.

He tucks himself back into his pants with fingers that won’t cooperate, like he’s angry with them for listening to his better judgment.

I stand, unsteady, lips tingling, thighs pressed together because I’m soaked. Desperate. On the verge of begging.

He swallows, hard. Eyes locked on mine. “That almost broke me.”

“Why did you stop me?”

His jaw flexes. “Because I want you. Too much. And if I don’t stop now…” He looks away like the truth might rip him open. “I’ll forget what this is supposed to be.”

I almost tell him the truth right then.

That I already let him have me once.

That we’ve already crossed every line.

That his mouth has been all over me and I still think about the way he made me come.

But I don’t. I stay quiet, because the second I say it out loud, this whole thing detonates.

He takes a step back, chest rising and falling like he just survived something. His voice is hoarse. “You deserve more than this. More than me losing my shit in your hallway.”

I don’t move. I can’t. My legs are jelly and my chest is tight. He nods once, like he’s made some brutal decision, and steps into the night.

The door clicks shut behind him. And I’m left standing there in the wreckage. I finally let go of the tears burning behind my eyes.

I slide down the wall, dress bunched around my thighs, body trembling.

Still tasting him.

Still aching like he took something vital with him and I’m too stupid—or too scared—to chase after it.