Deepika
The gala was mind-numbingly boring with speeches about athletic excellence and a silent auction for charity. The tables were full of sponsors and Olympic committee members making small talk over overpriced, rubbery chicken.
But Liam in a suit made it bearable.
More than bearable.
He sat across from me at our assigned table with bow tie slightly loosened, blond hair styled in that effortless way that probably took twenty minutes, and every time I looked at him, he was already looking at me.
Those gray eyes had been undressing me all night.
I was wearing a deep crimson dress, backless with a slit up to mid-thigh. It made me feel powerful and dangerous.
It also made Liam shift in his seat every time I crossed my legs, his gaze darkening, his fingers tightening around his wineglass.
Dinner was served in courses. Appetizer, soup, salad, etc. but they were all forgettable since I wasn’t paying any attention to the food. I was paying attention to the man across from me.
During the soup course, I slipped off my heel under the table. Liam was mid-conversation with some sponsor, nodding politely, when my foot found his leg. His entire body tensed, his wineglass freezing halfway to his lips as he choked.
I kept my expression innocent, listening to the woman beside me talk about her daughter’s swimming career while my toes traced up Liam’s calf.
His eyes cut to mine, flashing with a warning.
I smiled sweetly and took a sip of my champagne.
The salad arrived, and my tactics escalated.
My foot moved higher, sliding along his inner thigh, and feeling the muscle tense beneath expensive fabric.
Liam’s jaw clenched, his hand gripping his fork so tight I thought he might bend it.
“Are you alright?” someone asked him.
“Fine,” he managed, his husky voice on edge, his knuckles white around his silverware.
I pressed my foot higher, dangerously close to where I could feel him getting hard, and his hand shot under the table, gripping my ankle.
He didn’t push me away. Just held me there, his thumb rubbing slow circles against my skin while he maintained perfect composure above the table.
“Excuse me,” he said suddenly, standing so abruptly his chair scraped against the floor. His napkin hit the table. “I need to… I’ll be right back.”
He walked around the table, his movements controlled, his expression unreadable. He bent down beside my chair, his mouth right against my ear, his smile forced as he whispered, “Come with me.”
“Why?” I asked, fluttering my lashes, my voice dripping with false innocence.
“Because if you don’t,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, “I’m going to bend you over this table, spank your ass red and fuck you in front of two hundred people.”
Heat pooled between my thighs at the thought, my breath hitching, my body already throbbing with anticipation.
I took my time standing, smoothing my dress, and grabbing my clutch. I wanted him to wait and let him suffer a little longer.
His hand found mine, his grip firm and possessive as he pulled me away from the table, away from the gala, down a hallway lined with corporate art.
He tried two doors, but they were locked until the third opened, and it was a storage closet, barely bigger than a bathroom, filled with folding chairs and extra linens.
My eyes widened when he pulled me inside and shut the door.
There was darkness until my eyes adjusted and I could make out his silhouette. Broad shoulders, tousled hair, the glint of his gray eyes in the dim light.
And then his mouth was on mine.
It was a hot, desperate kiss with his hands in my hair, ruining whatever style I had spent an hour on, but I didn’t care. I was kissing him back just as hard, my fingers clutching at his jacket, my body arching into his.
“What are we doing here?” I gasped between kisses.
“I’m teaching you a lesson,” he said, his voice rough and smoky, his hands sliding down to grip my waist.
I raised an eyebrow, even though he probably couldn’t see it. “Here?”
“Uh-huh. Here.”
He kissed me again, harder this time, his tongue tangling with mine, his teeth nipping at my lower lip. Then he spun me around, pressing me against the wall. His body was solid behind me, one hand gathering my dress, bunching it up around my waist. The other hand found my clit, his fingers circling, teasing, making me gasp.
I let out a loud moan and his palm clamped over my mouth.
“Quiet,” he ordered against my ear, his fingers playing with my sensitive bud. “Unless you want everyone to find us.”
His fingers circled my clit, and I bit down on the sound trying to escape.
“Is that what you want?” he continued, his voice dark with promise. “For me to bend you over that table in front of all those people? Show them how good I make you scream? How much you cum all over my cock?”
I gasped against his hand, grinding back against him, feeling how hard he was through his pants.
“Thought so.”
I heard his zipper and felt him position himself. Then he was sliding inside me in one slow, torturous thrust.
We both groaned when he stretched me and filled me up.
The closet smelled of detergent and lemon cleaner, with the wall cool against my palms. I could hear muffled music from the gala.
Liam pulled back and thrust again. Harder. The sound of our bodies meeting echoed in the small space, his mouth finding my neck, biting down. I bucked back against him, my body already coiling with need.
“Fuck,” he breathed into my neck. “You feel so good.”
He started slow with deep and controlled strokes that made me whimper against his hand. But then something shifted. His grip on my hip tightened, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and he lost whatever restraint he had been clinging to.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it.”
His hand moved from my mouth to my throat, just holding, his thumb brushing over my pulse point.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered.
My hand moved between my legs, finding my clit, and the added sensation made my knees buckle.
He caught me, holding me up, never stopping his rhythm. “I’ve got you.”
The closet was too small and too hot. I could feel sweat beading on my skin, could smell sex and his cologne and cleaning supplies in some bizarre combination that shouldn’t work but did. The muffled music from the gala seeped through the door.
“Liam… fuck, I’m—”
“I know,” he groaned, his fingers joining mine on my clit. “I can feel you.”
The dual sensation sent me over the edge. I came hard, biting my lip to keep from screaming, my entire body shaking as pleasure crashed through me in waves.
Liam followed seconds later, groaning my name into my shoulder, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside me.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both panting and trembling, trying to remember how to function.
He pulled out slowly, and I immediately felt his absence. Liam turned me around, and my legs were shaking so badly I would have fallen if he hadn’t caught me.
“Easy,” he whispered. His hands were gentle now, steadying me and smoothing my dress back down.
I leaned into him as he kissed me again. It was a soft and sweet kiss, the opposite of what we had just done.
He tried to fix my lipstick with his thumb, smudging it worse.
“You’re insufferable,” I said, but there was no heat in it.
He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Too bad you love this insufferable dick.”
I rolled my eyes because I couldn’t deny it.
Maybe I was warming up to Liam James. Through his dick. But warming up nonetheless.
He kissed my forehead, then my nose, then my lips again. “We should get back before someone notices.”
“They definitely noticed.”
“Probably.”
We straightened ourselves as much as possible, even though his bow tie was gone, my hair was destroyed, and I was pretty sure I had a hickey forming on my neck.
We looked thoroughly fucked.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No.”
“Me neither.”
He opened the door, checked the hallway, and pulled me back toward the gala as if we hadn’t just defiled a storage closet.
I was going to feel him for days.
And I couldn’t wait to do it again.
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