“Are you sure it has nothing to do with this?” And then, before I could say or do anything in response to his question, he kissed me, his lips crushing mine. His tongue thrust into my mouth, tasting of coffee and lust. A velvety lash of wet heat, it moved against mine. Despite my hangover, Parker had managed to turn me into a heated and needy mess in a matter of seconds.
When he pulled away, he searched my face for the answer with which my hardened dick already provided him. “Nope, not at all,” I joked. Hearing him laugh softly was all the reward I needed.
“Think we can get started on the car on Tuesday?” he asked, turning away from me. With his clothes draped over his arm, he walked toward the door.
“Yeah, sounds good. Meet me at the shop at six?” Even though I made it sound like getting the car towed was going to be a problem, I could have had it there in less than an hour. It was just a stupid lie I’d told both him and myself to avoid getting close to him.
Because I knew, even then, if I let Parker get too close, I wouldn’t want him any other way.
“Good, see you then.” He pressed another quick kiss to my lips before stepping out onto my porch. “And then maybe we can see about that thing you asked me to do last night.” After dropping that mysterious line out there, he sauntered down the steps, the sun catching the glints of blond in his hair.
It took me the rest of my second cup of coffee and a hot shower, to figure out what the hell I’d asked him last night.
But when I remembered that I’d asked him to fuck me, Tuesday was too far away.
I’d gone most of my adult life keeping people as far away from me as possible, yet here I was only two weeks after meeting Parker and I was wishing the next forty-eight hours would somehow fly by.
“What the hell are we supposed to do with these?” Frustrated, I sorted through the additional papers that Mrs. Maxwell had filed against her soon-to-be ex-husband. Police reports specifically, listing allegations that Mr. Maxwell had abused their son.
Without knocking, as was his usual style, my father barged into my office. “It’s easy,” he answered the question I hadn’t really directed at him with such smugness that it made my blood boil. “We use it to our advantage. This seals the deal as far as we’re concerned. We get our client what she’s asking for and take her money.” With an arrogance I couldn’t stand, he walked further into my office and sat in the chair on the other side of my desk. “The public will eat up an abuse case. I’d even put money on Mr. Maxwell being open to settling out of court now.”
“These are some serious charges, though. Don’t you think? I mean it has to be about more than just money, right?” Resting my elbows on the desk, I leaned forward, trying to be at least a little intimidating. It was pointless really. There was no way my father would ever see things from my point of view, especially if his precious money was on the line.
“You’re right. They are.”
Shocked, I couldn’t find anything to say to his totally out of the blue response.
“And,” he added. “That’s why we’ll be proactive and have social service investigate. We’ll work every angle to make our client look like the good guy. She’s a mother trying to protect her son now. There’s no judge who would decide against that.” And there it was. He wasn’t truly concerned. His corruption knew no bounds and, over the years, he’d managed to solidify dirty contacts in every avenue that served his purpose. And because I wasn’t supposed to know about them, I never said anything. But he’d never gone so far as to use the welfare of a child as a bargaining tool. Probably because he’d never had this much money on the table.
Still, that wasn’t reason enough to gloss over this.
“Right. I’ll call them and make the arrangements.” If I made contact, and initiated the investigation, I’d have more control over it. From the moment I’d met her, I never once trusted Mrs. Maxwell. And something about this just felt wrong.
“Already done,” he dismissed my comments, standing from the chair. “That’s why I came in here. All you need to do today is work with Mrs. Maxwell to get the story straight and we’ll be good to go to court next week with everything in line.” When he reached the door, he turned back around, saying, “Don’t forget he’s the one who had the affair. He’s the one with the money we’re after. This is merely a blip on the radar. A blip that will only work in our favor.”
And with that he was gone from the office, but the stench of him and his dirty politics still hung heavily in the air. My stomach roiled as I read over the police reports. On one hand, if the reports were true and Ashton Maxwell had been sexually assaulted, I couldn’t imagine what he must be going through. The damage he’d suffered was something no one should ever have to live through.
But on the other hand, if Mrs. Maxwell falsified these allegations, it was a true testimony to her real character—a character that, despite her best efforts, had always struck me as hideously ugly and horribly greedy. So greedy in fact that she’d use her own son to gain money.
Just as I was through reading the paperwork, my phone buzzed on my desk.
Zan.
Not exactly what I wanted to deal with, but in the last two weeks, we’d talked a few times. His dad was doing well, and it turns out that his overly clinginess was truly a result of feeling like he was going to lose his dad.
Must be a nice feeling.
“Hey,” I answered. “What’s up?”
“Not too much. How’d things go with the car this weekend?” We’d become friends and when I found the car online, I had to share it with someone. My father was definitely not an option and since I was buying it to try and get closer to him, Liam wasn’t an option either. Zan was and he was probably just as excited as I was about it.
“Great actually.” Stretching back in my chair, I kicked my feet up on the desk. “Should be towed today and Liam said he and I can start work on it tomorrow night.”
“Sweet. Can’t wait to see it.” It was impossible not to catch his genuine enthusiasm. Maybe in another time and place, Zan and I could have worked out, but even though we’d become friends, I knew that wasn’t exactly one-hundred percent true. That spark had never been there like it was with Liam. “You doing anything this weekend? I know you’re busy with the case, but I could use a break from my dad. Thought maybe you could use a break from yours, too.”
“Sure. Let me call you in a few days and we’ll figure it out. The shit kind of hit the fan this morning, though. So I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sounds good. Talk to you then.” Zan’s chipper voice helped to lighten my spirits, which had obviously been darkened by my father and these atrocious charges. So did thoughts of the car and starting on the remodel, and not entirely because I was eager to get my hands dirty. Liam was most definitely contributing to the excitement. So much so that it was enough for me to push through the rest of my day and set up an appointment with Mrs. Maxwell.
When she walked into the office a few hours later, she didn’t exactly look like a tortured mother determined to protect her child. Instead, she looked like a woman who would rather be anywhere but here. Despite the touch of warmth in the April air, she was wearing a fur wrap, a real testament to how little she cared for life in general.
“Mrs. Maxwell.” She took my extended hand, her shake that of a dead fish. “Please sit.” We moved over to the small conference table in my office and she stood next to her chair, waiting for me to pull it out for her. Of course I didn’t realize it until my own ass was hovering over the leather of my chair.
She cleared her throat, “Ahem, Mr. Ryan.” Her eyes shot to her seat, indicating exactly what she was demanding of me.
After I’d pulled out her chair and returned to mine, I took out my pen and legal pad. “Is Ashton doing all right?” The little boy had been on my mind since reading the allegations, and thinking of him in the kind of distress it must be causing him made my heart hurt for him.
Acting as she’d barely heard my question, she nodded, say
ing, “Fine. He’s just fine.”
We were going nowhere fast if she wasn’t going to be open about all this.
Changing tactics, I decided to focus solely on the facts. Emotions clearly weren’t her strong point. “So, can you tell me what happened? Be as specific as possible.” My goal was simple—let her tell her story, then make her tell it again and again to make sure that nothing changed from time to time.
Her frustration was immediate. “Didn’t the officer send you the report? Haven’t you read it already?” Pointing a red lacquered and well-manicured finger at me from across the table, the doubts I’d had about her doubled promptly.
“Yes, Mrs. Maxwell, the officer did send them and yes I did read them.” I knew I couldn’t exactly tell her I wanted to see if she was telling the truth, so I had to think quickly and recover. Hating that he was the first person who came to mind, I thought what would my father say? “The only reason I ask,” I added as quickly as possible, “is so that we can play up the emotions. If we can really sell the story, then the judge will have no choice but to side with you.”
The instant the words were out of my mouth, I hated myself. Promising myself that I would somehow get to the bottom of the whole thing the second I was done here with her, I put on my game face and let her say what she wanted.
All too eagerly, she smiled, leaned forward, and said, “You really think this will help us win?” There was pride, vanity, and greed coloring her words, twisting her young face.
“The safety of your son is in question, so yes, I think odds are in your favor.”
All too easily, she slid into a serious mood, knotting her fingers together in faux concern. “Here’s what happened.”
Though I hated every single second of it, I listened to her entire story, finding it difficult to believe most of it. An hour later, and she was through with her performance. My head was spinning and I found it difficult to even see straight.
Playing the part of supportive lawyer, I wrote down everything she’d said, offered gestures of approval and insights when needed. When she relaxed into her chair, exhausted by the non-stop movement of her mouth, I said, “I’m sorry your son had to go through all of that.”
Clutching her hand to her chest, she sighed. “We’re very traumatized. But knowing that the judge will decide with us–”
“I can’t guarantee that, Mrs. Maxwell.” Of course she would twist anything I’d said around to work in her favor. “The officers still want to investigate further and Child Protective Services will want to speak with both you and Ashton. This is merely the beginning.”
Disappointed with that piece of information, her face fell and she rose from her chair. “Well, then. Let me know when I’ll be needed again.” With that, she walked out of the office as if I was her errand boy or gofer.
Exhaustion and disgust weighed me down, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else for the rest of the day. And even though staying in the office was the last thing I wanted to do, I made it a point to stay later than my father. When he walked out at seven, he paused at my door. Leaning against the frame, he said, “It’s good to see you finally make this a priority. This case is important, son. Make sure you do the right thing.”
The ‘right thing’ where he was concerned was winning the case for the sole purpose of earning that money.
In my book, it was something else entirely. Discovering the truth and helping Ashton recover from it all became my goal. So before leaving the office, I made a few calls to contacts I knew I could trust. Since I’d never be able to make my father happy, anyway, I might as well do the right thing by someone else.
By the time I made it home, it was well past nine. Exhaustion warred with hunger at that point. Looking in my fridge, I laughed at how pathetic my existence was. After pulling out a beer, I started a pot of water for my usual dinner—Ramen noodles. It was a part of my college life that I’d never really outgrown, and since I was always coming home late, and never had anyone else to cook for—or to cook for me—the habit stuck.
With a Styrofoam cup of crappy noodles in one hand and a cold Sam Adams in the other, I settled onto the couch. Mindlessly flipping through the channels, I finally settled on an old repeat of some sitcom.
Even after finishing my dinner, if you could call it that, and my second beer, I was still restless. Today had put me through the wringer and I needed some kind of outlet for all my stress. The two beers I’d just downed eliminated running from what would be my usual stress release. Treadmills and alcohol definitely didn’t mix well.
It didn’t take long for my brain to settle on the other option.
Sex.
But thinking of sex in the last few weeks also meant thinking of Liam. And since I’d opened my mouth only to insert my foot the other night, denying him sex until at least the next time we’d see each other, I guess my hand would have to do for tonight.
Standing from the couch, my cell phone slipped out of my pocket and buzzed against the cushion. And as the gods of fate—and hand jobs—would have it, it was Liam.
“Hello.” A hint of amusement played in the laughter that accompanied my greeting.
“Hi.” His voice was tentative, shy even. “I didn’t know if you would be busy. Is it too late?”
“No. It’s not too late.” A smirk curled my lips. “And I’m not busy at all, but I could be.”
Liam laughed, a deep rich sound. Picturing his face relax, I couldn’t help but let my smirk pull into a full smile. “I was just calling about the car. It’s at the shop and all ready to go for Tuesday.” He paused, before adding, in a much deeper tone, “That is if you’re still ready.”
My cock throbbed, half aroused already at the thought of rubbing one out in the shower; it was close to fully erect now that Liam’s voice was playing in my ear. “Yeah, I’m good to go.” I made no move to hide the real meaning of my words, my voice laced with lust and sex.
Silence was the only thing on the line. Eventually the hard raspy sound of Liam’s heavy breathing echoed in my ear and I had to ask, “Is the car the only reason you called, Liam?” His name rolled from my mouth so effortlessly, I couldn’t wait to scream it when I finally got him in bed.
“No,” he admitted, his voice still breathless and full of need.
Caressing myself, I demanded to know, “Then why did you call?” There was something about him that brought this out in me, this need to exert some kind of control, if only verbally.
“I . . . because–”
“Tell me.”
“I wanted to hear your voice.” His admission was whispered on the line, bringing out a desire in me I’d been trying to keep at bay these last few weeks.
“Me too.” Pausing, I undid the buckle on my belt, lowered the zipper on my pants, and slid the soft material down past my hips. “I was actually heading into the shower when you called.” For shock and also for honesty, I added, “I was already thinking about you. Touching myself was something I couldn’t possibly avoid.” The line fell silent again, the sounds of his breath the only noise between us. Thumbing the wide crown of my dick, I pictured it was Liam’s tongue lapping up the bead of moisture already dripping down the thickly veined shaft. “What are you thinking about, Liam?”
He groaned, maybe out of desire, maybe because he was uncomfortable, but I was determined to push him as far as he would allow me. “Fuck,” he cursed before saying, “You. I was thinking about you. That’s why I called.”
“Good,” I praised his honesty, tightening my fist around the base of my dick. “Are you touching yourself, too? Is your hand wrapped around your cock?” My brain was racing in a million different directions. Was he hard and ready, thick waiting in his hand? What would it feel like as I pushed into his ass, taking and giving everything we both obviously wanted so badly?
“Can it be?” The pure need in his voice stilled my hand.
“You won’t touch yourself unless I tell you, is that it?” With soft caresses, I let my own hand drift e
ffortlessly over my painfully hard length. The fact he’d just asked me if he could do the same made another drip of liquid dampen my palm.
Instead of a breathless sound, a sigh sounded out from his end. “No, okay? I can’t explain it–”
“I didn’t ask for an explanation. I don’t need one. I just need to come. And I need to hear you come, too.” Increasing the speed with which my hand was moving, I let my hand get to work. “Do it, now, Liam. Touch yourself.”
There was movement on the line. Envisioning him in his bed, kicking off his pants, laying there with his legs spread wide open, his dick laying against his strong body, had me seconds away from coming.
“Oh, hell, Park.” His words came out as a garbled sound that was full of relief and desire all wrapped up into one.
“Tell me what you’re doing. Where are you? What do you look like? How do you feel?”
Without any kind of resistance, almost as if he was waiting for me to ask, he said, “In my bed. Naked. Waiting for you to tell me I can come. God, fuck.” His last two words were growls of pleasure, mixed with pain.
“Are your balls pulled tight? Are you that close? Mine are. Fucking hell, mine are.” My hand flew over my cock at a furious pace. Dreaming about Liam was a faded light in comparison to the illuminated blaze of actually hearing his voice and picturing him naked for me.
“I’m close. I’ve been close all day. Thinking about you non-stop doesn’t help.” His words gave up total control, made him vulnerable, and made me feel powerful, too. He was giving me his pleasure, relying on me for the release he so madly craved.
“Me too. So fucking close. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Your lips.” My hand stilled, squeezing back the pulses of my impending orgasm. “Your tongue.” Another pulse. “Your body.” A drip leaked from my tip. “Us.”
My hips jerked upward, my cock slid effortlessly through the tightened grip of my hand. If I didn’t need to hold my phone, the other hand would have worked at my balls, maybe lightly fingering at the puckered skin a few inches lower. But there was something painfully sweet in knowing that Liam would have to do that for me, hopefully with his wet mouth wrapped around my cock.
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