How he stayed standing, he had no idea. And with his pants tangled around his feet, it was a wonder he hadn’t lost his balance and ended up sprawled on the floor. Knowing it wouldn’t have stopped her from sucking him to completion filled him with wonder.
When it was over and he could see again, Liam looked down at her and marveled at the satisfied expression on her face. With one finger, she wiped the corners of her mouth, gathering remnants of saliva and what he’d brought to the proceedings then sucked her finger clean.
Never one to let an opportunity slide by without a well-placed comment, she winked, gave him a saucy pout, and said, “Now that’s what I call a blue plate special.”
Dinner was a test of Liam’s cool. Completely unable to wipe the image of Rhiann on her knees at his feet with her mouth full of . . . well, of him, he was having a hard time behaving like a civilized human.
Didn’t help that Roman, that asshole, was openly smirking at him.
Also didn’t help that from the minute they stepped out in public, the little green-eyed witch he was salivating over made quite the show of hanging all over his head of security. In fact, she was putting on a bravura performance that would do Bryanna Charles Baron-Wilde proud.
He was on his second martini when Roman, laughing at something Princess Snarks-a-Lot said, slung his arm across the back of her chair and leaned close to whisper something. She reared back and laughed, smacking him on the arm like a naughty kid.
“I’m right here,” he barked annoyed, frustrated, and quickly setting up camp in the jealousy zone.
Rhiann looked at him, batted her eyes with unashamed innocence, and said, “What? No good?”
“Is it impossible for you to behave?”
“Behave is it, now?” she simpered coyly.
Roman rapped his knuckles on the table and told them, “I think that’s my cue to excuse myself for a few minutes. No yelling, okay,” he instructed before turning and walking into the bar.
“What’s your problem?” she snapped. “I thought making nice with Macho Man was what you expected of me. Throw off the crazy lady, right? Make up your damn mind, would you?”
“My mind was made up an hour ago when my dick was down your throat. Are you trying to make me crazy by hanging all over Bishop? He’s not flypaper, you know.”
Dammit to hell if she didn’t bite her fucking lip to stop from laughing.
“Would it make you feel any better,” she taunted in a crisp, matter-of-fact way, “if I told you that I intend to tie your arrogant, scowling ass to my bed when we get home and keep you there until you make love to me?”
What? Shit! How the fuck did she turn the tables on him so neatly and with such little effort? One minute he was growling like a bear, ready to punch Roman’s lights out, and the next she’d flat-footed him with a risqué comeback that frankly, had him panting with need.
She was extraordinary. There she sat, perfectly poised, sipping her glass of wine like she was to the manor born. He watched her lips open to accept the rosy liquid and felt his groin twitch. Only he knew what she’d been doing with those lips earlier. He wondered briefly if the slightly sweet Moscato she ordered went well with the aftertaste of his having come in her mouth.
Her hooded gaze and the way she squirmed in her seat suggested they were sharing the same thought.
Reminding him that she expected a response, her little pout appeared. “Nothing to say to that?” she asked all sweetness and light.
Finishing his drink, he set the glass down, lifted a pick holding the last of the olives he had on the side, and placed it between his teeth. She was watching his every move. Slowly biting down on the briny flesh of the green fruit, he made a show of slowly chewing and then swiping his tongue across his lips. When she put her wine glass on the table next to his drained martini, she did so with slightly trembling hands.
“I have two words for you.”
She swung her eyes to his, but he paused and let the silent, expectant tension build. He watched as her respirations increased and became shallow. Good. That was all he needed to know. Roman was safe as long as she looked at him like that.
“Do tell,” she responded in perfect ladylike fashion.
“Fuck,” he said—and then stopped.
She raised an eyebrow. Was he cursing or talking? Gotcha, he thought, mildly amused that it had been so easy.
“Me.”
Her mouth opened slightly when his words hit home.
She gave as good as she got, though. Always had.
“Is that a command?” The devilish glint in her eyes had his dick hardening in seconds. “Or a request?”
He loved this verbal game they played. It would never get old.
“Both. The first being the command and the second a request.”
“What if I said yes to the first but chose a different recipient for the request?”
Little witch. She was playing with fire.
“He’d be dead before it got that far. Remember telling me that you didn’t share? Neither do I, Rhiann. It would be wise to keep that in mind.”
Not surprisingly, his comment played into her hand. She was much quicker on her feet than he was when it came to word play.
Leaning so only he could hear, she whispered, “Hold that thought, baby,” close to his ear. Close enough that he felt the words tickle his skin. Close enough that he picked up on her seductive scent as it mingled with the wine on her breath and the sensual perfume she wore.
“Two can play at that, hmm? I have no choice but to accept that you fucked that frigid bitch but if it happens again—with her, or anyone else, for that matter—yours will be the first in my body count. Understood?”
Holy shit. With a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth sweetness, she’d just put him on blast, making it very clear where she stood. There was no doubt that she meant every word. He fucking liked that his little firebrand was staking her claim.
Okay, then. This is good, he thought. Taking a deep breath that expanded his chest to bursting, he let it out and grinned broadly.
“Understood . . . ma’am,” he added for shits and grins.
“You get the check. I’m going to visit the ladies.’ There seems to be a bit of dampness I should take care of.”
Standing, she ran a hand down her hip and across her butt in that way women do when they’re making sure their dress isn’t out of place.
For fun, he suggested, “Make it good, sweetness. The walking away thing. I want to watch your ass and imagine what it’s going to look like sticking up in the air as I fuck you from behind.” Her answering giggle was the sweetest sound.
They were in the car on the way home with he and Roman quietly talking—front seat to backseat—as Rhiann fidgeted non-stop. Liam didn’t have to wonder what she was thinking because it was written all over her face when she came back from the ladies’ room. He guessed that her panties had proved well and truly soaked. One could only hope, right?
Driving along the main road, she suddenly lurched upright and insisted that she had a stop to make.
“I need to go in the CVS,” she stated anxiously.
What the hell was this all about, he wondered.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Why do you need to do that now?”
“I just do,” she snapped sulkily.
“Really? That’s it? I just do?”
Flipping around in her seat, she glared at him. “I need some tampons, okay?” she snapped.
Tampons? Ah, fuck. No way. Her comment shut him up, and Roman wisely said absolutely nothing. When they pulled into the brightly lit parking lot of the big drug store, Liam offered to accompany her inside but she’d have none of it. Some things, it seemed, were best left private.
After she had entered the store, Roman looked at him in the rearview and muttered, “Sucks to be you, huh?”
“Shut up.”
ONCE BACK AT THE HOUSE, Roman quickly retreated to his room saying he needed a shower and then planned to veg ou
t with the remote control in his hand until he passed out.
Making sure to press Rhiann for a promise that she wouldn’t hit the beach in the morning for her daily run without him, he nodded at Liam, grabbed a soda from the fridge, and disappeared.
When they were alone, Rhiann asked if he brought a bag. Telling her it was in the front hallway on the middle level, she told him to go grab it then she set about switching off lights and straightening up.
“Uh . . . which room should I use?”
“Mine, of course.”
“Really?” He hadn’t meant to sound so hopeful but dammit, he had.
“We already covered this,” she muttered, putting some glasses in the dishwasher.
“Uh, yeah. But I thought . . .”
She turned a playful smirk on him, slapped a hand to her waist, cocked her hip, and shook her head.
“Men. Y’all start wars, join fight clubs, and jockey for the front row at boxing matches, but a little talk about female issues and you fold like a cheap suit.”
“Uh . . .”
“Oh, and apparently, language deserts you as well!”
Liam had to nod in agreement because she was right. Period talk, tampons, rating how bad the cramps were—what guy wanted to be a part of that shit?
“Better get used to it, Ashforth,” she teased. “Look, I’m going to get in the shower. You stow your stuff in the master and maybe find something on the boob tube for us to watch. I sleep on the right side of the bed so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep that in mind.”
Mumbling to himself, Liam went to grab his bag and rolled it into the small elevator so he didn’t thump, thump, thump it up the wood staircase.
Stabbing at the button for the top floor, he thought, Well, shit. She was right. He had better get used to it, but honestly—who the hell did this happen to?
In the huge master bedroom, he stopped to admire the comfortable furnishings, making mental notes for future reference. If Rhiann had an affinity for this particular beach, he was more than happy to buy her whatever house floated her boat.
He might not know this Jax guy, but he did know Brynn a little bit and he had to hand it to her new husband because the house really was magnificent.
The bed, which was the size of a small country, was an oversized wood piece with a distinctive arched canopy and carved slats on the head and footboard. Matching dressers sat on opposite walls and the two nightstands completed the suite of furniture. Two overstuffed chairs sat side by side in front of an enormous bay window that faced the ocean. There was a lounger he knew was called a fainting couch, draped with a fuzzy looking throw, and a couple of tables, too.
Hanging his suits and shirts in the cavernous walk-in closet, he left his toiletry bag on a table near the door to the en suite and stashed his underclothes in the dresser that was empty.
Goddamn, he was nervous and couldn’t help running his palms down his thighs in case they were sweaty, clammy, or both.
Shrugging off his suit jacket and vest, he draped them over the valet in the closet, toed off his shoes and socks, and finally, unwound his tie from his neck. Glancing at it ruefully, he remembered Rhiann saying she wanted to tie him to the bed. With those heavy wood slats at both ends of the bed, anything was possible. Quickly dismissing the thought because, after all . . . she wasn’t exactly in playtime mode, he sat on the edge of the bed and fucked with the remote control.
What was the protocol in these situations? He was clueless. Some part of him couldn’t believe that he was in his thirties and hadn’t ever experienced anything that even remotely resembled an actual relationship. Sneaking around with a teenage Rhiann didn’t count—a reminder that still bothered him. He’d been a douche—a big one and her snarky comment about them going out publicly as something novel served up a reminder of how unfair all that had been. For her. Keeping things off the grid? That had been one hundred percent him. He had a lot to make up for.
Okay. So where does that leave him? Research. Yeah. That’s what he needed. Find out what other guys did—maybe pick up a few pointers to help him navigate this whole girlfriend thing.
Having something to do, something to focus on, energized Liam. Yeah. He could do this. Quickly checking to make sure the shower was still running, he grabbed his phone and started a web search. Goddammit—he was going to be the best boyfriend any girl could hope for.
Am I overthinking this, he wondered fifteen minutes later as he cautiously made his way from the kitchen back to the master carrying a steaming—and he really meant steaming—cup of some herbal tea crap he found in the pantry.
The thought was downright comical because right then, he was prepared to book passage to the International Space Station if that’d make her happy. A cup of tea on her nightstand—right side of the bed, thank you very much—some fluffed up pillows, a dumbass chick flick on the television. All easily done. And ready to go.
Ridiculously keyed-up, he bounced on his toes and flexed his fingers to dispel some of the excess energy that was making him a wreck. Suddenly dashing to a wall mirror, he inspected what he saw in the reflection and frowned. His hair and face looked all right, although a shave wouldn’t have hurt, but the button-down shirt, sleeves turned back, and dark blue slacks made him pause.
If he owned such a thing as pajamas, he might have put on just the bottoms, give her a little gun show. Put his chest on display. He knew she liked that. But he really was a one trick pony where his wardrobe was concerned—she was right about that. He slept nude. No need for loungewear. Damn.
Mmmm. That smell. He inhaled deeply and let it sink into him. His mouth watered at the scents wafting from the shower room. Rhiann. Sweet. Feminine. Seductive. His.
“Liam!” He heard a soft gasp followed by her charming giggle. “What is all this?”
The sound in his head rivaled the crashing of the waves along the shore outside when he turned toward the vision in white he found standing in the center of the archway leading to the en suite. She was so breathtaking all he could do was stare.
A short, silky robe—white—belted around her waist, clung to curves that he ached to touch. She was reaching up, taking a clip from the hair gathered in a mass of curls atop her head.
Those bewitching green eyes were brimming with laughter and her smile? His heart contracted at the sight.
Clip removed, her long mane of soft hair unfurled in slow motion. When she shook her head to aid the fall, brown curls tumbling across her shoulders starkly contrasted with the pure white of the silk that covered her nakedness. A single ringlet fell in the opening of the robe and teased the curve of her breast.
He wondered if she had any idea at all how beautiful she was or how desperately in lust with her, he was.
Oh, dear sweet baby Jesus! What had he done? Rhiann couldn’t believe her eyes. The scene he’d set while she lingered in the shower was just about the most adorable thing she’d ever seen.
Tossing the hair clip in her hand aside, she covered her mouth and giggled, her shoulders shaking slightly from the laughter and happiness jolting her senses.
The enormous bed had the covers turned back showing a wide swath of crisp, white linen and he had plumped every pillow he could find and set in a crescent along the headboard of what would be her side of the bed. He had laid the luxurious cashmere throw that normally draped the chaise there, too.
All the lights were dimmed and a cup of something very hot that had swirls of steam rolling from it sat on her nightstand. Why, he’d even put the remote control there, too! Holy shitballz. What guy ever surrendered control of the TV?
This. Was. Epic!
And the icing on the cake? He must have scoured the zillion on demand channels until he found what he imagined was something she’d like. Awww.
The longing she found in Liam’s eyes only slightly altered the cautious, out-of-his-milieu look on his handsome face.
Spying his phone at the end of the bed, she didn’t doubt that if she opened his web brows
er, she’d find an amusing search history. This wonderfully adorable, fucked-up, complicated, overachieving, full of contradictions man had undoubtedly looked into suggested ways to deal with a hormonal woman. Priceless.
She didn’t feel her feet moving toward him, didn’t know whether she crawled across the bed on all fours or if she pushed her belly button and flew—all Rhiann knew for sure was she had to touch him, wrap her arms around him, and show him how wonderful he was.
“Baby,” she muttered as her arms wound possessively about his neck. Flattening her body against his, she reached for his mouth with hers and set about telling him in no uncertain terms who he belonged to and who loved him.
As her lips brushed his, he moaned, pulled her firmly in his powerful embrace, and surrendered to her kiss. He let her lead, so she did, subjecting him to a wicked ravishment of nips, licks, and tongue swirls intended to set his senses on fire.
“You taste so good,” she told him then sucked his tongue deep into her mouth in a very naughty and suggestive way. Inhaling his groans became an addiction. More. She needed more.
Hungry, her head swimming with desire, Rhiann left urgent kisses all over his face until burrowing into the warmth of his neck, she licked his skin and growled against the flesh she was devouring.
Liam’s arms tightened around her. “Rhiann,” he groaned. She kept on licking, found a spot she liked then opened her mouth, pressed her lips to his neck and suckled—marking him with her passion.
His answering shudder unleashed the same from her, which only made him clutch her harder. When his hand slid from her waist and slowly caressed her bottom through the silky robe, she couldn’t help herself. Biting down hard, she made a meal of his flesh and lost her way in the process.
Mindless, driven by a desire so mighty and powerful that she had no defense against it, Rhiann yielded to the wanton seductress Liam inspired and went wild in his arms.
It took her a bit to realize that he was holding back. Why wasn’t she naked and under him on the big bed, crying in ecstasy as he claimed her? Finally.
His grunts and the way those amazingly strong fingers dug into her curves let her know she wasn’t alone in her desire but why was he letting her take charge?
Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) Page 32