by Alexis Angel
Cara
Okay, it’s official: I’m impressed.
I was a bit hesitant when he told me he was taking me to his place, but this beats whatever a five-star restaurant could offer us.
We’re standing in the rooftop garden of his penthouse, a gentle warm breeze whipping at my hair. There’s a cozy table set in the middle of the huge garden, a red tablecloth draped over it; the table’s already set, and everything from the plates to the silverware adds a certain classiness to the whole thing.
“Here we are,” he tells me, leading me toward the table and pulling one chair back for me. Thanking him with a nod, I sit at the table and wait for him to do the same. “Red or white?” He asks me, pointing at the selection of bottles resting on a side table.
“Red,” I reply, trying to sound confident and failing miserably. Look, I’m not exactly someone that’s easily stunned by riches, but Liam seems to be the kind of wealthy guy that, no matter how hard you try, you can’t help but be impressed. I mean, a rooftop garden in Tribeca, the most expensive neighborhood in Manhattan? And, really, his apartment is so luxurious that I’d be impressed even without this garden. Seriously, how much money does Liam even have?
I thought that he was just a boy in a grown man’s body, someone living it up on his parent’s dime, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. He’s so poised and commanding of his surroundings that there’s no doubt in my mind - wherever his money is coming from, he isn’t living at someone else’s expense. No, this is a man in charge of his own life.
“Oh, here he comes,” Liam suddenly says, looking over my shoulder and smiling. I turn around on my chair and see a man walking into the garden from a door that I presume leads to the kitchen - he’s wearing dress pants, a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, and a chef’s apron. And the weird thing is… I think I recognize him from somewhere.
“Ah, Liam, my good boy!” The man cries out in a thick French accent, gripping Liam’s right hand and shaking it heartily. Then he turns to me and, bowing exaggeratedly, takes one of my hands and kisses its back. “Enchanté!” He says merrily, a giant smile on his face. I look back at him, slightly surprised, and I notice the sleeve tattoos covering his forearms, an intricate black pattern that seems to continue under his shirt.
“Léo Moreau, I’ll take it you’ve already heard of him,” Liam tells me, and my brain suddenly lights up. Holy shit - Léo Moreau? The celebrity chef from “The Cook from Hell”? How the hell did Liam manage to convince a top notch chef like Léo to cook for him in his kitchen?! “I see you recognize him,” he laughs, seeing the stunned expression on my face. Yeah, this time there was no hiding my true emotions.
“It’s… It’s an honor!” I tell Léo, and he just bows down again, one hand over his chest. I’m stunned - on TV he’s such a hardass but, in real life, he seems to be a genuinely nice guy.
“The honor is all mine,” he tells me, standing up straight and placing one hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Liam’s a good friend of my family and, more importantly, he knows how to appreciate good food and good wine! I’m always happy to cook for someone like that!”
“Thank you, Léo,” Liam replies humbly, looking at the chef and smiling. By the way they’re treating each other, I think it’s a pretty safe bet to say they know each other pretty well. Jesus, I knew Liam moved in circles where celebrities were a dime a dozen, but this is almost too much.
“Well, let me bring the food!” Léo continues joyfully, turning around and snapping his heels together. He waltzes into the kitchen and, two seconds later, he appears again, this time pushing a food cart, the smell coming from it making my stomach rumble. “And here it is!” He continues, waving his hand at the variety of plates covering the huge cart.
“You really went all out, Léo,” Liam laughs, his eyes going over the food.
“The best food for the best man! And for the best lady, of course,” he adds, bowing again in my direction. “Brown bread with the best French olive oil,” he announces, setting one plate on the table, right between me and Liam. “And then tartare of lamb, kelp, oysters and -- ah, Liam knows all about what I’ve prepared! You’re in good hands, Miss Cara. Enjoy your dinner,” he finally concludes, taking his apron off and bowing one last time. How did he know my name? I don’t remember Liam introducing me, which means… He has been talking about me.
Is that a good or bad thing? I can’t really tell.
“Thank you!” I say with Liam in a single voice, and Léo just smiles and struts back to the kitchen. A few seconds later we hear the door of Liam’s apartment being slammed shut as Léo leaves.
“I had no idea you wanted to impress me this bad,” I tell Liam with a slight chuckle, my stomach roiling as I soak the brown bread with olive oil. Léo wasn’t kidding - this is the best olive oil I’ve ever tasted.
“Well, I actually thought of cooking for you… But Léo just offered his help when I told him I’d have someone over.”
“I never thought he’d be such a nice guy,” I confess, still trying to blend Léo’s true personality with whom I expected him to be.
“Yeah… What you see on TV is just for show. He’s one of the nicest people you’ll ever know.”
“Seems like it,” I muse, realizing that it really takes a genuine nice guy to come and cook for a friend, even though he’s a world renowned chef with restaurants all over the world.
We spend the next hour trying each of Léo’s delicacies, each one unleashing a world of pleasure inside my mouth. I’ve never been one of these bon vivants that enjoy gourmet food, but this is something else entirely. Of course, it also helps that the wine is as good as the food; and, more than that, the company is also enjoyable.
Our conversation is superficial and lighthearted, but it’s enough for me to realize that I had a completely wrong impression of Liam. Sure, he has that bad boy gravitas, but he’s so much more than that. He seems to be a real man, one that knows how to balance his aggressiveness with some unexpected chivalry.
And all of this has made me very confused. Why is he a constant in the tabloids when he seems to be the exact opposite of what the media tries to portray him as?
“I don’t understand, Liam. Why do you seek out the spotlight?” I finally ask him, pushing all small-talk aside and going straight for the chase. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy that chases after fame.”
“That’s because I’m not. I don’t want the spotlight, Cara… But everyone insists on making me the center of attention. It’s kinda tiresome, actually.”
“Oh, come on. You’d keep a low profile if you really wanted to shrug off all that attention. I mean, how hard can it be to lead a normal life? Just act like a boring man, and soon enough the paparazzi will go away.”
“Alright, I’ll admit it. I don’t really like the fame, but it has its uses.”
“Oh?”
“If I’m in the spotlight, that means the spotlight isn’t shining over my family.”
“Your family?” I ask him, having no idea where the conversation is heading. Is he being genuine? Or is he trying to play me with false niceness? Maybe that’s how all these women fall for him - they come in expecting an asshole, and then he unleashes his gallant charm upon them.
“Yeah, my family. My father used to be an infamous playboy back in the seventies, and the press was relentless. They made him look like a real bastard, you know?” He laughs, but then he looks to the side and falls silent; swirling the wine inside his glass, he lets his gaze roams over the New York brightly lit skyline. “I just think my parents deserve to rest now. They don’t need to deal with the media sniffing after a story or bullshit like that. So I keep the focus on me. At all times.”
Well, that’s surprising. Does New York’s most notorious playboy have a golden heart? Seems like it. The jury’s still out on Liam, though - I’m not going to buy into his knight in shining armor narrative just because he sounds convincing. Most sociopaths sound convincing as well, and they aren’t exactly what I’d call
eligible bachelors.
But still… I wasn’t expecting any of this from Liam. For the first time in my life, a man has finally managed to surprise me.
“Come here,” he tells me suddenly, placing his glass on the table and standing up. He offers me his hand and I take it, allowing him to pull me up to my feet. We walk to the glass railing of the balcony and stare at the city underneath us, its bright lights like glowing stars on the firmament.
“I know I’m not exactly a role model,” he whispers, turning to me with a faint smile on his lips. “But I truly don’t care about being seen as this or as that. I am what I am, and that’s it.”
“That’s not a bad way to live,” I admit, seeing myself reflected in his words. More than understanding what he’s telling me, I feel it deep in my bones.
In a way, he’s just like me.
Before I know it, I’ve turned to him and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt; I go on tiptoes, lock my eyes on his and hold my breath.
And then I kiss him.
10
Cara
One kiss - that’s all it takes. The moment our lips touch, I know I’m doomed. All self-control, all thoughts of right and wrong… It all goes out the window with one simple kiss.
Liam presses his body against mine, pushing me back against the table on the balcony. His hands go to my waist, his long fingers exploring every curve of my body. There’s no fighting this. How could I? After trying so hard to seduce, my sentence is set in stone.
I let out a small sigh as his lips go to my neck, desire rippling through me as his full lips explore my skin. My nipples are already hardening, straining against the fabric of my bra and pleading for his touch.
I know I should put an end to this. I should tease him some, make him beg for it. But, somehow, my brain can’t process any of that. With each passing second the real world becomes just a distant nuisance, like the echoed memory of some long forgotten dream. Only his touch matters to me now… His lips, his hands. His muscular chest pressed tight against mine.
My eyes are closed, but I don’t need to see. I let my hands guide me, my fingertips going up his neck as I explore the hard features of his square jaw line and high cheekbones. I go up to his hair, running my fingers through and dishevelling it, my heart beating faster than ever.
A shiver goes through my spine as he slides his hands up the sides of my body, running them up to my hair. There, he hooks his fingers in it, yanking and forcing me to throw my head back and expose my neck. His slightly parted lips give way to a row of perfect white teeth, and he nibbles at the tender skin on my neck, all of me surrendering to Liam Donovan.
Still gripping my hair, he lets one hand fall down to my waist and then, burying his fingers on my flesh, forces me to turn on my heels. I offer no resistance, my fingers gripping the edge of the table on the balcony. He laces my waist with his arm and I jut my ass back, immediately feeling the bulge inside his pants squeezing itself against my ass cheeks.
I lean forward over the tables, sighing heavily while he takes both his hands down my legs and, grabbing the hemline of my dress, he pushes it up to my waist. My skin prickles as I feel the cool air lapping at it, and I can’t help but bite down on my lower lip as I imagine Liam’s eyes tracing the contour of my ass, my small black thong the only barrier between me and him.
Placing the back of his hand behind my knee, he slides his fingers up my leg, only his knuckles brushing against my skin. He goes up to my cheeks and then starts to trace the contour of my thong, going all the way to my groins. Another sigh leaves my lips as his fingertips go back and forth, my pussy growing wetter by the second. Everything in me is burning, desire like an anchor on my mind, pushing it down into a sea of forbidden lust.
And it feels amazing.
I hold my breath as his lips travel from my neck to my ear, and then he whispers.
“Spread your legs,” he says, a commanding tone in each of his words. The moment I hear him, I move, my body reacting on instinct. There’s something about him - something wild and primal - that leaves no space for defiance. Whatever he tells me to do, I know I’ll do it.
As soon as I spread my legs, he grabs my thong and pulls it against the side of my thigh. I grit my teeth as he stretches the fabric, only stopping after the sound of it ripping reaches my eardrums. He throws it to the side like a used rag, and I suddenly feel exposed, my cheeks flushing as I imagine him looking at my naked ass.
There’s no time for being coy, though. I breathe out sharply as he smacks my right ass cheek, the open palm of his hand hitting me with enough strength to leave a mark. He does it again, this time on the left side, and a trembling moan leaves my lips. Just the sound of it is enough to drive me crazy - it’s dry and firm, like a gunshot, and it tells me that being with him will be unlike anything I have ever done.
I tremble with anticipation as he places one finger on my inner thigh, moving it upwards toward my pussy. He takes his time, brushing his fingertip against both my groins before going for it… but the moment he touches me there, it’s Heaven.
His touch is gentle and patient, his finger barely touching my folds as he moves it along the length of my pussy, toward my clitoris. When he reaches it, he presses slightly down and all hell breaks loose inside of me. I close my eyes, my breathing growing ragged as the whip of desire lashes at me. With my heart drumming hard inside my chest, I move my hips back, desperately trying to make him slide his fingers in me.
“Don’t move,” he whispers against my ear again. His words are soft, but there’s no room for doubt: I will obey him.
“I won’t,” I tell him, willing my legs to remain still as I submit to his torture of anticipation: I’m dripping wet right now, and still he keeps teasing me, moving his finger back and forth over my inner lips. Breathing out slowly, I try to keep my composure, but it gets harder anytime his finger brushes against my clit. He applies a perfect pressure there - not too much, not too little -, leaving his finger there just enough to leave me wanting more.
When he pushes past my pussy lips, his finger sliding just an inch in, I brace myself for an explosion of pleasure. But it doesn’t come - instead of sliding his finger in all the way, he only prods, moving it back and forth and driving me completely insane. I have to resist the urge to push my hips back against him, my insides shouting for more.
“Be patient,” he tells me, his finger circling the opening between my folds. I try to respond, to say that I can’t be patient, but the only thing that leaves my throat is a small groan. I can’t think straight, let alone form a coherent sentence.
Then, perhaps feeling my desperation, he flicks his wrist and slides his finger all the way in. I hold my breath as I feel him inside of me, just a taste of what’s to come - yes, somehow I know that there’s a lot more to come. The shackles of self-control have fallen off my mind, and now there’s no going back.
He holds his position, his finger deep inside me, pressed hard against my inner sweet spot. Only when he starts to slowly slide his finger out do I breathe again, my brain suddenly remembering that I need to do it in order to keep alive - it’s easy to forget about these things when the only thing your body wants is pleasure.
There’s a smooth cadence to my breathing now, one that matches the rhythm of his finger. He moves it in hard, and then slowly back out, taking his time with me. The more he does it, the more I ache to really feel him inside of me.
He starts to go faster, my breathing growing harsher each time I feel him deep inside of me. A moan climbs up from my throat to my lips as he slides one more finger inside, pushing it all the way in with one single movement. I let my head fall down, my hair covering my face as I close my eyes, that sweet tension spreading from my pussy to all of my limbs. Like the calm before the storm, I know one is brewing deep inside me.
I come the moment he slides his two fingers in, curling them upwards like a hook against my G-spot. I moan, the sound of my voice echoing through the New York night, and he presses harder ag
ainst me. He keeps still as waves of pleasure make my muscles twitch, my chin trembling as I struggle to keep breathing.
“This is just the start,” he whispers, breathing deeply over my neck and taking my scent in. I purr as he slides his fingers out, and then my lips curl into a smile as he wipes off my juices on my ass cheeks. With my body still twitching, I let my hand dart behind me and against his chest. Without seeing what I’m doing, I let my fingers go down the front of his shirt, and I only stop when I find what I’m looking for: a hard bulge between his legs, one that holds promises of unspeakable delight. I curl my fingers around it, electricity shocking my brain as I think of the possibilities.
I move my hand up and down, stroking him over his trousers, but I can’t do it for long - I need to feel him on me, inside me, not just on my hand. Letting go, I let my fingers go over to his waist, and then I hook them on his pants; I unbuckle his belt fast, open his zipper, and then tug them down hurriedly, his cock brushing against the back of my hand. Yes, babe. You can absolutely do that with one hand if you have enough sex. It feels as if my heart is going to burst from all the anxiety, my body desperately craving him inside me.
Before I can push his cock down and between my legs, he grabs me by the wrist. Holding it harshly, restraining me, and then presses his body against mine. With his length between my ass cheeks, he presses even harder, my body close to the boiling point. It’s hard to be patient when he’s so close, and when I can feel his unbridled desire for me… But, fighting against all of my instincts, I do it, even though what my body demands is for me to turn around and guide him home.
I rock my body against him, moving it in waves as the warmness of his cock seeps into my skin. Time seems to dilate as I stroke him like that, eternity blanketing my mind. Please, I almost pray to the Heavens, let this last forever.
With a sudden movement, he pulls back, his cock no longer against my body. But then he yanks on my hair again, forcing my head back as, with his other hand, he guides his cock between my thighs. I gasp as the tip of his cock brushes against my pussy lips, my mind suddenly capable of producing one simple though: yes, yes, yes.