“Yeah?” My lips wet as he moves in closer to me.
He pushes my legs apart with his knees and stands in between them. “Oh yeah. Do you want to have some fun, Holly?” My heart pounds in my chest and words escape me. The scent of the whiskey on his breath overtaking all my senses. “Are you going to say anything?”
I shake my head. Talking seems so overrated right now.
He leans into me, only millimeters from my lips, and I grab onto the edge of his vest demanding him closer. “How about this then?” His arm slips around my waist and he lifts me off the stool. His tongue traces over my lips, demanding I open, and I submit, allowing him in.
He moans down my throat. “Fuck, you taste good.”
The sounds of hoots and hollers pull me away from him reminding me of our very public display. “I really shouldn’t,” I murmur against his lips and place my hands on his firm chest to push him back.
“I really shouldn’t either, but I really want to.” He takes my bottom lip between his teeth. "You fucking captivated me tonight. I need this. One night with you.” His brown eyes blaze into mine.
"Just one night?" I swallow.
"One is all we need." He smirks, his fingers tracing over the curve of my ass. “I promise to make it memorable. Come up to my room with me.”
If you say no, I’ll kick your ass, some voice within me screams.
I nod, not willing to argue with my inner voice while at the same time losing myself in his lust-filled eyes.
“I need to hear you say it," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of my lips.
"Yes," I murmur.
Liam tells the bartender to put everything on his tab, and before I can protest, he’s pulling me into another hazing kiss.
This isn’t me. I have never been the girl who throws caution to the wind. I’m not reckless and I don’t do things on a whim.
I, Holly Jenkins, do NOT have one night stands. Especially not with total strangers I meet at the bar.
I date and let my heart be broken the natural way.
However, as Liam wraps his hands around my waist and leads me to the elevators, it isn’t my brain leading the game; it’s my libido begging for an orgasm from a man who looks like pure sex. Whose arms I've been staring at all night and every time his biceps flex my panties only got wetter. I want to live dangerously for once. I want Liam to take me on every inch of his hotel suite. Liam’s lips attach to the side of my neck as we fumble our way into his hotel room. Clothes go flying before the door has a chance to latch closed. My mind abandons all other thoughts as Liam lifts me to the dresser and his mouth attaches to my achy core.
The sun rises on the next morning, and I wake up naked and alone. Beside me is a note laying on the wrinkled white pillowcase.
I pull the sheet tight to my bare skin and unfold the note. With messy scribble, it reads:
Sorry I had to run and get to work. Room is paid for till 12.
Thanks for a great night. Last night was fun.
-Thor
I crumble up his note and throw it onto the floor.
Asshole.
What did I expect though? I knew what I was getting myself into the second Liam asked me to come up here. I knew he was trouble. My body aches all over, and as I fall back down to the bed, the memories of last night fill my mind. It was all worth it. I shower, dress, and make my exit into the muggy morning, doing the walk of shame back to my car, five blocks away.
CHAPTER ONE
LIAM
Three years later
Music drifts from the garden as I make my way to the deck that overlooks the crowd of mingling socialites, hoping for a moment of peace. I grab my bowtie and yank it loose from my neck. These black-tie events always make me feel as if I'm choking. Money hungry people at every corner nipping at my heels to get a piece of my action. I try to avoid these galas, but I've been forced here against my will by my parents. Though, I know I'm not completely wanted here and only been brought for show. My parents throw these lavish affairs every six months at their estate to make sure their names are always the talk of the elite crowd. It's how it's been since I can remember.
“Champagne, sir?” a pimple faced kid, not old enough to drink himself, offers.
“No,” I grunt, glaring at the kid, who stumbles back, making the drinks wobble. I have an urge to finish knocking them over. “Didn’t they tell you not to bother me?”
“I’m—no—I’m sorry, sir.” The kid tucks his head down and surges away.
I pinch my brow and know it wasn’t the kid’s fault. I doubt my father or mother told the staff not to bother me when it came to alcoholic beverages.
It’s the one thing I hate about coming to these events; the open bar is only twenty feet away from me. My parents know I'm a recovering addict, and though I've been sober for years, and my main addiction was oxy, alcohol was just as much of a crutch to ease my pain. Every day is still a constant battle. Days like today with the stress of a bad couple of weeks rest on my shoulders, and it would be easier to escape in a bottle of whiskey than to deal with the reality.
It’s why I don’t allow myself in these sorts of situations anymore. The temptation where alcohol
