Playboy Prince

"So that's some kind of robot pornography?"

"More like a simulated sex doll."

"Fucked up."

"It's the robot apocalypse." He shrugs what are you gonna do. "There's probably no regular porn left."

"Use your imagination."

"Are you looking at me?"

"You're here."

"You think I don't have an imagination?" he asks.

"I think I'll say bullshit if you claim you don't look at porn."

"I'm not claiming that."

I raise a brow see.

"But it's not my preference. Honest."

"Uh-huh."

"Check my browser history."

"You run a cyber security company. You know about Incognito Mode."

He chuckles. "I look, yeah, but I prefer memories. There's something real about them. Something porn is lacking. Even the classy shit Danielle makes."

"She'd kill you for calling it porn."

"I can take her."

"Can you take Adam?"

"Probably not. But he wouldn't kill a family member."

"You bet your life on that?"

His laugh gets louder. "Then don't tell her."

"I can't promise anything."

His smile widens. "Whether it's erotic photography or hardcore anal. Or something suggestive. A fully dressed woman. An explicitly written sex scene."

"When have you read an explicit sex scene?"

"There's some crazy hot shit in the books Opal reads."

Of course. "And that's the one part you read?"

"Hell yeah. But whatever it is, it's missing something. It's not real. I can't smell it, taste it, feel it."

"But you can with memories?"

"Or fantasies."

"The boss roleplay?"

His eyes flit to my chest. "Yeah."

"How does that go?"

"The usual shit."

I arch a brow.

"My smoking hot assistant comes into my office, calls me Mr. Pierce, talks about how she's desperate to fill every one of my needs."

"Selfish of you."

"What if I need to make her come?"

"Is that how it goes?"

"It varies."

"This is something you… use?"

"I try not to."

"Who do you imagine?"

"Bri—"

"Oh."

"It's not—"

"It's fine. I have plenty of fantasies about you."

"Hurting me?"

"Not in the way you'd like."

He smiles, but it's not easy. It's charged. The joke isn't enough to defuse the tension.

It's in the air.

It's everywhere.

He wants to fuck me.

I want to fuck him.

And, just like before, I can step back, go to sleep, run to some promise of normal.

Or I can move forward.

"I uh… think I'm going back to bed," I say.

"I'll walk you."

"It's not far."

"Then it's not a far walk." He motions to the door. After you.

I turn. Step through the frame. Toward my room.

His fingers skim my back. The silk tank top.

Then under it.

Liam's hand on my bare skin. The brush of his fingers. The pressure of his palm.

He leads me back to my room.

I turn. Look up at him.

Then I say the stupidest thing in the world: "Do you want to come in?"

Chapter Twenty-Five

Briar

Do you want to come in?

We're not at my front door.

We're in his apartment. In front of the spare bedroom. In case someone stops by to check if we're officially together.

This is crazy.

I'm crazy.

Liam's eyes fix on me. They bore into mine. Ask for something deep inside of me. Need, love, affection, desire.

All of the above.

"Briar." My name is a whisper. A promise.

"If you don't—"

He cuts me off with a kiss. It's hard, fast, intoxicating.

My hands go to his hair. My groan vibrates down his throat.

He tastes so fucking good, like Liam and mint and the promise of everything.

For two years, I've wanted to slap him and kiss him in equal measure.

And this is it. Our first real kiss.

It isn't for practice. It isn't for show.

It's solely and completely ours.

And it's perfect.

The wool of his slacks brushes my bare legs. He's wet, but I don't care. I need him closer. I need all his warmth.

I pull back with a sigh. "You're soaked."

"Not yet."

"Liam."

He smiles and presses his forehead to mine. "I want to, Bri. I do. But only if you're sure."

"Take off your clothes." I tug at his tie. "Now."

"You want it bossy?"

"Don't joke—"

"I'm not." He undoes the knot of his tie. Tosses it aside. "Is that how you like it? You want to boss me around?"

"No."

"How do you like it?" He does away with his suit jacket. "I've been wondering for the last two years. Wondering exactly what pushes your buttons." He brings his hands to my hips. "I want every fucking detail."

Shit.

My cheeks flush. My chest too.

He's a dirty master. Of course he is.

He's great at bullshitting dirty talk. Why wouldn't he be great at the real thing?

"Do you take other women to your room?" I ask.

"I have before."

"The spare?"

"No."

"Then there." I turn the handle.

He lifts me and holds me against his chest. Then he carries me into the room, lays me on the bed, pulls something from the dresser.

A condom.

He tosses it on the soft sheets. Steps out of his socks and shoes.

I climb to the edge of the bed. Undo his belt. The button of his slacks. The zipper.

He pushes the pants off his hips. Then he climbs onto the bed in his boxers.

His hand goes to my neck. His lips go to my lips.

This time, his kiss is hard, deep, hungry. His tongue swirls around mine, claiming my mouth, claiming me.