"Fuck," I say it again.
She looks up at me with pride and victory.
But I'm pretty sure we're both winning. I offer her my hand.
She takes it. Lets me pull her to her feet.
"You think you can get away with that, baby?" I ask.
"Away with what, Mr. Pierce?"
I pin her to the table, kiss her hard, slip my hand between her legs.
She groans against my lips as my fingers find her clit.
I rub her with slow circles.
Then faster.
Faster.
Until I find the speed she needs.
I rub her as I toy with her breasts.
Again and again.
Until she's there, groaning against my mouth, rocking against my hand, raking her nails across my chest.
She pulses against me as she comes.
Then she melts. Her entire body goes slack.
I catch her. Hold her close. Soak in the warmth of her body and the sweet sound of her strained breaths.
"Better." I brush her hair behind her ear. "Much fucking better."
She nods into my chest.
"You should get dressed." I press my lips to her forehead. "We're gonna be late."
"Do you care?"
"No."
"Me either."
My entire body fills with pride. More pride than I've felt in a long fucking time.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Liam
I shower, dress, meet Briar in the kitchen.
"I liked your old outfit better." She turns to me with a smile.
"Can't complain about your current look."
She smooths her sheath dress. A forest green with a square neckline and a snug skirt. "I thought about the skirt and blouse, but I wanted to leave a little blood in your brain."
"Merciful."
"That's what they say about me." She strains her tea into a mug of milk. Stirs in honey—the fancy lavender honey I bought for her—and brings the spoon to her wine red lips.
"You plan that?"
"Plan what?"
"Earlier?"
"Did I plan to suck you off?" She licks honey from her spoon. "Not exactly."
"You were wearing lipstick."
She shrugs, feigning innocence. "If you didn't like it…"
"You know I did."
She smiles, victorious.
"I checked our schedule."
"Our schedule?"
"Is it not ours?"
"It's usually your schedule."
It is my schedule. And, usually, she's the one in charge of it. But, soon, it will be ours. Hers, even. She's going to run her own fucking business.
She's going to soar.
I'll be there, working with her, but not the way I am now. Not night and day. Not every business trip and conference and crisis.
I'm happy for her. I'm incredibly fucking proud. But I'm going to miss this too.
"It's ours today," I say. "And we don't have a meeting until eleven."
"We don't?"
"So sit the fuck down. I'm making breakfast."
"Since when do you cook?"
"I'm an excellent cook."
She shoots me an incredulous look.
"I can toast bread."
"Immense skill."
"And fry eggs."
"And not overcook them?"
"We can go out if you want."
"No. I want to see you fry eggs in your suit jacket." She smiles. "Then take your own clothes to the dry cleaner."
I can't help but laugh. "You think I'm incapable?"
"I think it's impossible."
"First step." I shrug my suit jacket off my shoulders. Drape it over a dining chair.
She watches as I roll my sleeves to my elbows. "Good first step."
"Brutal."
"You love it."
I do. I really do. "I guess I'm a masochist."
"Back to that, again?"
"If I am?"
"You think I won't hurt you?"
"I know you'll hurt me."
She laughs. "You shouldn't bait."
"I'm not smart enough to realize that." I warm a pan, find eggs, toast bread.
Briar surveys the counter. "Do you have avocados?"
"Why?"
"Why? You can't eat eggs and toast without avocados."
"I can't?"
"Of course not." She stares at me with surprise. "It's wrong."
"Californian."
"I don't deny that."
"You don't claim it either." I check the fridge. Find an avocado in the fruit drawer. Hold it up to her. "Is one acceptable?"
She makes a hmm motion. "For both of us?"
"It's all yours if you want it."
"No. One is fine."
"But one for yourself would be better?"
"I wouldn't turn it down."
"You can have it."
"No." She shakes her head. "You need to experience the avocado too."
"I've had it before."
"With the eggs and toast."
"Back seat cook."
She bites her lip. Plants in her chair. "I am, aren't I?"
I motion a little. Draw out my fingers until it's a lot.
"I'll stop."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"Do you have cilantro?"
"See."
"It's good with the avocado."
"Sit."
"I'm sitting."
"If you hate it, we can go out."
"Okay. Deal." She takes a sip of her tea. Lets out a soft groan.
It's different than the sound she makes when she comes, but it's close. It's really fucking close.
I focus on cooking for long enough to warm oil, crack eggs, plate avocado halves, find hot sauce.
The eggs cook fast. I scoop them onto plates. Fix my coffee. Bring everything to the dining table.
Briar looks me over carefully. "I think you made it."
"Made it?"
"Without staining your shirt."
"What about this?" I grab the sriracha.
"That's dangerous." She scans the counter, looking for something.
I can't help but laugh. "Have you always been this picky?"
"I know what I like."
"I like that about you." I haven't had many breakfasts with her. I don't have any idea what she does at her apartment when she's alone. But I know Bri. I find the Cholula.