Seeking Justice (21 page)

I turn in the direction of his room when I hear him call my name.

“Caitlyn.” I feel so freaking vulnerable with no clothes on. “You are not to come.” He sounds close.

I almost stop in my tracks, but instead, I take off running down his hallway to the bedroom and lock myself in his en suite bath. I move quickly, my heart pounding, to the back of the bathroom as if that will provide me with more security.

Maybe I’m the crazy one since I’m grinning like an idiot.

The doorknob rattles and my heart gives a lurch. After a few minutes when all remains quiet, and I’m fairly certain he’s not going to bust down the door, I step toward the vanity to wash my hands and splash water on my face. Then I brush and rebraid my hair. I lean against the counter looking in the mirror. I’m still in need of relief, and it wouldn’t take much to find the release I so desperately need. Do I dare? How would he know? All he’d have to do is touch me and I’d be ready to go again.

My nipples are still throbbing, swollen into hard, pouty points. My lips are swollen too from his demanding kisses, and I know that when I come, I want it to be by Liam’s hand.

He’s so much better at it than I am.

I wrap a towel around my body and slowly open the door. The bedroom is empty, and I stealthily move to the closet, slipping into one of Liam’s T-shirts.

Chapter Eleven

I
stop abruptly in the kitchen doorway.

Wow.

Liam has changed out of his suit clothes. He’s now wearing a black, short sleeve button down shirt, left undone to flap open as he moves with ease about his kitchen. I catch tantalizing glimpses of his perfect chest and rock hard abs while his low-slung jeans do little to conceal the defined V that dips beneath the well-worn fabric.

His feet are bare, and I decide, not for the first time, that he is the sexiest man I have ever seen. I smile. Barefoot and in the kitchen, hmmm…

The delicious aroma of whatever he’s cooking causes my stomach to grumble. He looks up, dark blue eyes meeting mine. When his gaze travels down my body, I shiver in reaction.

“Sit.” He nods toward the center island, and I slide onto one of the stools.

“It smells delicious in here,” I say appreciatively. He smiles slightly as he sets plates and silverware onto the counter. “Can I help with anything?”

“No, it’s nearly ready.” He looks up and smiles. “It’s only pasta.”

Fuck.
Will I ever get beyond melting for that smile?

He steps to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of white wine. I watch as he uncorks and pours two glasses, bringing one to the counter to sit in front of me.

Oh. I need wine. Lots of wine. As I reach for the glass, he looks back at me from the fridge.

“You only get two glasses of wine—so enjoy them wisely.” His eyes linger momentarily.

“What?” I say softly. “Why?” He’s not only going to control my orgasms but my alcohol consumption as well?

He turns to give me his full attention. “Because the evening is young, darlin’, and I have plans for you.”

A delicious tingle resonates across my skin.

“Oh.”

He walks slowly toward me, his eyes holding mine. There’s a wicked gleam in those blue depths. I gasp softly when he swiftly spins my stool and me around, his arm snaking around my waist to jerk me forward against his hardening erection.

Is this man always aroused? I blush, knowing that because of him
I’m
always ready too.

“Oh,” he says softly in mimic, close to my ear. His warm breath against my neck teases a soft moan from me. The hand that rests on my bare thigh slides up under the hem of his T-shirt. My legs are open, splayed apart on either side of his, and there is no barrier to stop his fingers as they firmly stroke over me. My hands grip his upper arms, as I strive to remain on the stool. “You have no idea what the evening holds for you, darlin’,” he croons against my ear as he inserts two fingers deep into my channel.

My back arches and my head goes back, a long low moan pulls from deep down, letting him know just how much he affects me.

“I’ll never tire of watching how you respond to me,” he says, his voice gruff. He abruptly pulls his fingers from me and steps back. I almost spill off the stool, and he reaches out to steady me.

“Sit up, sugar. It’s time to eat.” He promptly pops the fingers he just had buried between my legs into his mouth. I can’t stop my small gasp or the widening of my eyes, and he laughs outright, low and sexy. “Well now, I know what I’m having for dessert.”

If the heat I feel radiating from my face is any indication, I know I’m blushing bright red. I turn back around, and with a trembling hand I reach for my wine glass, downing half the contents. When I look up, licking my upper lip, Liam is watching me, his blue eyes filled with a lascivious gleam.

My traitorous body responds to that look, and I squeeze my legs together, hoping to curb the riotous need coursing through me. My nipples harden further, jutting boldly against the thin material of the T-shirt, drawing Liam’s knowing gaze, and I cross my arms over my chest.

I feel as if my whole body is a quivering shell. He enjoys keeping me on the edge this way, and I wonder why. His manipulations go beyond foreplay. This is torture.

Liam takes a long sip of wine, watching me over the rim before turning back to our dinner. I watch as he drains the pasta and then pours it into a large bowl.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

He hesitates a moment in the process of drizzling olive oil over the pasta. “My mother,” he says softly and picks up tongs to toss the pasta and oil.

“Is she a good cook?”

He glances up and smiles gently. “Yes. She was—an excellent cook.”

I gulp the sip of wine I’ve just taken, not misunderstanding his answer. “Oh! I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what else to say, and the sudden sadness I feel in the room is not my imagination.

He turns back to the stove, picking up a pan and pours the contents over the pasta. He squeezes juice from a lemon over the top and then grates a generous amount of parmesan before tossing it all together. After spooning some on a plate, he pushes it toward me.

“Eat up. You’ll need your energy.”

I look up, my stomach muscles clenching in a delightful way, but he’s busy piling pasta onto another plate.

I unfold my napkin and dig in. It’s delicious, but I’m not that hungry any longer, not for food anyway.

“This is good,” I say dabbing at my mouth with my napkin before finishing off my first glass of wine. “May I have my second glass, please?”

He looks up and smirks before standing to retrieve the wine from the refrigerator. I try not to watch him as it only adds to my suffering, but it’s impossible as my eyes hungrily follow him.

I look skeptically at the glass after he pours the wine. “If I only get one more glass, you could at least fill it.”

He shakes his head slightly as he fills the glass. “You enjoy pushing the limits, don’t you?”

Do I?
“I don’t think so.” I take a sip of wine.

He glances up, his expression impassive. “Perhaps it’s just my limits you enjoy pushing,” he murmurs.

I squirm on the stool. I push
his
limits? I take another healthy sip of wine as he goes back to eating.

“How old were you when you lost your mother?”

His fork stalls halfway to his mouth before continuing. He chews, wipes his mouth and then takes a sip of his wine.

Okay. I guess I’m being too nosey, or maybe it hasn’t been that long, and her loss is still too fresh for him to want to talk about her. I take another bite of pasta and chew thoughtfully. There are so many questions I want to ask. I have a sudden yearning to know him better.

When his fork clanks against his plate, I look up to catch his intent stare. “I was eighteen.”

Oh. “That was young.”

Something flickers in his eyes, and then he stands, laying his napkin on the counter. “Yes.” He picks up his plate. “Finished?”

“Yes, thank you, it was delicious.” I stand and hand him my plate. “Can I clean up… I mean since you cooked.” I don’t understand his expression when he turns toward me.

“I have a housekeeper, Caitlyn.”

I gather up my silverware and our napkins, before walking around the counter. “Well, I can help you put the leftovers away.” He walks over and takes the items I’ve picked up from me.

“I have a housekeeper. That is not what I need you for.”

It’s all I can do to keep my mouth from hitting the floor as I stare wide-eyed at him.

“Fuck!” He deposits the napkins and silverware on the counter. “I’m sorry, that sounded—”

I avert my gaze, looking anywhere but at him. After a moment, I give a sharp huff of my breath and turn to leave the kitchen.

“Cait.” His hand encircles my arm, stopping me. He pulls me into his arms. “Hey.” His hand encircles the back of my neck, and as he lowers his lips to mine, we both hear the sound of a phone ringing. Liam is suddenly glaring down at me.

“Is that my phone? Where did you put my purse?”

“Ignore it,” he snaps.

I blink. Why is he irritated that someone is calling me? The ringing stops, but I at least want to check who is calling. “Okay, but I still need my purse.”

My phone starts ringing again.

He drops his arms from around me. “Who the fuck is calling you?”

“I don’t know Liam, but I need to check.” When he continues to glare at me, I decide to follow the sound.

I find my purse and my clothes in the living room lying on the couch. My dress is neatly folded with my purse lying on top. I dig out my phone as the ringing stops, the call going to voicemail. The number calling is not one I recognize, probably a wrong number.

I turn and give a start of surprise to discover Liam standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, anger clearly displayed on his face.

“A wrong number.”

His eyes narrow dangerously. “I told you to never fucking lie to me,” he says softly.

“
What?
It was a wrong number.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Caitlyn.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “You just insulted me.”

His forehead creases with a frown. “I didn’t insult you.”

“Reminding me why I’m here was—”

He moves so quickly across the room, I only have time to take a couple of steps back in alarm before he’s grasping my arms, hauling me up against his chest.

“Liam,” I cry out softly.

One arm anchors me immobile as the other grasps my chin.

“I apologized. What I said came out sounding wrong. I don’t want you cleaning up after me, Caitlyn, and you’re not here for a convenient fuck!” I blanch at his words and push at his chest, suddenly needing to put space between us.

“Hey.” He grips my chin a little tighter and tips my face up, but I don’t look at him. “You are here—because I want you here.” My eyes flash to his. He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against mine, his hand releasing my chin to cup the side of my face. I feel the tension leave his body as he simply holds me close.

“I need you here,” he says softly. My eyes widen. The sudden rush of longing that I feel at his words is almost visceral in its intensity. He raises his head, his gaze delving into mine. His thumb gently strokes across my cheekbone and I unconsciously turn my face into the caress. The blue of his eyes is dark and deep, full of an unexplained emotion.

“It’s been a shitty day, from the moment you left, and all I could think about was getting back here to you.” His words reinforce what I sensed earlier from him, an almost desperate need.

“Really?” I breathe, almost afraid I’m dreaming, and if I speak too loudly, I’ll awaken.

He nods slowly, his eyes moving over my face. “All I know is that when I’m with you, everything else fades away. I can forget all the shit that is happening. It’s just you—and me.” His voice is low and seductive as he watches me closely, his eyes holding mine captive in their fervency. He is so freaking hot, and he is simply, everything I’ve ever wanted. My heart feels as if it will pound its way right out of my chest. Surely he feels it as he holds me close.

My gaze breaks from his, lowering to his lips. I lick mine wanting, needing to taste him.

“When you look at me like that, darlin’—Fuck!” He scoops me up, his mouth coming down on mine in a hard, hungry kiss that ravages the last coherent thought I have left. My arms encircle his neck, fingers delving into his silky hair.

Ending the kiss, he strides from the living room with me in his arms. I press my face against his neck, inhaling his addictive scent, raining kisses up and down the column of his throat. His arms tighten possessively around me as we head down the hallway.

I’m frantically pushing his shirt off his shoulders, down his arms as we reach the bedroom and he opens the door. He releases my legs, his hands gripping my waist as I slide down his length. His mouth comes down on mine in another deep, passionate kiss that steals my breath.

Oh, I want him so much.

Liam breaks the kiss long enough to pull the T-shirt I’m wearing up, baring my breasts. I moan, biting my lip as his fingers pinch and pull at my nipples. When he leans down to draw a swollen nipple into his hot mouth, my knees almost buckle. His arm goes around my waist as he sucks and bites at the turgid flesh. Then his mouth is back on mine, nipping and sucking at my lips. His hand squeezes my bare bottom, holding me in place as he pushes his jean covered thigh between my legs, against my softness. My senses are reeling when he raises his head.

“The way your hard nipples feel against my chest, just might get you fucked before you’re ready, darlin’,” he says, his voice husky with passion.

I moan softly, my nipples are sensitive, slightly sore, and he feels wonderful as my bare breasts press against the hot, fevered skin of his chest. I grip his upper arms to keep from pooling at his feet, loving how the muscles bulge when he flexes and moves his arms. I slide my hands over his toned shoulders, down over his pecs and then back up. A shiver courses through my body knowing what this strong man is capable of and how his body brings such pleasure to mine.

I’m not sure at what point I realize we aren’t in Liam’s bedroom, but awareness of my surroundings eventually surfaces.

I pull away slightly. “Where… are we?”

I look around at the room I checked out earlier in the day when I conducted my tour of Liam’s apartment. Dust covers still drape the furniture protectively, the only thing different is there is now a suspension of leather straps dangling from the wooden beam that runs the length of the ceiling.

Liam reaches out to grasp one of the straps that are part of the swing.

Holy hell!

Now I might not know much about the BDSM lifestyle, but even I have heard of sex swings.

“T-shirt off, darlin’.”

I glance around the room, now wondering about the other contents. “What’s under the dust covers?” I whisper, not sure if I really want to know.

“Arms up.”

I raise my arms, unconsciously responding to his command. I shiver as the cooled air chills my skin and causes my nipples to harden almost painfully. Damn, it’s cold. The air conditioning must be set really low.

“It’s cold enough to hang meat in here,” I say as his hands encircle my waist and he lifts me. His laugh is low, an immensely sexy sound that triggers a deep, intense yearning in the pit of my stomach.

“Grab the straps, darlin’.”

The swing looks similar to a regular swing, but there are leather straps instead of chains, and the seat is a strap of leather.

I do as told, and Liam sets me on the wide strap, his hands holding me steady. I pull my gaze from looking above us where two large eyebolts anchored in the wooden ceiling beam support springs and the attached swing.
When did he hang the swing?
Liam slides my hands where he wants them on the straps, and my heart rate picks up with my nervousness. I don’t know what will be expected of me and that, quite frankly, has me suddenly anxious.

And there is the fact I’m naked. I want to angle my arms over my breasts and cross my legs. Liam continually divests me of my clothes while he keeps his on. And though there’s something hot about that, at times such as this, it leaves me feeling very vulnerable. Of course, right now he’s only wearing a pair of sexy, low-slung jeans.

“Liam, I don’t know about this.”

He looks up from adjusting a strap, his eyes looking right into mine.

“I do.”

He gives the swing a little shake, and I jerk in sudden fear of falling. He grins wickedly.

Bastard!