Page 14 of Not That Impossible

Yeah, I thought. Get a good look.

I took a deep, deep breath, and sighed it out as I dragged a hand down my chest and gripped my cock. I was so hard at this point, I nearly came at my own touch.

I met his gaze with a challenging glare that made him, for some infuriating reason, smile.

“No,” he said, and shook his head.

“Yes,” I bounced back.

He firmed his jaw. Ducking down, he cupped my cheek and said with absolute conviction, “This was wrong. I apologise. It won’t happen again.” He kissed me, and left.

I watched him walk out of the sitting room. I heard the quiet swish of fabric as he collected his coat. My front door closed with a gentle click.

“We’ll see,” I said, with just as much conviction.

4

It didn’t take long for all the heat Liam had fired up in me to drain away in the cool air of the sitting room. My breathing was already back to normal. Out of habit, I checked my pulse. It had snapped back to its steady resting rate of 50 bpm.

I was sprawled out like a hussy on the sofa. One leg had slipped off and I had a foot on the chilly carpet. One arm was flung over my head. I still had a hand on my cock.

I squeezed gently, and sighed.

I didnotsee that coming.

I eased my hand up and down my painfully hard cock. It wouldn’t take much to bring myself off.

Liam had…holycrap. He’d wrangled me, and pushed me about the way I’d longed for. He’d squashed me and held me down—I could break free but he didn’t know that—and for that brief moment, I’d felt consumed by him.

It was glorious.

My hand sped up, the sound of it loud and deliciously obscene in the cold and silent room.

I rolled off the sofa and onto my feet, and bolted up the stairs.

I wasn’t going to waste a genuine real-life Liam-Nash-induced-on-purposeerection with a half-hearted orgasm as I lay there feeling sad and also regretting not turning the heating on when I came in.

I flung myself facedown on my bed and made a thorough disgrace of myself as I humped my hand and pretended it was Liam’s.

Pretended that it hadn’t ended downstairs after all.

That I was here because Liam had coaxed me tenderly from the sofa and escorted me up the stairs. That he had laughingly asked which way to the bedroom, and then taken over and guided me, stopping en route to press more kisses to my eager mouth.

He’d lowered me to the mattress, whispered that he wanted me—on your stomach, baby—and then…and then…

I moaned into the duvet.

And then he slipped a hand between me and the mattress and told me to work for it, that he loved my beautiful arse and wanted to see it as I pumped into his grip, and—

I shuddered and came all over my duvet.

I lay there panting, face hot with a mix of delighted embarrassment and good old-fashioned physical exertion.

Groaning, I flipped to my back.

Damn it. I’d changed the duvet just this morning. I hadn’t been a teenager for years. I really didn’t have any excuse for losing control that badly.

I hopped into the shower, cleaned up in record time, and got dressed in a clean pair of sweatpants and a compression shirt. Normally on a writing afternoon I’d snuggle in old plaid flannel pj bottoms and a cosy jumper but I was running out of time. I had to leave for the gym in an hour and a half, and I hadn’t even turned my MacBook on today.

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