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    288 Vouchers


    <b>Chapter </b>74


    “Turn around,” he ordered.


    I did.


    “Touch yourself.”


    I hesitated. Heat crawled up my neck.


    “Emily. Do it.”


    With trembling fingers, I reached between my thighs. The room was too quiet. Too loud. Every breath he took behind me felt like a touch.


    As I moved, I heard him shift. My eyes darted to the mirror across the room. He was stroking himself, watching me. That slow, controlled rhythm that made my insides coil.


    “Don’t stop,” he rasped.


    I didn’t. I couldn’t.


    I reached that peak, eyes locking with his in the mirror, and everything came undone. My back arched. My moan broke the silence.


    Then he was on me.


    He didn’t wait.


    “This,” he grunted, thrusting into me with unforgiving need, “is for following another man off.”


    Another thrust.


    “For smiling at him.”


    Another.


    “For letting them take pictures of you with him.”


    Harder now. Wilder.


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    “For listening to that stupid song.”


    I wed at the sheets, meeting him thrust for thrust. “I deserve it,” I cried out


    “Damn right you do.”


    My body was fire. He was me.


    We didn’t speak again until the end, when we came together. Harsh. Loud. Desperate.


    And when it was over, when Iy there ruined and trembling, he pulled me close. Pressed his lips to my shoulder.


    The silence returned. But this time, it was warm.


    Comfortable.


    I didn’t realize I was still shaking until he tucked the nket around me.


    “You’re quiet,” he said softly.


    I hesitated.


    “I have a confession.”


    His body stiffened.


    “Emily… please don’t tell me you kissed Mason or something.”


    I blinked. Then burst outughing. “What? No! God, Liam. Nothing like that happened.”


    He sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “Good. Because I swear, I was ready to break something.”


    I bit my lip. “But I think Sophia sent me photos of you looking like a drowned rat by the pool. Twice. Same position. You looked dead, honestly.”


    He groaned. “That little demon is getting it. I’ve been too lenient.”


    I poked his side. “You love her. She has you wrapped around her finger.”


    “Only reason she’s still living here,” he muttered. “I make threats. She ignores them.”


    Silence again.


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    Then I asked, “Why the pool, though?”


    He paused. “Because it holds a memory. My favorite. You. In that ck lingerie. The way the water clung to you. The way youughed that night. It’s all I had when you were away<i>” </i>


    My throat tightened.


    I nced up at him, finding something vulnerable behind his eyes. A man who hated showing weakness, admitting loneliness. But there he was, exposed in the dim glow of the bedroom, sharing a moment he’d tried to bury under anger.


    “You remember that night?” I whispered.


    “I remember everything,” he replied. “The sound of yourugh. The way you told me to stop sshing water like a child. The curve of your smile when I pulled you against me in that pool. I wasn’t just thinking of the past. I was holding onto it. Because it reminded me that you were mine once.”


    I didn’t know what to say. My heart clenched. Words were suddenly too small for the emotion blooming in my chest.


    He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re my woman. But for the past days, the world thinks you belong to some singer.”


    “Some singer,” I echoed, smiling.


    “Don’tugh. It’s not funny.”


    “I know. I’m sorry.”


    He looked at me long and hard. “Are you okay with that? The public thing?”


    “No,” I said honestly. “But it wasn’t intentional. It just… happened. Mason is a friend‘


    His jaw tightened slightly. “And what am I?”


    I met his gaze.


    “More than a friend.”


    He leaned in, brushing a kiss to my temple. “Good. Because we need to make that clear tomorrow. No more confusion. No more question marks.”


    I nodded, curling deeper into his chest.


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    “What if they still talk?” I asked quietly.


    He answered without hesitation. “Let them. As long as you’re here with me, they can say whatever they want.”


    The soft crackle of oil in the pan was the only sound in the kitchen as I carefully flipped the eggs. The smell of toast drifted up, mixing with the faint aroma of coffee.


    I wasn’t about to risk another surprise breakfast–in–bed from Liam. One look at his burnt pancakesst week had been enough. Kindness shouldn’t be put to the test like that.


    And afterst night’s… marathon, I needed something hearty to survive the day. My body ached in all the best ways, but I wasn’t trying to tempt fate on an empty stomach. Coffee was non–negotiable, and anything remotely greasy suddenly felt like a lovenguage.


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