And I’d fucking ruined everything.
I feel sick, remembering how I’d screamed out Alexandre’s name mid-orgasm, the way Liam had frozen, wrenching himself away from me a moment later with a look of such absolute, heartbroken horror that I’m surprised, looking back on it, that he hadn’t just thrown me out then and there.
It would have been hard to blame him, really.
Now, I don’t know how I’m going to face him. I can hear the clinking of dishes from down the hall, and I know he’s in the kitchen, making breakfast. I don’t know what he wants, if I should go out there and join him as if nothing happened, if I should apologize, if I should just stay in here and hide until he inevitably comes and tells me that he wants me to leave and go back to Manhattan.
Something inside of me twists painfully at the thought. I’d been so unsure if I could—or should—stay, and now I don’t know if he even wants me to. But now, of course, I find myself wanting to stay—wanting to see if I can make this right, if there can be something more between us.
Even as broken as I am, I know that sexual chemistry, no matter how intense, isn’t the same as love. But I could feel something deeper beneath just the desire last night, a need that went further than just the craving for pleasure. Something that, if we let it, could blossom into something so much more.
It takes everything in me not to hide in bed, not to curl back up underneath the covers and cry myself back to sleep. I want to let the panic take over, the certainty that I’ve fucked everything up, and let myself dissolve.
Instead, I force myself to push the covers back, getting out of bed. It feels like a monumental effort, every step to the bathroom to turn the shower on so I can clean myself up. When I’m upset or tense, the pain in my feet always feels so much worse, and I can feel my toes curling in, the scar tissue on the soles tight and painful. I strip off my panties and camisole, squeezing my eyes tightly shut at the memory of Liam pulling them down last night and turn the shower on, stepping under the hot spray of water and letting it cascade over my hair and face and body.
I want him again, so badly that it hurts. I let my fingers slide between my thighs for just a moment, feeling the stickiness of his cum there, some of it still inside of me. I wonder if he’ll ever fuck me again, if I’ll ever get to feel him come inside of me fully, slumping down next to me afterward, holding me in the aftermath.
If we’ll ever get to do this without it being fucked up somehow.
I shower as quickly as I can, both wanting to see him before he has a chance to leave for the day and terrified to face him. But I can’t put it off forever. I know the longer that it hovers between us, the greater the chance that he’ll simply decide to put me on a plane back to Manhattan and put an end to all of this.
The smell of breakfast is stronger when I get out, towel-drying my hair quickly and making my way back into the bedroom as hurriedly as I can, tripping over my own painful feet as I reach for the other pair of skinny jeans in the dresser and a pink silk wrap top with fluttery sleeves. I braid my wet hair, securing it with one of the hair ties I bought yesterday. Then once I know there’s nothing else I can do to put off the inevitable any longer, I swallow hard and make my way towards the bedroom door. Liam is waiting just beyond the hall.
He doesn’t look up at first when I step into the living area. I stand there for a moment, shifting on my aching feet before I pluck up the nerve to take a seat on one of the bar stools.
“Liam,” I say softly when he still doesn’t look up, and it’s like I struck him.
He flinches backward, looking up at last, and his eyes widen briefly when he sees me sitting there before his face goes carefully blank again. “You’re up,” he says, an edge to his voice, and he reaches for one of the stoneware plates on the counter, turning back to the stove to fill it with food.
I couldn’t have less of an appetite, but I take the plate and the glass of orange juice he hands me anyway, my fingers shaking. There’s a long beat of silence between us as he turns back to fill his own plate, opting not to sit down. He sets it on the counter instead, poking at his eggs with a fork as he avoids my gaze.
“About last night—” I say hesitantly, and his head snaps up. There’s a look in his eyes that I haven’t seen there before, hurt masked with a sort of flat coldness, and my heart skips a beat in my chest.
He looks like he’s going to tell me to go home, and the only thing I can think of is to beat him to it.
“I can figure out a flight back to Manhattan, if that’s what you want—”
“I want you to stay.” His words are clipped, but he meets my gaze evenly. “I don’t want you to go, Ana, not even after last night. I had some time to think before I came home and after—after I left your room.”
Liam clears his throat, bracing his hands against the countertop as he looks at me. “What happened last night—I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was angry at first, when you—” He swallows hard, his jaw tightening. “It was too soon,” he says finally. “We shouldn’t have done that. We both lost control, and it won’t happen again—not until I know for sure that you can put him firmly in the past. I won’t be inside of you while you think of him, not ever again, Ana. I hope that’s clear.”
I nod wordlessly, my heart racing in my chest.He’s not sending me home,I think with relief. But something has changed, and I’m not entirely sure what yet.
“You need time to heal,” Liam says simply. “And so, in pursuit of that, things are going to be different now. I’ll do what I can to help you, Ana, to take care of you and give you everything you need, but you’re going to have to take care of yourself too.” He nods towards my untouched plate, sitting in front of me. “You’re going to start with eating breakfast.”
My eyes widen a little at the clear command in his voice. It reminds me of the hotel in London, the way he’d told me to let him do what he wanted to me, and a shiver of desire runs through me, a flush of heat settling between my thighs. It hasn’t been that long since he was inside of me last night. My body still remembers it viscerally, the craving for his hands and mouth on me, his thick cock inside of me, flooding through me all over again.
“Okay,” I say quietly, reaching for my fork.
“I want to be clear,” Liam continues, his green eyes still fixed firmly on mine. “This isn’t likehim. You’re not my toy or my doll, not mine to control or use. You can leave anytime you want, Ana, go back to Manhattan if that’s whatyouwant. You can tell me to fuck off, and you can leave me. Your life is yours, to do with what you want. I’m not your owner or your master.”
Something inside of me tightens at the thought of leaving, an ache of hurt that spreads through me and makes me have to blink back tears.I don’t want to go,I think suddenly, and I know it’s true.
I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to leavehim.
I don’t know what happens next, but I want to find out.
“As long as you choose to stay here, though, we’re going to do things a certain way,” Liam continues. “You’re going to eat three meals a day, at least, what you need to nourish yourself based on what the doctor says. You’re going to see a doctor, a therapist, a physical therapist. Until you can get to your first appointment, I’m going to call Max, and he’ll come to talk to you. Once you’re done eating breakfast, we’re going to go out shopping, so you can choose some clothes that fit you correctly and that you like.”