Page 67 of The Summer I Destroyed You

Who wouldn’t have a bad attitude under those circumstances? I know this intellectually and yet I can’t stop believing that if I was so uniformly hated—at home, at school—there must have been something wrong with me too.

I will never grow into a person she and my brother respect or care about. They’re all the family I have, but when do you finally accept that, as Liam said, sometimes you’re best with zero of a thing?

Writing them off would feel like a failure.

But it might also feel very much like a fresh start.

* * *

After I’ve dropped my mother at home, I return to town where I meet with a rep from the company we’ve hired to manage the theater. They are kicking off with a James Bond retrospective—the older movies will cost us almost nothing and it adheres to our retro theme—and while I, personally, find the misogyny in the older movies infuriating, I’m also wondering if Liam might want to go see one with me.

Weak, on my part. I’m certain I’ll regret it.

As I walk to the grocery store in the meeting’s wake, I’m annoyed at myself for thinking ahead with Liam, annoyed at Liam for making me do it though he’s got no idea he did.

He’s close to the door when I walk in, and I want to remain annoyed, but I just sort of can’t. He didn’t shave this morning, and there’s not a man in the fucking world who looks as good as Liam when he skips the razor.

“You had lunch yet?” he asks.

“I don’t eat lunch. And besides,” I say, smirking as I lean close so only he can hear me, “it makes me wet seeing you so hard at work. I couldn’t possibly eat in my current state.”

I walk back into my office and am taking my stuff out of my bag when he walks in and takes a seat…in my desk chair.

“Come here, Emerson,” he demands, patting his lap.

I cross my arms. “You don’t actually expect me to sit on your lap behind my desk. Anyone could walk in and see that.”

“So, it’s okay for you to make me hard as hell talking about how wet something made you, but God forbid anyone should see you in my lap.”

“It’s about respect.”

His lips tip up. “I think it’s about someone not putting their money where their mouth is.”

“I’m happy to put my mouth anywhere you want,” I reply, and he groans audibly. “Just not publicly.”

“No one’s coming back here,” he says, patting his lap again as if I haven’t spoken.

I glance over my shoulder at the open door and sigh heavily as I cross the room and perch gingerly on his knees. “Fine. And why, exactly, are you insisting on this somewhat demeaning display?”

He tugs me backward, fast and without warning, so that I’m no longer perched on his knees but pressed right against his very hard cock with my skirt riding up. “I figured you deserved to see what that smart little mouth of yours produced, firsthand.”

It’s like a bolt of lightning, served right between my legs. I can’t help but rub against him. Maybe I’m torturing myself, but that’s okay if I’m torturing him too. And based on the way he groans again, I definitely am. “It would be so easy for you to slide inside me like this,” I whisper, pulling his hand between my thighs and under the seam of my panties. I’m absolutely soaked already, just from the idea of it. “I could pull down your zipper and rise up just enough for you to slide inside me, right here, with that door wide open.”

“Christ,” he whispers, and he no longer needs my guidance. His fingers are moving on their own now, circling my clit and pushing inside me. “Let me.”

I gasp. “Why should I? I can come just like this.”

He withdraws his fingers entirely. “Then I’d better make sure I get mine first,” he whispers. “Get on your knees, Emmy.”

I look behind us at the door, still open wide. Even if I’m hidden under the desk, it’ll be pretty fucking obvious what’s going on if Liam’s groaning with his head thrown backward.

“I wasn’t asking, Emerson,” he growls. “Get on your fucking knees.”

I can’t get to the floor fast enough. He’s already yanking his jeans open, reaching into his boxers.

“Suck, princess,” he commands.

I glare up at him. “I think I can figure it out from here, yard boy.”

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