Page 60 of False Confidence

Her brain swirled. “I’m okay.” She swallowed, sucking in a big breath. “Just unpacking some shit.”

“Care to share with the class?”

“Nah. I think I’ll save it so I have something to earn my next orgasm with,” she said, and Liam shook his head, smiling. He cupped her face with his hand, rubbing his thumb over her cheek.

“I think we need to have a talk about what this,” he gestured between them, “is, and what we want. Soon.”

Jazz nodded, her anxiety calmer but still fluttering in her stomach. He wouldn’t be smiling as he said it if he was going to call things off—hell, not even five minutes had passed since he’d said exactly the opposite, but the little voice in the back of her head couldn’t help but expect the worst.

“In the meantime,” Liam continued, “no more being mean to yourself, please. I instinctively want to fight everyone who’s mean to you and you being mean to yourself makes that complicated.”

“Be honest with me: have you ever fought someone before?”

“No, but I would,” Liam said, a shade defensively. “For you, I would.”

He deserved a tighter hug for that. Jazz squeezed him, then rose on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I would fight someone for you too.”

“Oh, I believe that,” Liam said, smiling against her lips. “But I also believe you’d fight someone just for fun.”

“Duh. I’m a Scorpio middle child through and through, baby: rebellious, domineering, hot-tempered…”

“Don’t forget charming, sensual, and loyal. Coincidentally, all of my favorite things.”

She gaped at him.

“Oh, don’t be too impressed. I know next to nothing about astrology, but I asked my dad for your birthday and looked it up when we first met. I’ve been waiting years for the right time to pull that info out.”

She had never been more attracted to him. Jesus. Jazz wanted nothing more than to show him just how much that turned her on, but the elevator dinged, and though she hated herself for doing it, she jumped out of his arms. The flash of hurt on Liam’s face lasted only a split second, but it lanced through her like a knife in the chest.

“Hey you two,” Cal said with a wide smile as he walked into the office. “What are you up to?”

“We were going to grab some lunch. Ethel’s?” he suggested, and Jazz nodded her agreement. Ethel’s was the diner closest to their office building, and a favorite of the Michaelson and Hicks’ team.

“Sounds perfect. You want to join us, Cal?” Asking was the polite thing to do. It had nothing to do with avoiding any kind of serious conversation with Liam over lunch. Of course, Liam raised a brow that told her he saw right through her flimsy invitation. That was fine by her—she was quite sure she’d enjoy paying for it later.

Frustration and pleasure built side by side within her as she clung to the headboard. Her wrists were cuffed, but she had enough leeway to wrap her fingers around the wooden posts and hold on for dear life as Liam fucked her mercilessly, her ankles on his shoulders.

The thrust of his cock inside her, deep and rough, was accented with soft kisses to her calves, and it felt incredible. Embers sizzled all over her body, but she just couldn’t get her brain on board. She pinched her eyes closed, sucking in a watery breath, and Liam stilled immediately.

“Darling—”

“Fuck,” she interrupted, turning her head to hide her face in her arm. Had she always cried this much? Jesus. “It’s just… It’s not going to happen. I’m sorry.”

Liam made quick work of setting her legs down and unbuckling her cuffs. She immediately covered her face with her hands, trying desperately to suck her goddamn tears back into her eyeballs. What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Look at me,” Liam pleaded, his voice soft. He laid his palm on her shoulder, warm and comforting, but not invasive, like he was trying to give her space. A few months ago, Jazz would have relished in the space to work through her feelings. But now, she needed to be close to him like she needed air.

She flung her arms around his shoulders and burrowed into his chest, breathing him in. Sweet, spicy, warm, safe. Liam wrapped her in his arms, pressing his face to the top of her head.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, the words muffled because she had no intention of moving away from his chest.

“Sorry for what? You haven’t done anything wrong,” he replied, running his hand down her back.

“I thought I could finish. I wanted to. I just couldn’t focus.”

“It’s okay. You never have to be sorry for that. It won’t happen every time. That’s completely normal. If you’re not feeling something, we can switch it up and try something else, take a breather, or stop, no questions asked.”

Jazz pulled back, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks. “But this is your thing. And you’ve made everyone else come so obviously I’m the problem.”

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