Page 37 of False Confidence

Liam was looking her over with a scrutinous gaze, searching, she knew, for any signs of unease. Which made it the world’s worst fucking timing for Jazz to feel tears sliding down her cheeks.

He dropped the flogger immediately, rounding the bed to her side and pulling the underwear from her mouth.

“Talk to me, darling. Are you okay?” His voice was tinged with panic, so Jazz nodded quickly, licking her lips and trying to wet her mouth enough to speak. The fabric had leeched every drop of moisture from her mouth.

Liam grabbed her water tumbler from the nightstand—when had he even put that there?—and brought it to her lips, supporting her head with his palm. “Do you need to sit up?”

She shook her head and took the straw between her lips, taking small sips. She could still feel tears falling from her eyes, entirely outside of her control.

“I’m okay,” she said, panting, when she could speak. “Amazing, actually. This just happens. I promise I’m enjoying it. I want to keep going.”

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time someone had trusted her word without question.

Liam nodded, offering her more water and setting the cup aside when she declined. He straddled her, his cock so fucking close to where she needed it. He brushed a cool thumb across her damp cheek, then leaned down and caught her tears with his tongue, gripping her face in a possessive, but not painful way. Jazz trembled beneath him, a whimper falling from her lips.

“Look at you,” he murmured, the words vibrating against her skin. “So fucking messy for me. You love this, don’t you? Letting me do whatever I want to your perfect. Fucking. Body.” He punctuated each word with a kiss, soft and gentle, while his fingers slid back into her hair, his fist closing around it.

He tugged hard enough for it to sting, enough that her fight-or-flight response to kick in, but not enough to make it too painful. Holy fuck. She wriggled in his grip, not sure whether she was trying to get away or just desperate to feel him against her pussy.

Liam tutted, shaking his head like he was disappointed in her. “Pathetic. Are you that desperate for me?” He gripped her hair harder, and she moaned, clenching her pussy for some relief. Fuck. If they ever figured out her inability to orgasm—and she was actually starting to believe they might—she was pretty sure he’d be able to get her off just by talking. “Will you beg me for it, darling?”

“Fuck no,” she ground out, and Liam’s face lit up. He liked her being a brat. Jesus.

“Thought you might say that.” He released her hair and searched her face to make sure she was okay before leaning back. He dragged his cock over her clit, just once, just enough to make her gasp. “A shame. I might’ve let you come tonight.” For a moment, Jazz actually reconsidered not begging. She was half tempted, just to see if he could. But where was the fun in that?

So, instead, she took a deep breath and said, “I’d like to see you try.”

Liam’s eyes flicked over her, almost dismissively. “I bet you would. But only good toys get to come, I’m afraid.” Toys. That was a new one. Why was it so fucking hot? God, he was really testing her resolve. “Guess I’ll just have to bring you to the edge, again, and again, and again.”

Jazz whimpered without meaning to, and Liam grinned a sadistic smile. He dangled her underwear over her face. “If I leave these out of your mouth, are you going to behave?”

“Probably not.”

Liam took his time folding her underwear, building anticipation before forcing it between her lips. He walked away, humming as he kneeled between her legs, spreading his palms over her thighs. “I’m going to have so much fun getting you in line,” he said with a happy sigh. “Brace yourself, darling.”

And then, with no warning, he spat on her pussy and pressed two fingers inside her. Jazz clenched around him, forcing her head back on the pillow.

Begging didn’t sound so bad anymore.

For the hundredth time since they’d left Seattle, Liam glanced to his right to check on Jasmine. He’d never known her to be so quiet. They were ten minutes out from the restaurant where they were meeting her family, and she’d spent the entire drive staring out the window and fidgeting. It was unnerving.

He’d watched her gradually getting more subdued as the day had gone on. She’d been her usual chaotic self when they’d woken up—if a little more tired after their mind-blowing night. She’d tortured him by doing a virtual yoga class—naked, since she didn’t have any workout clothes at his place—and they’d listened to an audiobook together while he made pancakes for breakfast. But by lunchtime, when they headed to her place so she could get ready, her spark had fizzled into a nervous energy.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she jumped, as if she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“Shit, sorry. Yeah, I’m fine. I just feel a little out of it. And I’d rather be doing literally anything else.”

“Just a couple of hours and then we’ll think of excuses to put them off for the next few months,” he promised, reaching across the center console to squeeze her knee. When he pulled it back, she stopped him, clinging to him. He’d never regretted having a manual drive more. He could hold her hand until he had to shift gear, at least.

“Any last-minute advice on impressing your parents?” he asked, and Jasmine snorted.

Her voice was flat when she replied, and Liam hated it. “Don’t bother trying. Seriously. I gave up when I was twenty and they chewed me out for refusing to double-major. I’ve been a hell of a lot happier since.”

Something about that niggled at Liam’s mind, and he filed it away to figure out later. He was doing a shit job of calming Jasmine as it was. Needling her further was a terrible idea.

“What’s with the dress?” he asked instead, and Jasmine frowned down at herself. “You look amazing,” he added quickly. “It’s just black. You always wear bright colors. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you in black—well, except for the wedding, I guess.”

The dress in question was beautiful. Knee length black linen with a ruffled hem. She looked gorgeous, as always, but wholly unlike herself.

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