Page 22 of Vicious Vines

Liam's lips find their way to the sensitive spot on my collarbone, and I gasp, my head thrown back, my eyes closed in ecstasy. He's so skilled at this, knows exactly how to make me weak in his arms. He bites down gently, possessively, and my core clenches in response.

"I can't take it anymore," I pant, my voice barely a whisper.

With a growl of need, he lifts me onto the couch, his powerful thighs spreading mine apart. All I can focus on is the aching desire between my legs, the need to have him inside of me, to feel him claim me as his own.

Liam's hands fumble with the buttons of my blouse, his movements urgent, impatient, as if he's as desperate to taste my skin as I am to have him. The air is thick with the heady scent of our combined arousal, our rapid breathing mingling with the low, hungry moans that escape our lips.

Finally, my blouse falls away, discarded carelessly on the floor, and his lips find my nipple through the lace of my bra. He teases me mercilessly, flicking his tongue around the sensitive peak, the sensation sending shockwaves straight to my core. I arch my back, my hips rocking against him, seeking more contact, more of his delicious torment.

"Sloane," he groans, his voice ragged with lust. "I need you."

His words send a shiver down my spine, and I cling to him even tighter, my nails raking down his broad back as he continues his ministrations. His hand caresses my thigh, pushing my skirt upward, and I raise my hips to give him better access. I'm soaking wet, ready for him, and I know it's written all over my flushed face.

I can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel as his fingers slide between my folds, finding the slick heat that awaits him. He groans again, louder this time, and I know he's just as lost in this as I am.

He steps back for a moment, just long enough to line himself up at my core, and then he's back, spreading my legs wide. I'm beyond caring about the mess we're making, the papers that scatter to the floor forgotten in the haze of lust that consumes us both.

With one final kiss, hungry and desperate, he enters me, filling me with a force that takes my breath away. His hips move in a steady rhythm, driving us both higher and higher, until we're both teetering on the edge of release.

"Sloane," he growls, his voice guttural and primal, and that's all it takes.

We detonate together, our cries of pleasure mingling as our bodies arch and spasm in the throes of ecstasy. For this one moment, the world has ceased to exist, and it's just the two of us, entwined in a web of wanton desire and long-denied passion.

Chapter 16

The acrid sting of burnt coffee assaults my senses, but it's the sharp buzz of my phone that truly wakes me from the hazy edge of sleep. I fumble for the device, the screen's glare a blinding contrast to the predawn darkness of Liam's bedroom. It's an encrypted message from Ethan, and my heart sinks as I decode the words: "Operation compromised. Murphy nabbed by feds."

"Damn it," I hiss, tossing aside the tangled sheets that shackle my legs. The air is thick with tension, and every shadow seems to whisper of betrayal and watchful eyes. First the trouble with Victor, then Maria's betrayal, and now this. I pace the cold floor of Liam’s bedroom, bare feet slapping against the polished wood, each step echoing the rapid drumming of my pulse.

Murphy was no errand boy; he was crucial—my go-to for the jobs too delicate or dirty for others. His capture means more than just a botched operation; it's a signal that the FBI's net is drawing tighter around us, suffocating our every move. The walls of my empire, once thought impenetrable, now seem as flimsy as paper.

The FBI has always been circling, but money in the right pockets has always meant they would turn a blind eye to our operations as long as we kept it mostly clean. As frustration claws at my insides, my thoughts spiral. When did they start watching us? How much did they know? What had Murphy spilled before they put him in cuffs? I need to act, to shore up any weakness before it's exploited, but the dread pooling in my stomach feels like lead, threatening to drag me down.

I'm roused from my dark reverie by another chime, this time from across the room. Liam, ever the enigma, is hunched over his own phone, his long fingers pausing mid-text. His brows are drawn together in that familiar furrow of concentration that used to entice me, but now only serves as a reminder of the distance growing between us. Why is he staring at his phone so intently? Why isn’t he watching me pace and asking me what’s wrong?

"Who's that?" I probe, trying to keep my tone light, casual. But there's a sharpness there I can't disguise—a blade wrapped in velvet.

"Work," he mutters without looking up, and I notice the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his hand trembles ever so slightly as he types.

"Trouble?" I press, taking a step closer, searching for any telltale sign in his guarded expression.

"Nothing I can't handle," he replies, but there's a hollowness to his words that sends a shiver down my spine. He finally meets my gaze, and I'm struck by the storm brewing in the depths of his eyes, dark and relentless. There's something he's not saying, secrets swirling beneath the surface like dangerous undercurrents.

"You'll tell me if it's something I need to know?" I ask, the words laced with an undercurrent of warning. His world, our world, teeters on the brink of chaos, and I can feel the threads of control slipping through my fingers.

He nods, a curt, mechanical motion, and then he's up, moving past me with a brush of contact that leaves a trail of fire along my skin. I watch him go, the magnetic pull of his presence leaving a void as he retreats into the shadows of his home, swallowed by the darkness and his own gnawing secrets.

I stand alone, the weight of my crumbling empire resting heavily on my shoulders, and wonder how long it will be before everything I've built comes tumbling down around me.

My phone chimes again, this time a message with a link to a video taken just a few hours ago.

The wail of sirens cuts the silence of Liam's bedroom as I watch the video, red and blue lights illuminating the walls as cars from every department surround the Romano compound. The Romano's territory is under siege, FBI agents swarming like locusts over the desolate landscape of North Kingsdale.

"Dammit," I hiss under my breath, my fingers curling into fists. A sudden burst of movement catches my eye on the screen, and I watch as La Loba herself emerges from the home. Even from this distance, her aura of indomitable will is unmistakable. Her gang members scramble around her, victims to the FBI's relentless advance, but she meets them head on on, a lone wolf cornered yet unyielding. My respect for her is grudging but real; in another life, we could have been allies—or formidable enemies.

But now, the impact of the FBI's intrusion is undeniable. It's a mirror to my own fears—a reflection of vulnerability—and I can't help but feel the tremors of instability threatening to shatter the delicate balance of power we've both fought so hard to maintain.

Chapter 17

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