Page 4 of Vicious Vines

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice a low thrum that resonates in the cavernous space between us.

"Hey," I echo back, the word feeling small and inadequate.

Our gazes lock, holding an entire conversation in a silent exchange. I see the yearning etched into the lines of his face, the softness in his eyes that he reserves only for me. Liam has always worn his heart on his sleeve, ready to lay it at my feet. But I am not one to collect such offerings—I know all too well the weight it carries.

Tension crackles in the air, thick with the unsaid. It's the same every time—the push and pull of want and wariness. He takes a step forward, and it's as if an invisible thread tugs at my core, drawing me closer despite the resistance that coils within me like a spring. Our families' enmity is the ghost that haunts our every stolen moment, a specter of disaster waiting in the wings.

"Did anyone follow you?" His question is routine, a necessary precaution when your love is a spark that could ignite a powder keg.

"No. You?" My reply comes automatically, my senses constantly attuned to the dangers that shadow our union.

"Clear." The word hangs between us, the last barrier before we succumb to the magnetism that defies reason and risks ruin.

Liam's gaze trails over me, a touch without contact, leaving a trail of unseen fire in its wake. It's a look that speaks of raw desire and something deeper, something he yearns to share with me. But that depth is a chasm I dare not traverse. My ambition, the throne I'm meant to claim within the O'Neil family—it demands a heart encased in steel.

His hand reaches out, a silent plea, and my body responds before my mind can protest. We collide, the distance evaporating like mist against skin. There is no gentleness in our embrace, only the fierce need to confirm that the other is real—that amidst the chaos of our lives, this single truth remains unyielding.

"God, Sloane," he breathes against my neck, his lips grazing the sensitive skin below my earlobe. "I can't stay away, no matter how much I know I should."

"Neither can I," I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. For in this dimly lit warehouse, surrounded by the ghosts of our past and the threat of our future, I allow myself this singular honesty. Even if my heart must remain locked away, here, in Liam's arms, I can pretend—for just a moment—that it knows what it means to be free.

My pulse throbs in my temples, a metronome to the hunger that Liam's proximity stokes within me. The air is thick with dust and shadows, but he is a beacon of light in the gloom, drawing me in like a moth desperate for warmth. His fingertips graze my wrist, sending a cascade of sparks along my veins, kindling a fire that licks at my insides, threatening to consume me whole. His hand trails up my arm, leaving a searing path in its wake. He steps closer, his presence enveloping me, and when our lips meet, it's an inferno, a clash of need and longing that tastes of desperation and something dangerously close to love.

The kiss deepens, and I'm transported back to the night we first collided—the night that destiny played its cruel hand. I recall the dimly lit room at a mutual friend's party, the press of bodies swaying to a rhythm that felt like a prelude to the inevitable. Across the crowded space, our gazes locked, two souls recognizing their counterpart in the other's eyes. A magnetic pull so strong, it felt as though the universe itself conspired to weave our fates together.

In that moment, I knew Liam wasn't just another man; he was an enigma that mirrored my own complexities—a dangerous, thrilling puzzle I couldn't help but want to solve. And as our lips part now, panting breaths mingling in the charged silence, the memory of that instant connection wraps around us, binding us tighter than any vow could.

"Talk to me, Sloane," he implores, his voice a tender caress against the storm brewing within me.

My chest tightens, a knot of fear and longing twisting inside me. This is the precipice we find ourselves on time and again—when the raw truth of our situation claws its way to the surface, demanding to be acknowledged.

"We're playing with fire, Liam," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might summon the wrath of fate itself. "It's more than just us at stake now, it's our families. With Kieran stepping down and Finn out of the picture…" I trail off.

"Doesn't that make it worth the risk?" His question hangs in the air between us, a challenge, a plea. In his gaze, I see the reflection of all the secrets I keep locked in my heart, the words I dare not admit to Liam or myself.

I want to tell him it does, that this dangerous game we play sends adrenaline coursing through my veins like a drug I can't quit. But instead, I harden my resolve, clenching my fists at my sides. "It's not that simple. You know the tension between our families—you saw what happened today. The O'Neils and Calders are balanced on a knife's edge, and we're the ones sharpening the blade."

"Let them fight," he growls, closing the distance between us until I can feel the heat of his body like a brand against my skin. "They don't understand what it means to find something worth defying the world for."

But I do. As much as I try to deny it, I do. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his embrace—they are the forbidden fruit I've indulged in, each bite sinking me deeper into the abyss. And yet, the cold reality is never far, lurking in the shadows of pleasure.

Liam's hand finds mine, his fingers lacing with mine, forging a connection that feels dangerously like hope I cannot afford. His touch is a spark that lights the fuse of my restraint, and for a fleeting moment, I fantasize about a world where love trumps allegiance—where I can lie down my arms and surrender to the tempest of emotions within me.

But such dreams are as ephemeral as smoke, dissipating into the night air as reality reasserts its grip. I am Sloane O'Neil, bound by blood and duty, and yet...

And yet, when Liam pulls me into his embrace, the world outside this dilapidated sanctuary fades away. Our lips crash together in a kiss that is a balm for the wounds we bear.

His hands roam across the terrain of my back, tracing the path down to curves that belong to him alone in these stolen moments. The sensation of his fingertips grazing my skin sets off a wildfire within me, my core clenching in anticipation.

One of Liam's hands moves to my hip, gripping me tightly and holding me in place. The rough texture of the wooden crate against my back contrasts with the softness of his lips trailing along my collarbone. The scent of his skin, a mix of leather and something innately Liam, fills my senses, grounding me in the present.

I let go of the burden of crowns and wars as Liam's other hand moves with featherlight touches down my arm and across my belly, slower and slower still to where I'm pressing against him. He continues his slow exploration as his hand snakes its way under the waistband of my pants, skimming the edge of my underwear and sending me trembling.

Licking along the pulse in my neck, Liam pushes two fingers inside of me as his thumb brushes my clit, lifting his head to watch me as I gasp and throw my head back, held up only by his arm caging my waist. His mouth claims mine, swallowing the moan building in my throat as my pleasure climbs higher. The kiss becomes demanding and soon the only air I'm breathing is the air Liam gives me, stroking the fire even higher as the rhythm of his fingers becomes punishing, demanding something I surrendered to him long ago. Another finger joins the others, and I can't stop myself from arching into the pain, the fullness of being stretched.

Hooded eyes meet mine as Liam creates havoc with my body, building a storm threatening to take us both under. He leans in, brushing a tender kiss on my earlobe before whispering, "Does this needy cunt need to be fucked?"

A hiss is the only answer I can give. I am beyond words, my entire world focused on his hand between my legs, the throbbing pulse that exists there.

---