Page 57 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

"Good," he rumbles, satisfaction thrumming in his voice.

Even as I agree, even as I let myself sink deeper into whatever this madness is, part of me knows that I've been his since the moment I walked into his office on my first day at work. Since the moment our eyes met I felt that jolt of recognition, that sense of inevitability that seems to have led us here.

Saying yes is just a formality, the outward acknowledgment of what's been true all along.

I belong to Liam, body and soul.

Chapter twenty-three

Liam

Every time, I tellmyself it's the last time and that I can't keep doing this with Shiloh. But here we are, in my office after hours—no one to hear her soft moans as I press her against the mahogany desk, our clothes a crumpled testament to reckless abandon on the floor.

"God, Liam," she breathes out, and I lose myself again in the heat of her body, in the urgency of our movements.

I'm her boss, for fuck's sake. This shouldn't be happening. Not on the desk where I sign multi-million-dollar deals, not in the copy room where we pretend to be searching for extra toner as an excuse just to touch each other.

And definitely not in my bed, where she spends most nights tangled up with me, leaving her scent on my sheets.

As I move inside her, her back arching off the desk, I catch a glimpse of us in the glass pane reflecting the city lights. We look desperate, consumed by something that's spiraled far beyond control.

I should stop; I should end this before it destroys us both. But when she looks at me, eyes dark with need, I can't pull away.

I don't want to.

"Shiloh, I—" I choke off the words as she pulls me closer, nails digging into my back, urging me on.

I'm addicted to her.

It's a truth that settles deep in my bones with every secret rendezvous, with every shared glance that promises more illicit encounters. Even now, as sanity screams that I should cut ties, all I can think about is how empty my bed felt those nights she wasn't there, how the office air seems stale without her laughter spilling through it.

"Come home with me tonight," I pant against her neck, not caring about the implications, about the rules we're breaking. "Please."

She nods, and something perilous and exhilarating lodges itself in my chest. I can't let her go, not now, maybe not ever.

What started as a game, a forbidden thrill, has rooted itself too deeply.

The clock on my office wall ticks, a steady rhythm countering the erratic beat of my heart. In mere minutes, I'm supposed to be on a call with Derek Turner, discussing the intricacies of an NDA case that could make or break my firm.

My attention should be on that—on the legal strategies and precedents—but my focus scatters as Shiloh returns to her desk, right outside my office.

She's back from lunch, her presence like a jolt of electricity in the charged atmosphere of my office. Our eyes lock, hers wide and knowing, mine probably screaming desperation.

"Shiloh," I say, voice a low command belying the turmoil inside, "bring me the Turner files."

"Right away," she replies, a hint of something more than professionalism laced in her words.

I watch her go, her hips swaying subtly, a silent siren's call. She disappears into the file room and returns moments later, a stack of folders in her arms.

Her movements are graceful and efficient, but all I can think about is how those hands have mapped every inch of my skin in stolen moments just like this one.

"Close the door," I tell her, and there's no mistaking the double meaning in my tone.

Without a word, she complies, the soft click of the latch sealing us in together. It's reckless, what we're doing.

It's madness to crave her touch with such intensity that even the threat of exposure isn't enough to deter me. But here, in the dimming light of my office, with anticipation thrumming between us, I can't bring myself to care about the consequences.

Shiloh's lips curve into a shy smile, a stark contrast to the smoldering looks we've shared in secret. I push back from the desk, creating space "Come here," I murmur, not a command now but a plea laced with the raw edge of desire.

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