Page 112 of Royal Bargain
Clothes come off in frantic, clumsy movements. His hands are everywhere—rough, possessive, needy.
“You want to act like you don’t need me?” he growls against my throat. “Fine. I’ll fuck the denial right out of you.”
Then he flips me onto my stomach, yanks my hips up, and spanks me—hard. The crack of it echoes through the room. My gasp is half pain, half want.
“Liam—!”
“Quiet,” he snaps. “You don’t get to mouth off and then act innocent. You wanted this.”
Another slap, this time lower. Then he fills me in one brutal, desperate thrust that steals the breath from my lungs.
Everything after that is a blur of sweat and skin, of hands pinning me down and teeth grazing my shoulder. He’s relentless—driven by anger, betrayal, fear—and I take it, want it, crave it. I lose myself in it.
I don’t think. I don’t speak. I just feel—every sharp snap of his hips, every guttural growl in my ear, every time he calls me his.
And I know in that moment, no matter how badly we’re breaking each other?—
I’ll always come back to him.
Afterward, we lie tangled together on the rug, skin slick, breath still catching in our throats. My head rests on Liam’s chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. His fingers trace lazy patterns along my spine—slow, grounding, intimate.
For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the kettle still whistling faintly in the kitchen and the quiet hush of our shared exhale.
Then my phone buzzes on the coffee table.
Liam’s hand pauses.
I glance over and see Sasha’s name on the screen.
Are you okay?? You took off so fast. Is Liam okay??
Guilt punches through my chest. I can still see her face in my mind, the moment I pushed her to run. The fear in her eyes.
“What is it?” Liam asks quietly, voice low and rough from everything we just did.
My hand closes around the phone.
“Nothing,” I murmur, flipping it facedown. “Just a wrong number.”
He goes still beneath me.
“What are you hiding?” he asks, too calm for the tenor of his words.
I freeze—just for a heartbeat—but it’s enough. I force a shrug. “It was just a wrong number.”
Liam shifts beneath me, guiding me off his chest. He sits up slowly, all that easy post-release warmth gone cold. His eyes are on fire now—sharp and calculating.
“Don’t lie to me, Ana.”
“I’m not?—”
“Try again.”
His voice cuts sharper than any weapon. I sit up too, wrapping the blanket around myself like armor. “I told you. It’s nothing important.”
He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “You left our daughter alone to go meet with someone behind my back. You’ve been quiet since we got back. You lied about that text.”
He turns to me, eyes locked on mine. Unflinching. Unrelenting. His voice deepens—gravel rough, strained. “No more lies, Ana.”
