Ward Willing: Prologue

Liam

One Year Ago, Catalina Island

At a quarter to eight, I walk next door and knock on Zoe’s door. When no one answers, I pull the spare room key from my pocket and open her door, but it’s empty.

The scattered liquor bottles overturned on the coffee table catch my eye.

Fuck, fuck, double fuck.

Fucking teenagers.

Grumbling, I stalk over to the table and sweep the bottles into a nearby trash can, and then I pour the rest of her cheap vodka down the drain in the bathroom. When I walk back out, I notice the various items of food lying around—chips, salsa, cookies, brownies…

Without thinking, I snatch one of the brownies and shove it into my mouth, chewing quickly. My phone buzzes, and I remove it from my pocket.

Zoe

at the bar in case youre wondering

The bar? How the fuck is she at the bar when she’s underage? I swear, Zoe is going to give me a heart attack one day.

After doing one last perusal for illegally obtained alcohol, I’m satisfied enough to close the door behind me and make my way down to the bar to reprimand her for not listening to me.

My footsteps echo on the stone floor of the hallway, clicking ominously as I take the stairs. What the hell is Zoe playing at? I’m not sure if it’s a latent rebellion or if it’s a cry for help, but either way her behavior is unacceptable. Or maybe she stopped bothering to hide it from me because I don’t have any say over what she does now that she’s eighteen.

Give an inch, and she’ll take a mile.

Like when I removed her curfew this summer and she stayed out all night.

Or when I gave her money for food last month and she spent it on a tattoo.

She’s rebellious and wild at night despite conducting herself like a saint during the day—especially around other people. She has most fooled.

In fact, she will be starting at Crestwood University next week on a full scholarship.

The frustrating thing is, it’s not like I don’t trust her—I do. She’s proved herself to be more mature than any teenager I’ve ever known. She’s easy to take care of because she hardly needs me. It’s almost like she’s trying to get caught doing things she know she has no business doing…and she’s doing it for a reason.

If it’s an attention thing, I can’t fathom why she needs it from me of all people.

I scan the room and let my eyes flick over every face to find my ward, and I immediately see Zoe and a random guy doing a row of three tequila shots at the crowded bar.

I don’t fucking think so.

Scowling, I stalk over and glare at the man until he gets the hint and leaves.

“Hey,” she says casually, looking at me through her long lashes as she stands up. Her eyes are glazed as they search my face, and she has a single violet tucked behind her right ear.

“You’re not old enough to drink,” I mutter.

“Too late. Come on, take a shot with me,” she drawls, stumbling slightly as she gestures to the three glasses of clear liquid on the bar.

The anger intensifies as I stare at her. “Are you drunk?” I yell over the noise of the bar.

Her honey brown eyes bore into mine, but she doesn’t give anything away. She’s composed in her obviously drunken state, yet the term barely holding it together runs through my mind. It usually does when it comes to her. I’m not an idiot. I know she’s rebelling for a reason.

I just need to figure out what that reason is.

“Come on, Liam,” she says, her voice low. “Take a shot with me.”

A torrent of thoughts rush through my mind.

She has to act composed. She’s had to carry her grief alone, not to mention at such a young age.

“No. You’re drunk. You’re out of your mind if you think I’m willing to get you more drunk, especially because you’re underage. Speaking of, how are you purchasing alcohol without an ID?”

She rolls her eyes, and I swear to god, it’s the most infuriating thing. “Don’t worry about it. You only live once, Liam. You and I should know that better than anyone.”

My face hardens, and I sigh heavily, trying to keep the silken thread of warning out of my voice. “Put the shots down and I’ll walk you to your room. No more alcohol, Zoe.”

She boldly meets my gaze, picking two of the shot glasses up. “Watch me.”

Then she throws one of the shots back. My whole body tenses and my jaw tightens. I don’t take my eyes off her. Warning bells go off, but I ignore them because I’m too busy seeing red. Somehow, she’s the only person who is able to pierce my complacency—the only person able to find a perverse pleasure in challenging me.

It’s maddening.

It only takes a second for my hand to grab hers, lowering my head slightly and raising the other shot glass in her hand to my lips. It triggers something warm to erupt inside of me. I keep my eyes locked on hers as I tilt the glass back and swallow the liquid easily before dropping her hand.

“Happy now?” I ask, annoyance lacing my words.

“Very.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and glare down at her. Dark thoughts swirl in my mind—thoughts that have no right to be going through my mind when I look at my best friend’s eighteen-year-old daughter.

But again, I’m not perfect, and I’d love nothing more than to show her who’s in charge.

“Happy birthday, old guy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink tequila,” Zoe says, setting the glasses down and smiling at me. Like always, her smile disarms me, and completely obliterates every dominating thought that had been running through my mind.

We’re in Catalina for my thirty-ninth birthday, and we have dinner reservations. Originally I’d invited my four brothers for the weekend, but they all cancelled at the last minute, leaving Zoe and I alone at the beachfront resort.

When I don’t respond, she continues. “So loquacious tonight,” she mutters sarcastically.

“Loquacious? You’re willing to casually drop the word loquacious into this conversation, but you can’t bother with simple punctuation while texting me?”

She smirks and tilts her head, giving me a mischievous smile. “I only do that to piss you off.”

I can’t help but bark a laugh. “Good to know.”

“You look like you might be sick,” she adds, eyes flicking across my face. “Not a fan of tequila?”

“Not exactly. I had a bad experience once.”

She grins, showcasing her dimples. “When?”

“At a show with your father. That night is a blur of loud music, mosh pits, tattoos—”

“Tattoos?” A sparkle glimmers in her eyes.

I press my lips together, but I don’t answer her. I guess she knows a thing or two about tattoos now. Her lips tug into a mischievous smirk.

“So you are fun underneath all of that,” she teases, pressing a finger into my chest.

An electric zing goes straight from her finger to my cock. Fuck.

I lean against the bar to move away from her, but she does the same—our bodies only inches apart. It’s a trial of my restraint, and so far I’m winning.

Barely.

“I’m only fun under certain conditions,” I tell her honestly. Between taking care of everyone, my job, and writing, I don’t have very much fun these days.

“Conditions… such as?”

Don’t even think about it. This is dangerous territory, Liam.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I grumble.

“Tell me,” she begs.

Maddening. She is so fucking maddening.

“Knowledge is earned.”

She pouts for a second, which makes my lip twitch. Then she reaches out to signal to the bartender, but I grab her wrist, a charged shock passing between us again.

“You’re done for tonight. It’s time for dinner, anyway.” Her mouth drops open as I let go of her hand.

“One more shot,” she pleads, eyes widening.

“No.”

“Please? Come on. It’s your birthday, and we should celebrate.” With one stern look from me, she holds her hands up and walks away. “Okay, fine. You win. But I’ll wear you down soon,” she adds. Something flashes in her expression when she says that, but I ignore it.

After making our way to the adjoining restaurant, my hand on Zoe’s lower back the entire time, we settle in at our table. A tray of shots appears only moments later.

You’ve got to be kidding.

“Well, now you have no choice,” Zoe says slowly from next to me, reaching for two shots.

My nostrils flare as I take the one offered to me, because why the fuck not? You only turn thirty-nine once.

Giving her a dark, pointed look, I quickly take another shot, and she does the same thing.

Testing me.

Every goddamn minute of this trip.

The server comes back with more tequila shots, and against my better judgement, we each do two more.

Fuck.

I manage half a taco before the tequila shots and beers have fully hit me, and I slide into a sort of euphoric, tipsy, relaxed state. Before I can protest, Zoe stands up.

“I’m going to dance.”

My reflexes are more slow than normal, so it takes me a few seconds to react. Before I know it, I see Zoe dancing on the dance floor at the front of the restaurant. And because I’m not thinking clearly, I let my eyes track every one of Zoe’s movements. Tamping down my protectiveness, I stay put, but my eyes follow her. She raises her arms above her head and sways her hips to the music. Her dark red dress is a bit too tight and revealing, with a large slit that runs up her left thigh, and every time she moves, it inches up slightly.

Despite telling myself not to look, I do.

Only for a second.

She’s no longer the gangly teenager hugging her knees to her chest at her parents’ funeral. In place of her braces is a large smile with perfect teeth. In place of her long hair is sleek, shoulder-length, dark brown waves. Where she used to be too thin, she’s filled out. Her eyes have more soul to them now. She’s wiser now, and she doesn’t seem eighteen. There’s life and death and grief behind her amber irises. A weighted knowledge of the complexities of life that no teenager should know yet. Instead of hiding in a shell, like she used to do, she stands with confidence. She knows what she wants. She’s intelligent and responsible—usually—and I’m in awe of her every damn day.

I frown when I see a man approach her, placing his hands on either side of her waist. I expect her to brush him off considering he’s twice her age, but she doesn’t. Instead, she closes her eyes and runs a hand through her hair, her bangs sticking to her forehead from exertion. Kicking off her heels she twists around, wrapping her arms around the stranger’s neck, pressing her body against his as they move to the music together, abdomens seemingly glued together. His hands roam lower, gripping her ass unabashedly, and it only takes one hesitant push of her hand on his chest for me to charge forward.

I stumble over my feet, grimacing when I realize I’m really fucking drunk, but it’s more than that; perhaps it’s the combination of the beer and tequila. It takes me a few seconds to stabilize myself, but then I wrap my hand around Zoe’s bare arm and tug her away from the man who won’t stop leering at her.

I won’t fucking tolerate it.

She’s my…

She’s…

The music is too loud, and my skin pebbles for no reason other than the fact that I’m touching her. It’s like everything is enhanced.

“What are you doing, Liam?” she yells, trying to pull out of my grasp. I open and close my mouth to respond, but the lights from the stage are flickering around her face and combined with the bright purple flower behind her ear, she’s somehow even more fucking beautiful than she usually is. “Are you high?” she asks, laughing hysterically. “Your pupils are dilated.”

My brows furrow as I watch her. “High? Why the fuck would I be high?”

She’s nearly doubled over in laughter. “Did you happen to eat some of my special brownies?”

Realization slams into me.

The brownie—the one I shoved into my mouth without thinking.

“Edibles? Really, Zoe?”

Her hand comes to her mouth as she laughs some more. “Please, like you never got high with my dad. Besides, they’re legal in California—”

“Yes, because I’m sure that argument holds merit considering it’s only legal if you’re twenty-one,” I snap, my eyes dragging over the pebbled flesh of her chest.

My pulse spikes when I see how heavily she’s breathing, how fucking soft her skin looks…

Shit. It’s the edible talking.

“It was fucking irresponsible of you to bring drugs with you,” I snap, wavering between being impaired and wanting to scold her.

“Fine, but—”

“Listen to me,” I say, emphasizing each word. I reach out and grip her shoulders, wanting her to fully grasp the reality of this situation. She could’ve been arrested. “I’m pretty sure it’s still a misdemeanor to possess marijuana under the age of twenty-one. That’s a hefty fine, or maybe jail time, or both. Is that what you want? Your entire future up in flames? This is a big deal, and I won’t tolerate this behavior.”

It’s been drizzling on and off all day, and the rain begins to pick up, suddenly coming down harder. The man she’d been dancing with walks over to where we’re standing, but I pull her away from him.

“You can fuck right off,” I growl at him, my hands still on Zoe’s arms.

As Zoe opens her mouth to argue, the sky opens further and people scatter. She stares up at me without flinching.

“What was that for?”

“He’s twice your age,” I explain.

She steps away and balls her fists, and in this moment, she looks so small—especially with the rain already soaking through her dress. I watch as the heavy drops cling to her golden skin and her dark lashes as she stares up at me.

Beyond the playfulness, I see the sadness behind her pupils.

The heavy weight that follows her everywhere.

The grief.

I know because that same weight follows me everywhere, too.

I’m an asshole for being so hard on her, because at the core of it, she is grieving.

“You know you can stop worrying about me now,” she slurs.

“I’ll always worry,” I grit out.

“And I’m saying you don’t have to anymore.”

She looks away, and I watch her expression grow sullener by the second. She thinks she’s a burden, and she resents me for looking out for her. She may fight me on things, but I know she’s folding inward out of instinct.

So much like her father.

Over the years, I’ve tried to show her that she’s not a burden, nor would she ever be. That I care about her. And not out of obligation, either. I wasn’t obligated to send her care packages at her boarding school or give her an allowance. When it comes to Zoe, I’ve never felt obligated to do anything. She’s my best friend’s daughter, and I want her to be happy.

I also want her to be safe and not make bad decisions.

That translates to me being stricter than her parents, but I’m doing the best I can with the resources I have. It’s not like I’m particularly good at being her guardian. It’s not like it comes naturally to me, at least with her.

Being the oldest of my four brothers gives me a bit of experience with taking care of others, but I can’t seem to get it right with her.

It doesn’t stop me from trying, though.

Zoe doesn’t move, breathing heavily as the rain causes her hair to stick to her face, so I don’t move, either. The stage sways in front of me, and I’m acutely aware of the fact that we’re suddenly alone, standing in the pouring rain.

Several moments pass as I try to regroup, try to organize my thoughts. But the tequila and beers and pot brownie have muddled my brain and cognitive thinking, so I blurt out the only thing I can think to say. The only thing that forms on the tip of my tongue. The truth that keeps me up at night, that makes me sick with the unknown.

The one thing I’ve been trying to tell her with my actions for three years.

“I need to take care of you. And I need you to let me.”

She wraps her arms around herself as she blinks. “I don’t need to be taken care of. I’m an adult—”

“Barely!” I shout, startling her. Before this trip, I’d never raised my voice with her. I never yelled or scolded her. I’ve never had to before. The image of that man’s hands on her ass, of her trying to push him away, sends a new surge of anger through me. “You seem to need my help,” I add, flicking my gaze to the dance floor.

“God, you’re so overbearing sometimes.”

“Because I have to be. Because I promised your father that I would watch out for you.”

Zoe scoffs and looks off to the side. “He’s dead, Liam. That makes every promise you made dead too. And I’m telling you right now that I don’t want to be the burden you carry.”

My expression slides into a frown. “You’re not a burden, Zoe. You’ve never been a burden. I’m not sure how many times I can say it.”

“And I’m not sure I can let you take care of me,” she replies, echoing my statement from earlier as her eyes find mine. “You can’t protect me from everything, Liam.”

“I can protect you from creepy older guys who get a little too handsy.”

“I happen to like older men,” she interjects with a defiant smile.

So.

Fucking.

Maddening.

I can’t align my thoughts in any coherent way. Not after that confession. Instead, they tumble down and scatter into the wind, sending something potent to sink deep down into my core. Everything is hot, and I instantly know this conversation is headed down a slippery fucking slope.

“I’m eighteen now,” she adds, crossing her arms and watching me with a defiant, little smile.

She must really fucking enjoy challenging me.

I involuntarily take a step closer. “Really, Zoe? You think my purview ends because you’ve been eighteen for a few months? You think I’m going to stop caring because of a date on your birth certificate?”

“No, I’m not saying that. I just don’t need you interfering in something that’s not your business.”

“Everything you do is my business,” I counter.

“No, it’s not. I’ve been on my own for years.”

“Yeah, at school,” I say, stepping closer. “I’m going to make myself very, very clear. My culpability over you didn’t end the minute you became an adult. You’re living with me under my roof when you start college next week. I pay for your health insurance and your cell phone bill. I feed you and make sure you’re provided for.” Zoe opens and closes her mouth, but I’m not done. “I’m not your father, and I never wanted to replace him. But if I’m not the one looking out for you, who will?”

She physically shrivels as the hurt flashes over her expression. My words are a cruel reminder of her aloneness—especially my last sentence—and I know it.

I immediately regret them.

Because she’s not alone.

She has me.

“I never asked you to do any of those things, Liam.”

“You didn’t. But your father did. And I will honor that wish for the rest of my life.”

She swallows, and I watch the way her throat bobs. Drops of water slide down her face, and fuck she’s so beautiful it almost hurts to look directly at her.

“I know I’ve made mistakes along the way. I’m learning as I go. Forgive me, please,” I finish, my voice breaking slightly.

I blink away the rain from my eyes, and before I know it, she’s snaking her arms around my waist and pressing herself against me.

Closing my eyes, I rest my chin on the top of her head, and everything inside of me goes molten. I want to pull away, because I know my body is not reacting with propriety right now. I’m too inebriated to think clearly. If I had any sense, I’d pull away. But I don’t, and her wet body against mine fractures every ounce of self-control I have.

Pulling away from me, her eyes find mine.

And fuck me.

The expression on her face sends me completely off-kilter.

My heart pounds hard inside of my chest, and Zoe uses that exact moment to place her hand over it. She must feel how fucking hard it’s hammering pressed against her because her eyes widen slightly.

Without thinking, I brush a hand across her cheek, under her eyes, to swipe away the black mascara running down her face. She starts to tremble—from the cold or the way I’m holding her, I’m not sure.

Somehow, the violet is still tucked neatly behind her ear, despite the pouring rain.

Any second now, she’ll save me from myself and step away. She’ll say thank you or offer up something about how we’re soaking wet now.

But she doesn’t do either of those things.

Instead, her gaze explores my face.

The suggestion of more written all over her features makes my breath hitch.

Her blown out pupils. The lower lip between her teeth. The apprehension.

I’ve been alive long enough to know what that look means, and it absolutely cannot happen with her.

Ever.

My hands shake and flutter as I drop them, and I take a step back. If I go there with Zoe, I won’t be able to stop. I don’t trust myself—and I don’t trust my thoughts or actions, because right now, her small body pressed against mine has my cock so hard that I can’t think straight.

There’s too much between us. I can’t identify it, but it’s charged and scary and she’s just barely legal.

This is wrong.

I clear my throat. “This can’t happen. We’ve had a lot to drink,” I say, choosing my words wisely. “We’re not in our right minds.”

“Are you worried you’re going to corrupt me, Liam?” she asks, pulling her lower lip between her teeth and taking a step closer. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Zoe, this is… fuck,” I say, resigned. Something heavy settles in my stomach at the possibility of having her. Of giving in. Of letting go, without a care in the world about who she is to me.

This is so fucking wrong.

“So you weren’t jealous earlier when I was dancing with that guy?”

I don’t answer. I don’t trust myself. Instead, I focus on my pulse rushing through me, the thundering whooshing sound in my ears giving me auditory tunnel vision.

“I’m a consenting adult, Liam,” she whispers, placing her hand on my chest again.

Her words and the possibilities they convey cause everything inside of me to burn in a way I’ve never experienced. But I don’t move away from her. Instead, I let her touch me. My whole body shudders under her hand, and a thousand spirals of ecstasy shoot straight to my cock. Whatever strain of weed I ingested is making me want to fuck like an animal. I’ve been high before, but it’s never felt like this.

“What the fuck was in those brownies?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

She steps closer, pressing her body against mine. “Terpene, limonene, and indica,” she murmurs, snaking a hand up to my neck.

“What does that mean?” I whisper.

“It’s good for the libido. Relaxation. And increased sensation,” she answers.

“Zoe,” I breathe, closing my eyes. My cock is so hard it hurts, and everything inside of me is throbbing. If I were in my right mind, I might be able to throttle the dizzying, electric current racing through me.

But I’m not in my right mind.

I can’t move because it all feels too fucking good.

“You know, I see the way you watch me sometimes.”

Confusion mars my features as she loops her other arm around my neck, and another shiver works down my spine, going straight from my spine to my cock. What the hell is happening?

Every second that passes gets more and more surreal, and between the rain, the empty stage, and Zoe’s hands on me…

She continues before I can move. “At breakfast when I’m making us coffee. At night, when we’re watching movies. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

It suddenly feels like someone has poured cold water over me. Despite the warm night, my skin pebbles as she runs a finger along the stubble on my neck. My stomach clenches with dread at what she’s implying and… something else. Something angry and roiling and repressed. Something so fucking powerful it scares the fuck out of me.

I ball my fists and breathe through my nose.

She’s right.

And I’m fucking sick over it.

I can’t deny that she’s beautiful and alluring. I can’t deny that I enjoy spending time with her. I also can’t deny the way my eyes may have wandered, and fuck it makes me feel like a fucking creep.

That feeling overpowers everything—that feeling of wrongness.

She needs to know that something like this can never happen between us…no matter how much I might want it.

I huff in exasperation and take a step away from her. “This is wrong,” I grit out.

In the tense seconds that tick by, the only sound I hear is the spattering of rain against the floor, and the rushing sound of my pulse in my eardrums. A few people make their way back onto the dance floor, and Zoe grabs my hands and leads me around the back of the restaurant. The rain has slowed now, and the sky is mostly dark, though I can see her face clearly.

I sigh. “Listen, Zoe. You’re drunk and confused. It makes sense that you’d latch onto the only consistent thing in your life.”

She laughs and covers her face with her hands. “God, you’re so condescending. You’re treating me like a child!”

“You’re eighteen! And you somehow seem to think that you’re enlightened enough to flirt with me? It doesn’t work like that, Zoe. I made a lot of stupid decisions when I was eighteen. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. And neither do you. Stop. Fucking. Tempting. Me—”

She rushes forward, and before I can react or think, her lips are on mine. I’m powerless to stop, powerless to resist. My hands find her waist, and I groan as my hands grip her flesh and she presses herself against me. I let her, holding onto her for dear life as my thumbs press into her, because whatever the fuck is happening is going to pull me under her spell completely. And fuck, her lips on mine send shockwave after shockwave to my too-hard cock. Instinctively, I pull away from her mouth as we both pant.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she says, breathless, before pressing her lips against mine again and wrapping her arms around my neck.

Every pounding beat of my heart pulls me further and further under the blanket of intoxication, and even if I wanted to stop, I’m not sure I could. My senses are heightened, and everything else fades away as our mouths move against each other, as I curl my fingers around the fabric of her dress, as a low rumble escapes my throat. It’s carnal and heady—and wrong. But everything is hazy now, and I can’t reconcile how something that feels so good could possibly be so, so wrong.

Every brush of her fingers on my neck makes me groan.

Every tiny gasp that leaves her mouth has me grinding her against my cock to get friction.

Every movement and sound and touch is intensified, and then my rational mind drops away. It’s too easy to ignore the warning bells. Too easy to listen to what my body wants.

“Inside,” I command, my hands skimming to her ass and squeezing.

She pulls away and gives me a playful smirk before twisting around and opening what appears to be a spare office or storage room. I follow her inside on shaky legs, and if I were sober, it would be the point where I realize how terrible of an idea this is. If I were a better person, perhaps I’d have more control over my impulses.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, pulling her into me.

I can deal with the consequences, the regret, and the implications of my decisions tomorrow. Right now, all I can think about is sinking into her and fucking her senseless.

Our teeth click together painfully due to the lack of light, and as my eyes adjust, we both pull away slightly.

“Sorry,” she says quietly. “You’re drunk and high, and I don’t want to—”

“Shut up,” I growl, pulling her to me again.

She whimpers when I lift her up and press her against the wall, hiking her dress up with one hand and running the other over the globe of her ass. Stumbling slightly, Zoe giggles as I reach underneath the hem of her dress, gripping her underwear and roughly tugging them away from her body. A ripping sound fills the small room, and her mouth drops open.

“Did you just tear my underwear off?”

“Be quiet,” I murmur, something dark and unsettling washing over me. My mind is screaming to halt what we’re doing, but I can’t seem to stop touching her.

That fucking brownie.

“Liam,” she whimpers. The sound of her name on my lips, doing this, is… unimaginable.

I go still, my thumb stopping just short of her clit. I can feel how wet she is…how much she wants this. If I were sober, I’d relish in everything. But right now, all I need is to be inside of her. My mind is both a wild mess of reasons why I shouldn’t do this while simultaneously being eerily quiet.

“I need you,” she adds, sounding desperate.

I don’t understand why, and I can’t pinpoint exactly what those words make me feel…

I just know that I want her to surrender to me.

“You drive me crazy,” I whisper into her mouth. “Absolutely fucking crazy,” I growl, lining her dripping cunt up with my cock. “Birth control?” I ask, the idea of consequences of my actions so fucking far off. But I know I need to ask this one thing. There’s at least one responsible brain cell still left inside my head.

“Yes,” she breathes.

I don’t hesitate. I push into her, and she’s so goddamn tight…

Squeezing my eyes shut, I breathe through my nose so I don’t explode early. Vaguely, I register that she feels… different. It’s too tight, and her face is scrunched up in pain. Through the haze, my eyes snap open as I glare down at her.

Is she…?

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I nearly scream, starting to pull out.

Zoe’s hands come to my hips, stopping me. “Please. No, I’m not. I’m not,” she rushes out in a heavy sigh. “I’m not a virgin.”

Relief washes over me, and I take a steadying breath as her warm heat wraps around my aching cock.

“Keep going,” she begs, an edge of vulnerability to her voice.

I’m too far gone to contemplate it, though I know I shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as I am. Being inside of her is the best thing I’ve ever felt. I’m distracted and selfish, and all I can think about is watching her come undone. Fuck the repercussions. I pull almost all the way out slowly, and when I drive into her, she releases a deep moan that has me on the verge of exploding inside of her. My hand skims her thigh as my thumb settles over her clit, and then I groan when she clenches around me.

“Yes,” she whispers, moving her hips just enough to draw my balls up and ready to empty.

“Fuck, Zoe,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I’m not going to last.”

“I thought you were drunk,” she whispers, her nails digging into the back of my neck.

My whole body convulses with every one of her movements. “You feel too fucking good.”

I stop moving as my thumb circles her tight bud, and I use the opportunity to bend down and use my tongue to suck against the pulse point on her neck.

“Liam,” she whispers, scratching me as she throws her head back. “Fuck.”

Her cunt pulses once, and I know she’s close. Working my thumb quicker, I keep my cock still inside of her, not wanting this to end too early.

This is so fucked up.

“Come for me, Zoe.”

“Say please, Liam.”

For the second time, her vexation and downright audacity rile me up. I’m torn between stopping everything just to spite her bratty self, or to make her come so hard that she’s ruined for other men forever.

I decide on the latter.

“Please?” I murmur, pinching her clit. “I don’t think so. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll be the one saying please after we’re through.”

I can make out her eyes widening in surprise at my heavy-handed tone before she explodes, panting and clenching around my cock with such force that I’m worried she’s going to push me out. Her legs squeeze my hips as her eyes roll back and her mouth drops open.

Yes. Fuck yes.

I don’t stop. I have a purpose now, and that’s to make her come again.

Pulling out, I lower her to the ground on shaky legs.

“But you…”

“Don’t worry about me,” I grit out.

It’s probably the least selfish thing I’ve done and said all night.

The room smells like sweat and sex and everything good, and when my eyes briefly wander over to the windows, I realize we’ve fogged them up.

Keeping her dress rucked up, I drop to my knees and pull her hips to my face. She lets out a breathy gasp.

“Liam, I’m sensitive—”

I don’t listen. Instead, I hike one leg over my shoulder, use my hands as grips on the flesh of her hips, and bring her wet pussy to my mouth.

One swipe of my tongue and I know I’ll never taste something this sweet ever again. She tastes like sin and bad decisions, and I love every fucking thing about it.

“Fuck,” I grumble against her curls, licking and sucking, noting the metallic taste briefly before I get distracted. She shakes every time I get near her cunt. “You taste so fucking good, little rebel.”

Her nickname slips out and her legs tense.

I haven’t called her that since she was a kid.

Without giving her time to rethink any of this, I pull her clit between my lips and suck.

Hard.

She cries out as her hands come to my hair, gripping it tightly. I insert one finger, and even that’s tight. How the fuck was my cock inside of her? How the fuck did I fit? I curl my finger and she shakes harder, her leg trembling on my shoulder.

“Oh god,” she whimpers, her hands fisting my hair for purchase.

I lick and taste her until she’s muttering expletives, until her pussy squeezes my finger, until she pulses around it. I keep going when she cries out again, my tunnel vision narrowing until all I want to do is ruin her with pleasure.

The trip, the defiance, the maddening attitude…I want to rip it all away and expose her until she’s a mess on my tongue, until she knows who the fuck I am to her.

“That’s my good girl,” I purr. “This is where you belong. With my mouth on your cunt and your taste on my tongue.”

She comes again, this time sobbing as her body squeezes me and her toes curl. She pulls my hair so hard I think she’s going to rip it from the root, but then she sags against the wall, easing up on her hold.

I remove my hand and her leg, standing in front of her as she watches me with hooded eyes.

“That was incredible…” she says, then mumbles what sounds like nonsense. Her eyes are heavy, and a similar heaviness settles over me, despite my cock begging for release.

Without thinking, I pull her dress down and take her hand, leading her out of the room. It’s still raining when we get back to the restaurant, but everyone is gone and presumably back in their rooms. After we drunkenly stumble up the stairs, I pull Zoe into my room, and she walks straight to my bed before collapsing on top of it, shoes forgotten somewhere on the dance floor.

* * *

My head aches when I wake up, but I’ve had worse hangovers. There’s an unfamiliar drag to my movements as I sit up, my eyes adjusting to the bright suite.

A flash of dark hair catches my eye, and next to it—a purple flower.

Regret fills me, and I jump out of bed as I stare down at my best friend’s daughter. She rolls over onto her back, and when her eyes find mine, they’re neutral and assessing.

Like she’s waiting to see what I’m going to say.

Panic fills me. Pure, unadulterated anxiety runs through my veins, and I rub my face with my hand as bits of last night flash through my mind.

The rain.

The arguing.

The kiss.

And then…

I run my hand through my hair, nearly wincing at how sore my scalp is from her pulling my hair while she climaxed. Zoe sits up slightly, propping herself up on her elbows.

Glaring at her, I take another step back.

No.

No.

“This never fucking happened.”

Swallowing, she nods once. “It never happened,” she repeats.

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