Chapter 2: Liam Blackwood

Chapter 02

The man sitting beside me was wearing an immaculate charcoal suit. He had sharp, striking features, dark hair brushed back, and gray eyes that caught the dim light of the bar. He looked dangerous, expensive, and completely out of place in a regular lounge.

He wasn't looking at his phone. He was looking directly at me.

"Bad night?" He asked. His voice was smooth, carrying a quiet authority that made my pulse jump.

"You could say that.” I said, taking a sip of the bourbon as the bartender set it down. "What’s your excuse?"

"Boredom.” He replied, his gaze drifting down to my lips before rising back to my eyes. "Until about two minutes ago."

There was no polite small talk, no fake pleasantries.

The attraction between us was instant, heavy, and almost suffocating.

He didn't ask for my name, and I didn't offer it.

For the first time in five years, I didn't want to be Allison—the quiet, hardworking wife. I just wanted to feel alive.

"Do you live here?" I asked, leaning in slightly.

A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips.

He reached out, his long fingers lightly brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was warm, sending a sharp shiver straight down my spine.

"I have a suite upstairs.” He murmured, his thumb resting against the side of my neck, right over my hammering pulse. "Are you coming up?"

I looked into those sharp gray eyes, felt the heat radiating off him, and made my decision.

"Lead the way."

The suite was massive, but the moment the door clicked shut behind us, the world outside vanished.

He didn't waste time.

His hands were on my waist, pulling me flush against his chest as his mouth came down on mine. The kiss was deep, demanding, and intense—a stark contrast to the cold, distant marriage I’d just left behind.

I tangled my fingers in his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer, drinking in the taste of bourbon and the clean, woodsy scent of his skin.

For five years, I had been starved of real touch, living with a man who barely looked at me. This man looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.

He lifted me by the thighs, his strength effortless, and set me down on the edge of the dark mahogany desk by the window.

"Look at me.” He commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against my ear.

I opened my eyes, meeting those intense gray ones in the dim light.

His eyes were fixed on mine as he unbuttoned his suit jacket, stripped it off, and tossed it onto the floor. Then he reached behind me, finding the zipper of my dress. The slide of the zipper was loud in the quiet room. He pulled the straps down my arms, letting the silk drop to my waist, exposing my skin to the cool air of the room.

His gaze dropped to my chest, heavy and slow.

"Beautiful.” He said, his voice quiet and rough.

He reached out, his thumb running over the curve of my collarbone down to my breast. His skin was warm and slightly calloused, sending a sudden, sharp heat straight through me. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my hands gripping the edge of the desk behind me.

He lowered his head, his mouth tracking a trail of slow, heavy kisses down my neck, over my collarbone, and down to my chest. Every flick of his tongue and press of his lips sent a jolt of liquid heat straight to my core. I gripped his broad shoulders, my nails digging into the crisp fabric of his shirt as a low gasp escaped my lips.

"Tell me what you want.” He growled against my skin, his hand sliding between my thighs, fingers slipping past the silk of my underwear to find how slick and warm I already was for him.

"I-I want-“ I breathed, tossing my head back as his fingers moved inside me with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made my legs shake. “I want you to fuck me till I can’t feel my legs.”

He didn't need to be told twice.

A low growl escaped him as he He unbuckled his belt, pushed his trousers down, and freed himself. In seconds, he stepped between my knees, his hands gripping my hips to hold me steady.

When he gripped my hips and pushed inside me in one smooth, relentless stroke, the intensity was so sharp it almost knocked the air from my lungs. I bit my lower lip to keep from crying out, my inner muscles clenching tight around him.

He paused, breathing heavily against my neck, giving me a second to adjust before he began to move. His pace was deliberate at first—deep, heavy thrusts that friction-burned away every last thought of Julian, the betrayal, and my ruined past. But as the friction built, his restraint shattered.

His grip on my waist tightened, holding me steady as his thrusts grew faster, harder, and more desperate. The wooden desk creaked beneath us, the sound drowned out by the heavy rhythm of our breathing and the slick friction of our skin meeting. I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist, riding the rising wave of heat, completely lost in the sheer, unadulterated pleasure he was wringing out of me.

"Look at me, Allison.” He rasped—or maybe he just said "sweetheart," I couldn't even tell through the haze of pleasure—his gray eyes dark and dilated as he drove into me one last deep, shattering time.

The coil inside me snapped, an overwhelming wave of climax crashing through my body, making my chest heave and my vision blur. He followed right after me with a low, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of my neck as his muscles shuddered against mine.

___

By 5:00 AM, the room was completely quiet.

I sat up in the dark, pulled my dress back over my head, and grabbed my bag from the chair. I didn't leave a note or care to ask for his name. I just wanted to leave before he woke up.

I reached for the door handle.

"Sneaking out so soon, Allison?"

I froze, my hand hovering an inch from the brass knob.

Behind me, the bedside lamp clicked on.

I turned around. He was sitting back against the headboard with the sheet pulled up to his waist. He looked completely awake, holding a thick black folder that hadn't been on the nightstand when we walked in last night.

"How do you know my name?" I asked, my pulse quickening.

He opened the folder without taking his eyes off me.

"I know a lot of things," he said plainly. "I know you're the lead engineer who built Apex Media from the ground up. I know you wiped their servers a few days ago. And..." He tossed a legal document across the bed toward me. "...I know your biological grandfather died a few hours ago, leaving you forty percent of the voting stock in the Montgomery Group."

I stared at the paper landing near my knees. "What?"

"I'm Liam Blackwood,” he said, leaning forward. "And as of this morning, Allison Montgomery, you're the richest heiress in the city—and my new fiancée."