CHAPTER 5

Liam POV

The helicopter touches down on the East 34th Street heliport at 8:09 p.m.

I tell the pilot to keep the rotors warm. I won’t be long.

I walk straight to the black Range Rover waiting at the curb. Marco is behind the wheel, eyes forward. He knows better than to ask questions tonight.

“Sixty Vestry Street. Penthouse B.

Chloe texted me the code this afternoon: 0824#

She ended the message with a single peach emoji and a devil.

The drive takes seven minutes. I spend all seven staring at the photo Serena sent me an hour ago (her in the pale-blue satin slip I told her to wear, lying on our bed, hair spread on the pillow like spilled ink). She thinks I’m still in Connecticut. She thinks I’ll walk in around midnight, untie those little bows with my teeth, and reward her for being obedient.

She has no idea I’m already hard for someone else tonight.

The elevator opens directly into Chloe’s apartment. All the lights are off except the under-cabinet glow in the kitchen and the city shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Music is playing low (something slow and dirty with a bass line that feels like a heartbeat between my legs).

She’s waiting exactly where I told her to be: on her knees in the middle of the living room rug, wearing nothing but a thin gold chain around her waist and the highest heels I’ve ever seen. Blonde hair loose down her back. Hands resting palms-up on her thighs. Eyes on the floor.

Perfect little doll.

I don’t speak. I just unbutton my jacket, let it fall on the marble. I walk a slow circle around her, taking in every inch. Her skin is already flushed pink with excitement. Her breathing is fast. She knows the rules: no talking until I say.

I stop behind her, reach down, wrap her hair around my fist once, twice, tight, until her head tilts back and her throat is long and open. She makes a small hungry sound.

“Miss me?” I ask, voice low.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers.

I tug harder. “Louder.”

“Yes, sir. I missed you so much it hurt.”

I smile in the dark. I release her hair and walk to the window. The whole city is spread out below us like a toy I could crush if I wanted. I loosen my tie, pull it free, fold it once, twice, put it in my pocket.

“Stand up. Walk to the glass.”

She stands fast, almost stumbles in the heels, then walks to the window. I follow. When her palms hit the cold glass she gasps. I press my whole body against her back, let her feel how hard I already am.

“Look down,” I tell her. “Sixty floors. If you scream loud enough, maybe someone will hear.”

She whimpers.

I slide one hand around her throat, not squeezing, just holding. The other hand goes between her legs. She’s soaked (of course she is). I push two fingers inside without warning. She cries out, pushes back against me like she’s starving.

“Tell me,” I say against her ear. “Tell me what you are.”

“Your dirty little secret,” she pants. “Your filthy side whore while you marry my perfect sister.”

I reward her with a third finger and a bite on the shoulder hard enough to leave teeth marks.

She moans loud enough the glass shakes.

Chloe POV

I watch our reflection in the window (me naked except for the heels and chain, him still in his perfect suit, tie gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, hand around my throat like a collar).

I look like sin.

He looks like the devil who owns it.

His fingers move inside me rough and fast, exactly the way he knows I hate to love. I’m dripping down my own thighs already. I try to turn my head to kiss him but he tightens his grip on my throat.

“Eyes forward. Watch the city watch you get fucked by your sister’s fiancé.”

I obey. I always obey when it’s him.

I hate that I love it.

He pulls his fingers out and brings them to my mouth. I lick them clean without being told (salty, shameful). He growls approval and spins me around, pushes me down until my knees hit the rug again.

He unbuttons his belt with one hand. The sound of the leather sliding free makes me shiver harder than the cold glass did.

He doesn’t take anything else off. Just frees himself, already thick and angry red. He fists my hair again and guides me forward.

I take him deep on the first try (practice makes perfect). He groans, hips rocking slow, letting me feel every inch. My eyes water but I keep going until my nose touches his stomach. He holds me there until I choke, then lets me breathe, then does it again.

“Good girl,” he says, voice rough now. “This mouth was made for me, wasn’t it?”

I can only moan around him.

He pulls out suddenly, yanks me up by the hair, bends me over the back of the white sofa. The city lights blur through my tears. I feel him behind me, the blunt head of him pressing, then one hard thrust and he’s inside me to the hilt.

No condom. Never a condom with me.

He likes the risk. He likes knowing he could ruin everything with one careless night.

He sets a punishing rhythm, one hand on my hip hard enough to bruise, the other tangled in my hair pulling my head back so far it hurts. I love the hurt.

“Tell me,” he grunts with every thrust. “Tell me who you belong to tonight.”

“You,” I cry out. “Only you, Liam.”

“Louder.”

“Only you!”

He laughs, dark and mean, and drives deeper.

I come the first time with his name ripping out of my throat, nails clawing the sofa. He doesn’t stop. He never stops until I’m shaking and begging and promising anything.

Liam POV

She comes twice before I let myself go.

When I do, I pull out at the last second and finish across her back, watching it mark her skin like paint on a canvas. She stays bent over, trembling, breathing like she ran a marathon.

I tuck myself away, zip up, smooth my shirt. I look exactly the same as when I walked in except my eyes are darker.

I walk to the kitchen, pour two fingers of whatever whiskey she keeps for me, drink it in one swallow. She’s still draped over the sofa, thighs shaking, gold chain stuck to her sweaty skin.

I take a photo with my phone (just her back, my release glistening, city lights behind). No face. I’ll look at it later when I’m in bed beside Serena and need to remember who really knows how to take me.

I set the glass down.

“Clean yourself up,” I say. “Shower. Change the sheets. Burn the rug if you have to. I was never here.”

She turns her head, mascara streaked, lips swollen. “When can I see you again?”

I button my jacket. “When I decide you’ve earned it.”

Her eyes flash hate and hunger at the same time. Perfect.

“I walk to the elevator. Before the doors close, I look back once, smirk, and then…the doors close.”

Chloe POV

The second the elevator starts moving I let myself fall sideways onto the rug. My whole body feels used and electric. I touch the bite mark on my shoulder and smile until it hurts.

I crawl to the bathroom on shaky legs, turn the shower scalding hot, watch his release slide down my back and swirl down the drain.

I look at myself in the mirror (hair wild, lips bruised, throat red from his hand). I look like someone who finally won something.

I laugh out loud, the sound bouncing off the marble.

I step back into the shower and scrub every inch of skin until it’s raw.

I will smell like nothing but vanilla and innocence when I hug my big sister tomorrow.

Liam POV

I’m in the air again by 9:31 p.m.

The city lights beneath me like scattered diamonds.

I open the photo of Chloe’s back one more time, then delete it. I don’t need it. The memory is burned behind my eyes.

I text Serena.

Me: Running early. Home in 30. Be naked and waiting on the bed.

Three dots appear instantly.

Serena: Can’t wait. I love you.

I smile at the screen.

I lean my head back against the leather seat and close my eyes.

Two women.

One thinks she owns my heart.

One knows she owns the parts I keep in the dark.

Both of them will do exactly what I want.

And in six weeks, only one will wear my ring.

I lick my lips and taste Chloe’s lipstick mixed with whiskey.

Life is good when everything is exactly where it belongs.

The helicopter banks over Central Park toward home, toward the woman who is waiting in pale-blue satin slip , thinking she’s the only one.