LOGINContent Warning: This book contains sexually explicit material and is intended for readers aged 18 and above. "I’m engaged to your sister. You can’t do this." His dark-green eyes bored into mine under the sheets, as he stroked my cheeks. "You’re not even into women, Liam. You know you’re not. You know you want this. You want me." And Liam couldn't deny it, He lived to burn for Jackson Maddox. ~ Liam Sinclair had always lived according to his father’s rules, polished, quiet, and hidden in the perfect image of a future CEO. Behind closed doors, he carried a secret that could destroy everything his father built. He was gay. But scandal had no place in the Sinclair legacy, and Liam made sure no one ever found out. That is, until the night everything changed. When his father arranges an engagement with Avery Maddox, a woman Liam barely knows, he unravels. A single night of rebellion leads him to a club, where a one-night stand with a seductive green-eyed stranger spirals into something far more complicated. The next morning, the stranger's identity is no longer a mystery. His name is Jackson Humin Maddox, the brother of his intending Fiancee. Now Liam is trapped between duty and desire, legacy and love. But Jackson doesn’t care about titles or contracts. Engaged or not, he wants Liam, and he is not letting go. This is a forbidden tango of chemistry, but Liam Sinclair has to choose, to either pretend his one time mistake was baseless, or to fall maddeningly in love with it.
View MoreLiam's pov
"Another shot, please." The bartender gave me a worried glance, maybe I was taking too much. But I didn't care, I needed to get wasted tonight. He poured another shot and added extra ice, it left a burning trail as I tipped it into my mouth. Tomorrow was my engagement, and my twenty-fifth birthday. I was to be engaged to the charming Avery Maddox. And shit, if I remembered correctly through all this alcohol. I've only met this woman once. And we didn't even hold out a proper conversation. "Another one." I requested, nudging the now empty glass to him. "It's your engagement sir, why aren't you happy about it.?" I scoffed internally, Maybe because I wasn't interested in women?Yes, they were luscious beings with luscious assets. But I ached to be used, to be dominated and pummelled into a mattress so hard that there would be a dent in the bed frame the morning after. I liked men, I wanted men. I gripped the cup in anger, I couldn't have them. Because that would mean my whole world tearing into little pieces and then burning up and receding into bright orange flames. "Just imagine....." I muttered amusingly, to my own hearing. "Liam Sinclair, heir to Mr. Astor Sinclair, coming out of the closet and identifying with the LGBT community." I could almost smell the headlines. My father would ruin me first, and I was honestly..... incapable of fighting his choices. The bartender turned to me, he was a big bulky man that had his hair roughed up with an apron on. A big muscle daddy capable of- "So you don't like her?" He asked, his squeaky nosy tone drowning out my desires. "It doesn't matter who I marry.....it's quite frankly all the same." He kept quiet after that and I kept on drinking, in fact....I started feeling the shots kicking in. I climbed on the table, hooted and announced that I would be buying drinks for everyone here. Their excited cheers erupted around me, their tongues gliding at the corner of their lips at the mention of free liquor. Through the blinding neon lights and loud phonk music, I noticed......him. He was seated at the VIP section, he was watching me.....his eyes held my stare and I could see him clamp down on his lip with his lower teeth. He was oozing dominance, I could taste his breath from across the room. Somehow, I knew that it would taste like mint and sugar. I would never dare to approach any man intimately in public, the fear for my reputation would not let them. But my body betrayed me for this stranger. I found myself getting off the table, walking towards him, liquid courage fueling my intentions. The crowd was thick, but I was quick on my feet. Within a fleet of a second, I was on his thighs, straddling him like a shameless slut, and kissing him, like I'd been starved of life itself. He kissed back, in fact......he kissed back with more vigour than I expected. His strong arms locked around my waist, his deep green eyes looked up at me, reminding me of a thick lush forest. "Tasty...." He muttered as he curled his tongue around mine, sucking on it lewdly as he moved around on the sofa. I could feel him getting an erection beneath me. God, what was I doing?. "Wanna take this elsewhere, a hotel, just us two?" He was a stranger to me, going with him alone would mean exactly what he was suggesting. My engagement was tomorrow, and.... He grabbed my neck and peppered kisses on my chin, fisting my growing bulge and marking my neck with his light bites. "Just one night...." I murmured out of breath. "Just one." He responded in agreement. We didn't need to exchange any other words, I signalled the bartender to deduct whatever bills from my card. He carried me out, still sucking on my throat and forcing submissive sounds out of me. "You'll be a good boy for me, won't you?" It sounded like something a serial killer would say, especially when he slid my drunk ass into the back of his tinted SUV. But I didn't mind, I was too far gone, lost in his scent of coffee and rain to care. For one night, I would be reckless and I'd let loose. ~ The hotel door clicked shut behind us, muffling the noise outside. He pressed me against the wall like he couldn’t wait, his mouth crashing into mine, hungry, lustful. I clung to him, fingers tangling in his shirt before yanking it open. Buttons popped, and he didn’t even flinch. He stripped me down with practiced ease, his gorgeous eyes scanning every inch of my exposed skin like I was something he’d been starving for. I’d never done this. I'd ever let a man touch me like this. But with him, that fear turned into heat. "You're smooth...." He trailed his hand across my bare chest, "soft....just how I like my pretty boys." He pushed me onto the bed, hands everywhere, down my chest, between my thighs, leaving wet trails with his tongue as I trembled beneath him. My breath hitched, my dick throbbed. Then he pulled my boxers off and settled between my legs. "Relax," he said. His fingers were slow at first, wetting themselves with cold lube and pressing into my hungry hole until I arched and whimpered, then he got rougher, crueler in the most beautiful way. "You’ve never been fucked, have you?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to my smooth ballsacs. I shook my head, too dazed to speak. He smirked, Then I felt him, long and hard, pushing in, stretching me open like his member was a beer bottle. I gasped, my nails digging into the sheets. "Breathe, pretty boy," he whispered, thrusting into me. The whole length, he slammed it in. It hurt. It burned. But by the gods, it was everything I craved. He didn’t stop until I was flushed and wrecked, begging for more. Until the room smelled of sex and sweat and desperation. He came with a growl, spilling deep inside me while I cried out a wordless gibberish plea. We hadn't even used a condom, I was careless, getting pummeled raw as his hands worked my own pitiful member. Making it spurt and wobble. We collapsed onto the sheets together, both of us breathless. He brushed his thumb over my bruised hip bone, "I've still got more loads to pour into you." He grinned, "let's see how well you do on top.”Third Person's POVThe West Ark contract had a face.Two faces, precisely — Mateo Reyes and Elena Reyes, brother and sister, the visible architecture of a deal that had moved enough money to fund a small government and had done so through a structure elegant enough that three separate regulatory bodies had looked at it on three separate occasions and found nothing worth pursuing. Carlos Reyes, a name that rarely comes out among others of their family. Carlos always gets the low rating because he always hid his hardness behind Mateo and Elena, respectively. The Reyes family was old money in the specific Mexican sense — not narco money, or not exclusively, but the kind of generational wealth that had survived long enough to develop legitimacy the way sediment develops into stone, layer by layer, until the original material was no longer the point.Mateo had been the operational face. He had attended the meetings, signed the documents, appeared in the photographs that existed in the plac
Third Person's POVThe phone rang at 7:14 in the morning, which was how Morgana knew it was Henri.Henri Voss had three rules about communication that he had maintained without deviation for as long as she had known him. He never used the same line twice for sensitive information. He never called after nine in the evening, because evenings were for the kind of thinking that required no interruption. And he never called at a civilized hour when he had found something that mattered, because finding things that mattered had a way of making sleep irrelevant.She was already awake. She had been awake since four, which was not unusual. Sleep had been a negotiation since the year her son died, something she approached carefully and lost regularly, and she had long since made peace with the hours between four and seven as her own — a stretch of time that belonged to no one and therefore belonged entirely to her.She answered on the second ring."You found something," she said. Not a question.
Third Person's POVThe tie was wrong.Jackson stood in front of the mirror in the hotel bathroom and adjusted it for the fourth time, and it was still wrong, and he understood with a clarity that it had nothing to do with neckwear that the tie was not the problem. The tie was just the thing his hands were doing while his mind worked on something it could not yet put into language."You are going to be late," Liam said from the doorway."I know.""The board has confirmed the press briefing for eleven. Emily has the statement ready to read if you do not want to speak directly. But we both know you are going to speak directly.""I know that too." Jackson looked at his own reflection with the detached assessment of someone checking that the external version was holding together regardless of the internal situation. Suit. Tie that was still slightly wrong. Face that had the controlled neutrality he had been practicing since he was old enough to understand that Maddox men did not show thing
The Hunter and the HuntedThird Person's POVThe parking garage on Delancey Street had forty-three surveillance cameras.Danny Finn had counted them over three days of reconnaissance, mapping blind spots, identifying the fourteen cameras that were either broken, poorly angled, or pointed at sections of wall that had not changed since the garage was built in 1987. He had planned his route through the structure with the precision of a man who had spent nine years learning that the difference between finding someone and being found was exactly the kind of patience that grief, if it did not destroy you, eventually taught.He had been careful.He had been thorough.He had been wrong.---Three days earlier, Danny had picked up Dollar Fabs's trail through a contact in the chemical distribution network — a man who imported specialty solvents and knew every buyer in the region with the kind of granular memory that only survived through genuine fear of being on the wrong side of an inventory d












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