Amy Bensen 01 Escaping Reality (18 page)

arms my escape will be complete.

And when we approach the entrance of the hotel, I do not even

make a pretense of my mockery of a story about fearing how I will look to

the hotel staff. Maybe I should care for other reasons. Maybe I should fear

being noticed, and with Liam, it is impossible not to be noticed, but I do

not. I am
with
Liam and I will not be any other way in this moment of time.

“Mr. Stone,” the doorman greets Liam with a nod.

Liam inclines his chin at the man and I find myself drinking in his

profile, so strong, so confident, and I envy him, this man who knew what he

wanted to be in life and made it happen.

This man who knows where he has been and who he is. I know

nothing of me, not even where I have really, truly been and why I am here.

Why I exist. Why I breathe. We are not alike, as I had kidded in the

restaurant. We are so different that we are top and bottom, night and day,

but when I am in his arms, I do not have to face these things or myself.

The short path through the lobby to the elevator feels eternal, and I

am unusually frustrated when the doors to the car open and we have to

wait for someone else to exit. Liam seems to mimic my urgency, pulling me

into the car before I can walk in myself, and then pressing me toward the

wall by the keypad, his big body framing mine.

My hands go to his chest and heat darts up my arms and across my

chest. Liam slides a card into an elevator slot, directing us to the penthouse

level, then flattens a hand on the wall above my head. Our eyes connect

and I feel it clear to my toes, in every part of me. Still we do not speak, as if

we are both afraid the spell will be broken and we will be back to goodbye.

The doors ding open and he drags his hand down my arm, and laces

my fingers with his, tugging me along again as if he fears I will change my

mind. After my flip-flopping from no to yes, I don’t blame him, but that is

over. I crave the hot, dominant way I know he will take me away. I want to

be here, to be with him.

A quick swipe of his keycard and the door is open, and he flips the

light on. Liam tugs me inside and I smile as we step toe to toe, his hands on

my shoulders. “Any second thoughts?” he challenges.

“About how this night started, yes. About now, none.”

“Do you want to talk about how it started?”

“Do we have to?”

“No.” He takes my hand. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

A charge sparks in the air and he starts backing down the hallway and

I willingly follow until the sound of my phone ringing freezes me in place.

Urgency is like lightening in my blood, my future hanging on the

unanswered line. “I have to get this.” I tug my hand from Liam’s and grab

my purse from my shoulder, unzipping it with an obvious shake to my hand

that Liam isn’t going to miss.

Aware that I am unsteady, a mix of champagne and panic, I lean

against the wall and stare down at the unknown number. Quickly, I punch

the “answer” button before I miss the call again, and I swear my heart is

about to explode through my throat as I croak, “Hello.”

“Ms. Bensen?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good,” a slightly familiar male voice proclaims. “This is Scott

from the cell phone store. You left your driver’s license here. We close in an

hour if you want to swing by.”

Relief washes through me and nervous laughter, once again, bubbles

from my lips.

“Thank you. I’ll come by tomorrow and get it.”

“I’ll hold it at the register and keep it safe. Goodnight.”

“Thank you again. Goodnight.” I end the call and Liam takes my

phone and shoves it back into my purse before setting it on the ground and

the look in his eyes says I’m in for another game of dodgeball I do not want

to play.

“I left my ID in the store.” I lean forward and wrap my arms around

Liam’s neck and mold my upper body to his. Warmth spreads from every

place we are touching to every place we are not. “Where were we?”

His hand splays between my shoulder blades, a hot branding I

welcome, but the warning that follows is ice dousing the fire. “You aren’t

going to pretend what just happened didn’t happen. Just like you aren’t

going to tell me you didn’t walk into the bathroom at the restaurant

running from me and then exit running from someone, or something, else.

And I’m not buying it was Meg.”

“New places make me nervous.” I press my lips to his.

His hand tangles in my hair and gently pulls my head back, forcing my

gaze to his, and his eyes are as hard as his voice as he orders, “Don’t give

me that kind of answer. Raw and honest, Amy. That’s what we are or we

are nothing at all.” He presses me against the wall, caging me with his arms,

pinning me in a stare. “Tell me who is scaring you and I promise you, Amy, I

will make them go away.”

If only it were that easy. If only he could be my Prince Charming, my

hero. But the truth he wants is that I’m a reality show kind of gal. And in

reality, heroes die, just like everyone else in my life. I grab his shirt and lean

into him. “What happened to you fucking me until we can’t walk anymore?

That’s what tonight is supposed to be. Not you making me one of

your mathematical equations you have to crack. I don’t want to be cracked,

Liam. I don’t want to answer questions. I want to be fucked.” I barely

recognize the woman who can say such a thing and that only twists me into

a few more knots. I am sick of not knowing. “You promised. You said you

were—”

I yelp in surprise as he picks me up and starts walking. “What are you

doing?”

“No more questions, remember?”

Blood rushes to my ears, and I do not even try to see the room

around me but I am aware it’s a fancy sitting area that is nothing more than

a means to an end. The bedroom. Sex. We are going to have sex. That’s

what I asked for. That’s what I dared to demand. Actually, I demanded I be

fucked. Until last night, I didn’t say that word. This man is changing me and

I am not sure if that is good or bad. It feels good. He feels good, but maybe

too good. I cannot even willingly lie to the man when lying is how I survive.

He is making me careless. He is making me…so much.

Too much. Not enough when I want more, and I have no business

wanting anything at all.

We enter the bedroom and a light glows dimly, though I am not

aware of how or when

Liam turned it on, and to my surprise, he bypasses the bed that sits in

the center of the main wall of the room. Instead, he sets me on my feet in

front of a massive bathroom I barely glimpse, before he shuts the door. And

that intense edginess I’m coming to know as Liam has cranked up several

notches. He is mad or…wounded? Over me? That can’t be. He is confident

and experienced and I am…whatever I am, but I am less, if I have hurt this

man who has already proven he is so much more than his Wiki page.

“Liam—”

“No more talking.” His hands come down on my waist, a possessive

branding, and his voice is hard, a tight band I have the impression might

break with his mood at any moment. He walks me backwards several steps

until my heels hit the door and I lean against the hard surface.

His legs shackle mine, holding me as captive as the burn in his eyes.

“You want me to fuck you, Amy, I’ll fuck you.”

I think he is angry and suddenly, the word “fuck” feels like a slap

when I am the one who all but shouted it at him. “Yes. Yes, I do, but—”

His mouth comes down hard on mine, hot with demand, with anger. I

do not want him to be angry and I lean into him, hoping it will fade, hoping

to get lost in him, but it doesn’t work. I taste the bite of his mood, the

roughness of his tongue, and I shove at his chest and tear my mouth from

his. “Wait. Not like this.”

“You want to fuck or you don’t. I am not a yo-yo any more than you

are one of my mathematical equations.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Don’t challenge me to fuck you and then run away.”

Run away. I am always running away and sick of that being my life.

“You’re just”—I make myself look at him—“you’re you, Liam, like you said

I’m…me. And you, Liam Stone, are like a bull when you want something.

You charge.”

“What I want is you.”

Even though I know this, hearing it stirs a sweet spot in my belly and

all I want to do is savor the sensation and the man who created it. “Then

please. Just be with me. Just be with me, Liam.”

He wraps his fingers around my neck and pulls me to him. “I get

wanting to block things out. Been there, done that, baby, but I won’t let

you do it to me. We’re going to talk tomorrow, but tonight, we’ll forget.”

He brushes his lips over mine and I feel myself tremble from the simple, but

powerful touch. “Now. Turn around.” He doesn’t give me time to respond,

rotating me to face the door, my hands on the hard surface, and I am

beginning to think he likes me like this. I think I might like me like this. He

leans into me, his body deliciously heavy and hard, his breath a warm

seduction against my neck as he declares, “No more barriers,” and tugs my

zipper down, though I do not think he is talking about clothes.

I was kidding myself to challenge him to “fuck” me, to think sex is my

sanctuary from words with Liam when I am headed deeper into this web of

intimacy with him, a place where he will want, and even deserve, answers

to all of his questions. But as his hands glide my dress down my shoulders,

leaving goose bumps in their wake, I find it hard to care. He promised to

take me away and I believe he can. Already, I am sinking into the sweet

oblivion of pleasure that only Liam has ever helped me find. He is my

sanctuary from everything else. He alone is my escape.

“Step,” he commands, and I lift my feet one after another and let him

kick my dress away. Then I squeeze my eyes shut when he unhooks my bra,

and I shrug out of it, and just like that, I am, as I was only one night before,

naked before this man, my breasts swollen and heavy, my nipples tight

balls of aching need. His hands flatten on the wall by my head but he does

not touch me. He likes this, I think. To trap me. To be in control. And I like

it. I like him being in control instead of the world outside. I like that when I

hand control to him there is pleasure, not pain.

“Turn back around,” he commands, and I like that, too. The

roughness of his voice, the absoluteness of him being in charge. I do not

hesitate to comply. I face him, and his gaze does a hot up-and-down

inspection of my naked body, that sizzles every nerve ending I own.

“Take off the shoes.”

I kick them off.

“Now the panties and the thigh-highs. I want nothing between us.”

But he is fully clothed. “Are you…?”

“When you ask questions, I ask questions.”

I swallow hard at the pointed remark and the clear message he

intends. He knows that’s what I do. He knows I play dodgeball, and with

anyone else it would work. With him, I’ve already run out of rope. I shove

aside the worry this creates inside me and focus on just what I told him.

Tonight. An escape. With him.

I roll down my thigh-highs and toss them away, and waste no time

with my panties. I am naked before this man but I am so much more. I am

exposed, vulnerable, and somehow I feel protected and safe.

“On your knees,” he orders softly.

“My knees?”

“No questions, baby. You do what I say.”

I inhale and hold in the air. I trust Liam.
I
trust
Liam. When was the

last time I said that about anyone? I lower myself to my knees, the soft

carpeting padding my bare skin. Liam squats in front of me. “Hands over

your head and on the door handle.”

This time I gulp. I cannot believe I am doing this, but I do. I curl my

fingers around the knob above my head, and now I am truly exposed, my

breasts thrust high, my body stretched out for his viewing. But he does not

look at my body. He watches my face, searching my eyes, an intense,

inscrutable look etched in the hard lines of his handsome face.

He loosens his tie, then pulls it from his neck. Adrenaline surges

through me with the certainty that his shirt and pants are next, but he does

not undress. He reaches over me to my wrists, and I gasp at the realization

that Liam is using his tie to bind my arms over my head.

I am more than naked and vulnerable. I am at his mercy.

Chapter Thirteen

Willingly tied to the door and at his mercy, I am remarkably without

fear, and there is a burn in my belly. Cool air conditioning teases my

nipples, a striking contrast to the heat in Liam’s gaze as it rakes over my

body. The tie is snug silk on my wrists, a promise I cannot escape whatever

Liam intends for me. I do not want to escape what he intends for me.

Anticipation is liquid fire between my thighs. I am aroused, wet, and

aching with an emptiness only he can fill. It is beyond erotic to allow him

this control, and for someone who often feels I do not know myself, I am

suddenly aware of why his control pleases me. When I am with him like