Liam
The next morning I stood in the shower longer than I needed to—hot water pouring down my shoulders, burning my skin, but not nearly enough to wash away the way her scent still lingered on my fingers.
It wasn't just sex. I knew it the second she looked up at me with her lips swollen and her body trembling. When she whispered my name like it was a prayer. When she gave herself to me without holding anything back.
And I took it. All of it. Like a fucking thief.
But now? Now I was drowning in the guilt of it and i fell deeper by sleeping over last night too."
I leaned both palms against the tiles, let my head fall forward, and let out a long breath. My jaw clenched until it ached. I had a mission. A father who was dying. A bastard to take down. And here I was, tangled up in a woman I was supposed to manipulate.
Except I couldn't even lie to myself anymore—I never really manipulated her. Not the way I was told to. I didn't seduce her for the sake of leverage. I fell. Hard. And I wasn't ready for it.
I stepped out, dried off, and threw on a fresh black shirt and slacks. My usual. Controlled. Sharp. Professional. A mask.
Harley was still asleep when I looked in on her—curled up on her side, hair messy, the silk sheet clinging to her body like she'd been sculpted from fire and chaos. My throat tightened. I almost kissed her forehead. Almost crawled back into bed and whispered that I didn't give a damn about anything else. But I didn't.
Instead, I shut the door and walked out.
I needed air.
I needed distance.
I needed a way to break the cycle before it broke everything.
Back at my place, I sat on the edge of the leather couch and scrolled through encrypted messages. My father's latest one was marked urgent. I didn't even hesitate before calling.
"Liam." His voice came through rough, lower than usual. Not good.
"Hey, old man," I said, keeping it light. "What's going on?"
He coughed—three sharp, rattling sounds that cut through the speaker like static. Then silence.
"Talk to me."
"I went in for a scan. Lungs are shot," he said bluntly. "Stage four. Doctors say a couple of months if I'm lucky."
My chest hollowed. "Jesus, Dad…"
"I don't need your sympathy. I just need results. How close are you?"
I closed my eyes. Thought about Harley. About the last piece of information I still didn't have. The thing she might never willingly give me.
"I'm close," I said carefully. "Real close. Just need a few more weeks."
"You have two. "
I swore under my breath, raking a hand through my damp hair.
"I'm trusting you with this, son," he said. "We've waited a decade to put that bastard away. You're the only one who can do it."
"I know."
"Don't fuck it up."
I flinched.
"I know you," he added. "You've always been the type to protect what's yours. Remember, this mission... this is about justice. Revenge, even. And if anything is in the way, I expect you to move past it. No distractions."
"I told you, she's not in the way," I said, tone flat. I already know what this distraction he speaks of is.
"Good. Then stay focused. Because I won't die knowing he's still walking free."
The line went dead.
I sat there for a long time, phone in hand, staring at the empty screen. My heart was pounding, my head screaming. Harley wasn't just any woman. And she wasn't in the way.
She was the one thing keeping me grounded.
But the mission—the promise I made to my father—was the very thing tearing us apart.
When I saw her again, later that afternoon in her office, she greeted me like nothing had changed. Like her body hadn't shattered for me. Like I hadn't left her lying in bed sore, sweet, and beautiful.
"Hey," she smiled softly, walking toward me in a fitted blazer and heels. "You okay?"
I nodded. But my eyes didn't move from her lips. Fuck. I remembered how she tasted. How she moaned when I bit them.
She stepped closer.
"Levi?"
I cleared my throat, straightened up. "We need to talk."
She froze. "Okay…"
I looked around. We were alone. Thank God.
I kept my voice low. "We can't keep doing this."
Her brows furrowed, and her expression dropped like a weight. "What?"
"This. Us. The lines are already too blurred. I'm supposed to be your bodyguard, not your..."
"Lover?" she whispered.
I swallowed hard. "Exactly."
Her eyes searched mine. "So that's it? Just like that?"
"No," I said. "Not just like that. I'm not doing this because I want to. I'm doing it because I have to. For both of us."
Harley crossed her arms, tension rising in her shoulders. "You weren't thinking about that when you were buried inside me."
That hit low. I deserved it.
"I know," I admitted. "And I take responsibility for that. But this—" I exhaled, "—this is bigger than us. There are things going on, things I can't tell you about. Things that could destroy everything."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "What kind of things?"
I stepped forward, cupped her face gently, my thumb brushing along her cheek. "The kind that will make sense one day. But not today."
She blinked, her breath catching.
"You don't have to understand. Just... trust me when I say I'm doing this to protect you. To protect us, even if it doesn't feel like it."
I kissed her forehead—soft, slow.
Then I walked away before I changed my damn mind.
~~~
The next day was all business.
No glances. No touches. No lingering behind closed doors. I was back in suits and silence, glued to briefings, combing through files, reading encrypted emails like gospel. I buried myself in the mission because it was the only thing keeping me from going back to her.
My father's voice echoed in my head on repeat.
"I won't die knowing he's still walking free."
Those words weren't just heavy. They were shackles.
Harleyentered the conference room around noon, dressed in a sleek navy-blue suit, hair pulled back into a sharp ponytail, glasses perched on her nose—like a fucking weapon of distraction. Everyone stood a little straighter. Everyone watched her.
I watched her too.
But mine wasn't admiration. It was hunger buried beneath iron restraint.
She didn't look at me once. Not directly. But she felt me—I saw the slight falter in her steps when she passed behind me, the way her breath hitched just slightly when she set her files down across the table.
I could still taste her.
Still hear the soft whimpers she made when she fell apart on my tongue.
Still feel her slick, wet heat gripping my cock as I pounded into her so hard the headboard bruised the wall.
And yet... I didn't move.
I kept my hands locked in place. My eyes straight. My mouth shut.
I was fighting a war on two fronts—the operation and my desire for her. Both dangerous. Both all-consuming. And both capable of getting me killed.
When the meeting ended, she brushed past me again. This time her fingers accidentally skimmed mine.
It was a fraction of a second.
But my body reacted like she'd set me on fire.
I caught her wrist without thinking, a firm grip but gentle enough to hide it.
She froze. I looked up.
Her eyes—fuck. So much heat, so much confusion. But I saw something else too. Hurt.
"I'm trying," I murmured, just for her.
She blinked quickly, almost like she wasn't expecting me to say anything at all.
"I know," she whispered.
I let her go. Slowly. Like peeling off the one thing that made me feel human.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of tension and forced distance. I made sure she was guarded. I made sure her files were protected. I made sure no one could trace her to me in any dangerous capacity.
I protected her the only way I knew how—by staying away.
But damn it, if every time she was near me, my entire world didn't scream for one more taste.
One more night.
One more sin.