Chapter 117: Just Let Me In Already! [FIXED!]
The air in the suite had become a thick, electric soup of desire and desperation. Liam lay perfectly still, his muscles locked in a state of agonizing tension, pretending to be lost in the depths of sleep.
He prayed to a God he hadn’t spoken to in years, unless in court, that Mrs. Harriet would simply turn around and retreat into the bedroom, leaving him to suffer in the silence of his own arousal. He was shirtless, having discarded his shirt earlier; the thought of sleeping in a full dress shirt on a velvet couch had seemed absurdly uncomfortable, but now, the lack of fabric only made him feel more exposed, more vulnerable to her gaze.
Liam wasn’t too surprised by any of this as it was one of those things that was inevitable once you put yourself in this position so if there was anyone to blame, it was himself for even inviting her to share a room.
He could feel the cool air of the room brushing against his bare chest, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from his groin. His cock was a living thing, a pulsing, throbbing weight that seemed to have a mind of its own. As he lay there, the outline of his erection shifted slightly, sliding to the side of his thigh, which he hoped would camouflage the sheer scale of his arousal. But he knew the fabric of his trousers was thin, and the silhouette was still unmistakable to anyone looking closely.
Liam hoped she would be too distracted to see him, he hated the attention but deep down, part of him wanted her to take out his cock and put her pretty lips around it.
He wanted her to take it to the back of her throat, choke on it and do so many other naughty things.
Mrs. Harriet, however, was not just glancing. She was searching for her phone, her movements slow and deliberate. As she scanned the room, her eyes inevitably landed on the man on the couch. She paused, her gaze lingering on his shirtless form. Liam wasn’t a bodybuilder, but he was lean and toned, the result of a disciplined lifestyle and a level of self-care that was evident even in the dim light. She traced the line of his shoulders, the slight dip of his waist, and the way his chest rose and fell in a simulated, slow rhythm of sleep.
She looked at him for a second too long—a moment of pure, unadulterated curiosity. And then, it happened.
Right as she was about to look away, the fabric of Liam’s trousers jerked. A sudden, violent throb of his cock pushed against the cloth, a physical manifestation of the lust he was fighting to suppress. Mrs. Harriet froze.
Her breath hitched, and her eyes locked onto the movement. She didn’t look away in disgust or shock; instead, a flicker of something akin to admiration crossed her features. She knew exactly what she was seeing.
She knew the effect she had on him, and the fact that he was lying there, pretending to be asleep while his body betrayed him so vividly, made his self-control seem almost heroic.
“He is fighting himself for my sake,” she thought, a thrill of power coursing through her.
But this was strange because there was no reason for Liam to show this level of control to begin with.
Mrs. Harriet had no idea when last she saw someone this hard, men were either too afraid or intimidated to even be perverts around her which was commendable considering it showed a level of respect the average women could only dream about.
Curiosity, fueled by the lingering alcohol and a dormant hunger, pushed her forward. She began to move toward the couch, her footsteps silent on the plush carpet. With every inch she gained, Liam felt the atmospheric pressure increase. He could smell her—the scent of expensive soap and the warm, floral musk of her skin. The proximity was a torture beyond words.
As she leaned closer, the jerking in his pants became more erratic, his cock pulsing in time with the frantic drumming of his heart.
“Fucking hell! Calm down, Liam! Just stop it!” He screamed internally, his mind a whirlwind of panic and pleasure. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, terrified that a single flutter of his eyelids would give him away.
Mrs. Harriet stood mere inches from him. She didn’t touch him, but she leaned in, her gaze fixed on the throbbing ridge in his trousers. She looked at it as if she were studying a piece of art, her expression unreadable but her eyes dark with intent.
She seemed to be burning the image into her memory, storing the sight of his desperation for a later, more private use. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the unspoken admission of their mutual attraction.
Then, as quickly as she had approached, she turned. The soft sound of her footsteps receded as she walked away, heading back toward the bedroom.
Liam waited. He counted the seconds, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Once he was certain she was gone, he snapped his eyes open. The pretense was over.
He couldn’t ignore the erection anymore; it was a screaming demand for release. He lay there for a few minutes, trying to regain some semblance of composure, before deciding he needed to turn off the lights she had left on. The brightness of the room felt like a spotlight on his shame.
He stood up, his movements stiff. The moment he straightened his body, the door to the bedroom creaked open. Mrs. Harriet walked back in, her expression neutral, though her eyes were shimmering.
“I realized I forgot to turn off the lights,” she said, her voice a low, melodic hum that sent a shiver down Liam’s spine.
The dynamic shifted instantly. Liam was no longer the sleeping man; he was a shirtless, fully aroused man standing in the center of the room, his cock standing in a proud, unmistakable tent in his trousers. There was no hiding it now. The air between them practically crackled with sexual energy.
But as Liam looked at her, his breath caught. The towel-gown she wore had loosened. The sash was slipping, and the fabric had drifted apart, revealing a tantalizing amount of her chest. The white terry cloth was barely half an inch away from exposing her nipples. The glimpse of her pale, soft skin and the hint of a dark areola were enough to send Liam over the edge.
He felt a hot drip of precum bead at the tip of his cock, soaking into the fabric of his underwear.
They stared at each other, the tension so thick it felt like a physical barrier. Mrs. Harriet’s gaze dropped to his crotch, then rose back to his eyes. She looked as though she were on the verge of folding, her poise slipping, her lips parting slightly as if to invite him.
Just as the silence reached a breaking point, a sharp, electronic trill shattered the moment. Mrs. Harriet’s phone began to ring.
The sound was like a bucket of ice water, but it didn’t extinguish the fire; it only made it smoke. Liam’s mind was a haze of pure, unadulterated lust. He wanted her. He wanted to rip that towel away and feel her skin against his, to bury himself inside her until they both forgot who they were.
He watched as Mrs. Harriet reacted with a startled gasp. She looked around frantically, realizing the phone wasn’t in her hand. She moved toward the mounted table, where the device had slid off the edge and fallen into a narrow gap between the furniture and the wall.
Liam followed her, his movements instinctive. He entered the room and saw her bent over, her body arched as she tried to reach the phone. Because of the angle of the table, she was struggling, her arm straining, her heels lifted as she stood on her tip-toes. The position was agonizingly erotic; the towel-gown rode up her thighs, and the looseness of the neckline caused the fabric to drape forward, leaving her backside almost entirely exposed to the man standing behind her.
“Let me help you, Mrs. Harriet,” Liam murmured, his voice husky and thick with desire.
He stepped up directly behind her. He didn’t just reach for the phone; he leaned forward, his body nearly brushing her back, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. As he reached over her, Mrs. Harriet was taken aback by the sudden proximity. She gasped and shifted her weight, instinctively leaning back to find her balance.
The result was a direct, blunt collision.
Mrs. Harriet backed right into him, her rounded buttocks pressing firmly against the hard, pulsing length of his cock. The impact was electric. Through the layers of the towel and his trousers, she could feel the sheer size and rigidity of him, a hot, throbbing pillar poking directly into her.
“Fuck! At least she’ll move now…” Liam thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. He expected her to jump away, to apologize, to recoil in shock at the blatant nature of the contact. He expected the boundaries to be slammed back into place.
But to his utter surprise, Mrs. Harriet didn’t move.
She remained pressed against him, her breath hitching in a way that wasn’t about the phone. She leaned back further, molding her curves into his hardness, a soft, low moan escaped her lips or so Liam thought, it could all be all in his head.
The phone continued to ring, ignored and forgotten on the floor, as the two of them stood locked in a silent, searing embrace, the boundary between restraint and surrender finally beginning to crumble.