Chapter 6

Liam

10:31 AM THURSDAY

It’s not the first time I’ve done a naked walk of shame through my own fucking casino, and it may not be the last.

But who’s to say? After all—I am a married man now.

A group of middle-aged women playing the quarter slots whistle and howl as I walk past them, my sizable manhood tucked modestly in my hands and a smile on my face. I wink at them as I pass, cheeky as ever.

“Cheerio, ladies,” I coo, and they all look as if they’ve gone a little lightheaded at the sound of my voice.

My walks of shame, you see, don’t generally involve much shame in them. Nothing wrong with a brisk little jaunt in the nude—particularly while I still have the smell of Becky’s cunt on my cock and the memory of her kiss on my lips.

Strawberry champagne, she tasted like.

The first time, anyway.

By the end of the night, of course, she tasted like tequila and lime, but that’s just Las fucking Vegas for you.

“Well, would you look at what the cat coughed up,” Dahlia laughs as I poke my head into my office and strut on in.

My skin prickles, and I stride past Dahlia's desk. She’s a good bird, Dahlia. Organizes my schedule and puts up with my shenanigans. I’ve burned through my fair share of secretaries in my day, but Dahlia has stuck around for longer than I could have ever hoped.

Life’s pretty fucking good if you take the sort of liberties I can. But some liberties can only be taken with the right sort of people.

Dahlia is the right sort of person.

Once she’s had her little jab at me, she barely gives me a second glance. It’s not the first time she’s seen me like this. Doesn’t even faze her. I know men aren’t her game, but she doesn’t even bother to pretend staring anymore. If we weren’t such good friends, I’d find myself offended.

If I remembered to be, at least.

“Late night, then?” Dal keeps typing, her eyes fixed on the computer screen.

It’s more a statement than a question. And as far as questions go, it answers itself—eyes gently bloodshot, the smell of booze on my skin, and—of course—usually, I show dressed for work, not play.

The nudity, I decide, is probably the most prominent giveaway that I haven’t been home yet this morning.

She hands me a suit fresh from the dry cleaners as if she’s read my fucking mind.

Black slacks, black jacket, white shirt, red tie. Simple. Timeless. Classic.

Handy, too, since my step-brother’s ex-fiancé threw me out of her bridal suite without knowing who I was…or giving me the benefit of getting dressed first.

I put the fresh suit on right there in the lobby of my office. Dal doesn’t so much as give me a sidelong glance as I do so.

Part of me can still hardly believe the events of last night. My wanker of a step-brother’s indiscretions. The look on poor Becky’s face when she walked in and saw them all.

And a thousand other looks on Becky’s gorgeous face, as well—most of them quite pleasurable, especially considering the state she was in when she called me.

I can never say no to a damsel in distress, after all.

So, part of me is still in shock. My life is changed forever now, whether Becky remembers me or not.

The other part of me isn’t surprised in the least. When has my life been anything but surprises? Reality, normalcy, and a well-organized existence has never been my fucking forte.

Perhaps that’s why I’m drawn to Becky Brooks so much. Even when she’s trying her best to behave herself, she’s a whirlwind of chaos.

And best of all, whether she knows it or not…she’s mine.

“Any meetings for today?” I ask Dal, knowing she’s shifted all of them already. That was the first phone call I made last night: instructing Dahlia to ensure that my schedule would be free today.

As expected, she shakes her head no.

As my eyes pass over her desk, I notice something missing. She keeps her desk spotless and has no clutter on it. The bare essentials are laid out to her left: phone, pencil, and notepad. It takes me several seconds to work out what’s different.

“How’s Michelle?” I watch her face closely as I wait for the answer.

A shadow passes across her dark features.

“Broke up. Don’t want to talk about it.”

Ah. That would be it, then. Up until the end of last week, a gold-rimmed picture frame had been sitting on Dahlia's desk, and this morning it’s no longer there.

Dal is gruff. Stoic. But I can tell she’s hurt.

“Wasn’t any good for you anyway,” I reassure her, doing up my tie.

Dal shakes her head. “Leave it, Black. Your last relationship only lasted a week.”

That’s a blow right below the belt from Del.

“With the French ambassador’s wife? That was a week and a half. I’m hurt you don’t recall.”

“Mmph.”

“She didn’t deserve you.” I’m not just saying that—I mean it. Women ought to have higher standards. Be with people who make them happy, not sodding fucking depressed all the time.

Love should be fun. Not painful, and certainly not so fucking boring.

Dahlia says nothing.

“Stop dating women who look like truckers,” I suggest helpfully. “You need someone who completes you, Dal.”

“Christ, Liam. What magic little minx came on your face this morning?”

“Who says it was just one?” I ask, smiling like the bastard I am. Or…was. Or used to be.

“I can smell the pussy on you,” Dal levels with me. “And you’re giving out monogamy advice. Something’s up, and my guess is it’s a woman.”

“Might be,” I tease. “Just promise me you’ll look for a nice, leggy blonde bird next time ‘round.”

“Right,” Dal says, but I can see her scrutinizing me. Trying to suss out what the hell has put such a pep in my step this morning.

Poor Dal. I don’t kiss and tell.

Specifically when it comes to my step-brother’s ex-fiancé.

“You’ve got messages,” Dal sighs as I head to my office. “Dan the Man’s been dialing you all morning.”

“Did you tell him to piss off?”

“Wants to know if you’ve smoothed things out with his fiancée yet.”

“Ah. Well, tell him to piss off if he calls again, then.”

When the door shuts behind me, I take a moment and lean against the back of it. So much has happened, and I’ve not really had a chance to digest it all. The whole thing’s almost akin to being on an emotional fucking roller coaster.

Usually, I am the roller coaster.

I sigh. Time to stop daydreaming and get a fucking move on. Nothing is going to happen if I lean against my door all fucking day.

I sit in my red leather high-backed office chair and put my feet on my desk. The movement has the chair automatically recline a little.

I need to get my fucking thoughts sorted, is what I need to do. Generally, I operate just fine after an all-nighter.

But this was hardly the kind of all-nighter I’m used to.

Becky Brooks.

Woman of my dreams.

I close my eyes, and vivid images of Becky come flooding back to me.

Fiery red hair, so long it hits her waist. Luscious, seductive red lips. Tits to die for. And her pussy…that pussy was something else altogether.

Just thinking about her has me wishing she was here. My cock’s threatening the structural integrity of these slacks in anticipation already.

She wasn’t meant to be mine. She shouldn’t have been mine.

But Dan the Man has made a life out of taking things from me. Perhaps it’s high time that I took something that belonged to him.

Becky. Sweet, wild, funny, intense little Becky. Her skin was soft and delicious, and her body seemed to melt into mine—a perfect fucking fit.

Ahh.

In my mind’s eye I can see her mouth tease my thick, stiff cock, and my desire grows rapidly.

I’ve been with more women in my life so far than any man has any right to. But Becky…every moment with Becky has made me forget any sensation I’ve ever felt from someone else.

It was glorious. It was raw. It was something fucking special…and now the little tart doesn’t even remember my name.

Usually, that’s my job.

Oh, Becky Brooks. How the tables have turned, you sexy fucking minx.

Bzzzzzzzzt.

A buzzing sound draws me out of my brooding. For a moment, I have a flashback—that feral fucking vibrator zooming around poor Becky’s destroyed bridal suite. Like a predator out for blood.

The buzzing isn’t a runaway vibrator, however.

My fingers find my mobile, and I glance at it.

There are a quite a few missed calls from Dan.

Fucking Dan.

Reading his name makes my insides ignite. How dare the prick ring me? After everything he did to his poor fiancée last night, after everything he put her through—

The little bastard expects me to sort it, I know.

Too bad that’s the last fucking priority on my list.

Before I call him, I listen to my messages.

Half a dozen of them are those weird recordings of people’s voices and shouting in the background. I can’t make any fucking sense of them, but I have an inkling of what might be going on.

Dan the Man, dialing me with his ass. Classy, that man.

Reluctantly, I press Dan’s name on my phone and watch the display as it dials his number.

It takes several rings before Dan answers the call.

“What the fuck have you been doing?” he roars.

Not even so much as a hello.

Tempted as I am to press the end button, I restrain myself. The prick would ring back straight away anyway. May as well get this fucking unpleasant task out of the way.

“No small talk or the usual pleasantries, Dan?”

I decide I don’t have to be fucking nice to him.

Bastard doesn’t deserve it.

“What the fuck’s going on, Liam? I’ve had several missed calls from Becky, and I cannot deal with her right now. I told you to take care of her. Smooth things over. Set it right. So why the fuck is she bothering me?”

“Maybe she’s missing you?” I nearly laugh.

I strain to make out the background noise. Was that a party going on? It sounds like there’s music and people shouting or singing. I can’t be fucking sure, but I’d eat my mobile if Dan’s in the office.

Fuck’s sake. Cheeky cunt doesn’t even feel bad about what he’s done.

“Stop fucking with me, Liam. Just get in touch with Becky and fix it. I expect you to fucking look after her. If she’s pissed at me, whatever. Deal with it. Not my problem right now.”

It’s Dan who ends the conversation. Makes me wish I would have hung up on him before it even started.

It’s a shame, really. If he would have stuck on the phone for long enough, I could have told him all about Becky. I could have reassured him that she’s more than taken care of—in fact, she’ll never be a problem for him ever again.

Or at least, she won’t be…as soon as she remembers what happened last night, who I am, and how much better I am than the stupid prick.