Page 92 of The Tower

He passed her a coffee, then nodded. “We should leave in about three hours. I have hair and make-up for you coming soon, by the way. Once we’re at the party, we’ll make a few rounds to see and be seen, then we can leave.

“And come back here?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve arranged another hotel. Your father is undoubtedly paying handsomely for information on your whereabouts. And while I’d like to believe Maya and the salon folks will stay silent, I’m not risking your safety.”

She nodded. “Right. Okay.” She flashed a small smile. “I guess I’ll go shower.”

He watched her walk away. He liked seeing her at ease in his home. And he damn sure enjoyed the way her exceptional ass looked in those leggings.

He gripped the edge of the kitchen island, cursing himself for wanting her the way he did. For having to fight back the urge to follow her into the shower. To take her right there in the heated spray.

Damn it all. It had been so much easier during those long years when he’d hated her. First, because he was a Grimm, trained from birth to hate anything and everything that touched Victor Reed.

Then, because of her complicity with her father. The way she’d so publicly spread the lie about Elias Grimm murdering her mother. She was, he’d thought, as vile as her father, willing to use lies and gossip as steppingstones to climb over everyone who got in her way.

Not long after that, he’d discovered Elysium, and he’d begun to watch her more carefully in the real world. The way she flinched when her father touched her arm in public. The mask she wore when speaking to potential investors. How, in unguarded moments at society events, her eyes would drift to the windows, to the city beyond, with a longing so raw it was almost obscene.

With each peek into that private world, he’d witnessed her most intimate needs and most desperate desires. Every day, he’d craved her more and more, almost to the point of obsession. The craving so deep he’d slid into that world himself.

He’d taken her in every way he could think of. Teases and torment. Pleasure and pain. Night after night, he’d expected her to pull back, to tell him that he’d gone too far, but she never had. He’d yet to reach her limits, at least in the virtual world.

She’d given him her everything in Elysium, but it hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t—he couldn’t—have her in the real world. And so he’d cut her down. Told her what he thought of Victor Reed’s perfect little princess. Watched that smile falter and die. All because he was a selfish bastard who’d wanted a woman he could only touch in a world woven in pixels and code.

And now?

Now, he had the real woman. He could talk to her, kiss her, stroke her, fuck her. Any damn thing he wanted.

Sasha Reed—in the flesh, in his arms, and in his bed.

It should be enough. But it wasn’t.

She might be in his home and in his bed, but she wasn’t his.

She would be, though. Liam Grimm was not a man who walked away from what he wanted. And he wanted Sasha Reed.

Without letting himself think about what he was doing, he walked straight down the hall to the yellow room, entered, then stood outside the bathroom, listening to the soothing rhythm of the spattering water and Sasha’s soft voice as she sang in the shower.

He could picture her there. Her magnificent hair pinned up. Water sluicing over her naked body, her nipples tight, her body slick with soap.

His cock twitched, and he stroked himself through his trousers, surrendering to the fantasy. The sound of the shower became a soundtrack for his imagination—Sasha with her head tilted back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted as the water caressed her skin in ways his hands wished to do.

He could do it. He could open the door. Strip down to nothing, then climb in that shower with her. She’d gasp, a false protest, but when he pressed her back against the steam-warm tiles, she’d surrender to him completely. Her mouth, desperate for him. Her arms clinging to him as he lifted her, then entered her. Her legs going tight around his waist as he thrust himself into her, deeper and harder and faster as he fucked her tight, sweet cunt.

He unzipped, then slipped his hand inside his slacks so he could rub one off as he imagined teasing her, going deliciously slow as she whimpered and cried and begged in his ear.

He squeezed harder, stroked faster, his breath becoming ragged as the fantasy deepened. The way her skin flushed pink under the hot water. Those sweet little whimpers turning desperate as she silently begged for more.

The way she arched into him, her nails digging into his back as he took her against the wall. As she surrendered to him, giving him her body, her desire, her everything.

The fantasy ripped through him, sending a fresh pulse of desire straight to his groin. He was so goddamn hard. Never had he wanted anyone like this—with this visceral, all-consuming hunger that went beyond revenge, beyond their bargain, beyond the peeks into her depths of passion he’d seen only in Elysium.

Beyond anything he could rationalize away.

His strokes grew erratic as tension coiled inside him. He was close—so damn close—every muscle taut, his breathing harsh in the quiet room. It would be so easy to finish like this, his mind full of her, his hand a poor substitute for what he really wanted.

But that wasn’t the game. That wasn’t the point.

With a curse that was almost a groan, he forced his hand to still. His cock throbbed painfully against his palm, demanding release, but he denied himself with the same ruthless control he applied to everything else in his life. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the bathroom door, his entire body trembling with unfulfilled need.