Liam’s body felt like liquid fire and melted wax. He lay sprawled on the black silk sheets, chest rising and falling in ragged gasps, every inch of his skin painted in drying streaks of color and glistening with sweat, c*m, and oil. His hole throbbed, raw, stretched, and leaking Nick’s thick release in slow, obscene drips down his thighs.
The floor-to-ceiling windows still hummed with the memory of being f****d against them like a public claiming. Two shattering orgasms had left him hoarse, trembling, and utterly wrecked. Yet his c**k, traitor that it was, lay half-hard against his painted stomach, twitching at the mere sight of Nick standing beside the bed like a god of sin. The arrogant CEO’s powerful body was a masterpiece of muscle and lingering paint, his thick c**k still semi-erect
