Chapter 47 Help Me… With Your Hands
She ran into Jack inside.
“You’ve got quite a few admirers, Emma,” Jack remarked.
Emma smiled but didn’t reply.
“Want to play ball this weekend?” he asked.
“No, I already have plans.”
“Then next time.”
“Sure.”
The elevator doors opened, letting in a blast of cold air that made her shiver.
After saying goodbye, she stepped out, flowers in hand.
⸻
Back at the villa, Arthur had already turned on the heat.
After clearing the wilted leaves from the table, she tied on an apron and decided to cook Liam a proper meal that night.
…
Just as she was about to call him, the elevator doors opened.
He stepped out, and the aroma immediately reached him.
“You’re cooking?” he asked, glancing toward the kitchen.
“Yes. Come taste it.” She set the table, untied her apron, and walked toward him.
She helped him remove his coat and draped it over the nearby sofa.
The moment she turned away, his shadow fell over her, pressing her back against the edge of the sofa.
A scorching kiss landed without warning, cutting off her breath.
Her heart pounded violently as his heat enveloped her.
His breathing grew heavy as instinct took over.
No!
“Stop… Liam…” She pressed her palm firmly against his chest.
…
Ignoring her protest, his kiss drifted upward, brushing her cheek.
Fighting himself, he asked hoarsely, “Can we eat later?”
“No, I’m hungry…”
She tried to break free, but failed.
“It can’t wait…” He panted, his lips near her ear.
“Let’s eat first.” Her face burned as she shoved him away.
“Hmph…” He loosened his grip slowly, forcing himself to step back.
⸻
“Did you eat Brussels sprouts?” Liam asked suddenly, recalling the earlier kiss.
“Mhm.” Emma nodded.
“Just be yourself, honey,” he said softly.
“Yeah. I am. I just thought they tasted pretty good,” she replied, lowering her head slightly.
“We signed the contract with Muse today,” Liam said with a smile.
“Oh, that’s good news,” Emma replied lightly.
“Claire has always handled Muse’s work. You knew that, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, Claire mentioned it.” She nodded.
“Have you met her?” He pressed.
“Yeah, she’s quite beautiful.”
“Then why didn’t you—”
“Muse doesn’t like socializing. It’s actually quite difficult to get in touch with her.” She explained, cutting him off.
“Well, Claire’s quite impressive. Tell her thanks for me.”
“I will.” She exhaled in relief.
…
That night, they moved in perfect harmony.
Every deliberate movement pressed his weight, his heat, and his intent into her—wordless and overwhelming.
His mouth traveled lower with agonizing slowness, each kiss more deliberate than the last, as though he were mapping her body from memory, claiming her all over again, leaving a trail of heat that made her toes curl against the sheets.
When he reached the inside of her thigh, he didn’t rush. He waited—breathing her in, letting the anticipation coil tight enough to make her hips jerk toward him without her consent.
“Liam…” she whispered, her voice already breaking.
He answered with a low sound—half approval, half possession—before finally lowering his mouth to the place he had denied her moments earlier.
The first pull of his lips made her cry out, her fingers scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto.
He held her open with steady hands, his mouth working her with slow, devastating precision that shattered every breath she tried to take.
She tried to push him away once—instinct, embarrassment, something—but he caught her wrist and pinned it above her head without lifting his mouth.
“Don’t, honey,” he murmured against her, the vibration tearing through her. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Her thighs trembled instinctively.
Her breath broke into pleading gasps as he drew every response from her body, one by one, until she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to escape him or pull him closer.
When she finally broke—trembling so hard her legs tightened around his shoulders—he didn’t stop.
He held her through every shudder, every soft cry, taking each wave of pleasure as though he had earned it.
…
After showering,
He was busy at the computer while Emma sketched on the sofa across from him.
“Liam.”
“Hmm.”
“Is your leg okay?” she asked. She had noticed a bullet-sized scar on his leg.
“Yes. At least, it’s good on the bed.” He grinned and glanced at her.
She swallowed nervously and lowered her head, blushing.
“I might be back very late tomorrow night,” he said.
“Okay.” Emma exhaled in relief.
Liam lifted his gaze and caught the faint smile playing at her lips.
“You’re pleased?” he asked.
“Huh? No…”
“Just catching up with a few military buddies. Want to come along?” he asked casually.
“No, you guys go ahead. I’m not really into that scene.” She declined.
“Alright.” He nodded.
⸻
Emma logged into the Muse account on her laptop and secretly sent him the manuscript file.
Liam opened WhatsApp and clicked to accept it.
Liam: \[Is there a chance I could treat you to dinner?\]
Muse: \[No, thanks. I don’t dine with married men.\]
\[Aren’t you afraid your wife will find out, Mr. Hayes?\]
Liam: \[My wife is right beside me.\]
Chuckling silently, Emma logged out of the Muse account, stretched out on the sofa, and continued drawing.
…
Liam stood beside the sofa, watching her sleep.
He sat down slowly, the cushions sinking beneath his weight.
“Emma.”
“Mm.”
He brushed her hair aside and lifted her gently.
His heated body pressed against hers, and she could hear his heartbeat pounding clearly.
She squeezed her eyes shut as he placed her on the bed with careful restraint.
Then—without warning—he caught her hand and coaxed it downward, guiding it to rest against his lower body.
Embarrassed, she buried her face in his arm.
“What’s the estimated length, Emma?” he asked softly.
“…”
“Remember, it’s twenty centimeters.”
In the dim light, he pinched her flushed cheek and pressed a warm kiss to her forehead.
“Help me… with your hands,” he whispered, his voice husky.
Her heart skipped violently.
The next morning:
Liam rose early, as usual.
Breakfast awaited her in the kitchen.
Emma climbed out of bed cautiously; her body felt heavy and weak.