Chapter 23 Shameless Bastard
Pattie
I did exactly what Liam told me to do—I went home and waited. But hours dragged on, and he still wasn’t here. My patience was wearing thin. I couldn’t help noticing how much he’d changed lately, how distant he’d become.
And why had he reacted so strangely when Ian’s wife was mentioned? No, I shouldn’t even go there. Liam didn’t go for older women; he’d never dated one, never slept with one. He’d told me himself that no woman had ever truly satisfied him, that no one had ever made him cum. I was the only one who’d even brought him close, left him hanging on the edge. That thought still filled me with a twisted kind of pride.
I sank onto the couch in his room, trying to wait calmly, hoping that when he finally walked through the door he’d give me what I’d been craving for days—rough, desperate sex that would scratch this unbearable itch.
Then I heard the click of the front door. I shot to my feet and hurried toward the entrance, heart racing. But the moment he stepped inside, a heavy, unmistakable scent hit me—sex. I froze mid-step.
“Did you fuck another whore?” The words flew out before I could stop them.
He raised an eyebrow and let out a tired sigh. “Pattie, I came home to sleep. Go to your own room.”
I stared at him, stunned. He had never turned me down before, never brushed off my advances like this.
I folded my arms across my chest, planting my feet. “No, Liam. I’m your girlfriend. I want to spend the night with you. Don’t you get it? I’m horny—I need you.”
Frustration boiled inside me, but what he did next hit harder than I expected. He hissed under his breath, irritation flashing across his face.
“Or… do you have another muse?” The question slipped out, sharp and accusing.
He turned slowly to look at me. I froze, a small gasp escaping my lips.
“Pattie,” he said, voice cold and hard, “I told you I want to sleep. Get out of my room.”
Tears welled up instantly, spilling down my cheeks. “Is this new whore replacing me?” I choked out.
His face tightened. “Stop it. If I wanted to get rid of you, I would. Don’t test my patience—just leave.”
This wasn’t what I’d imagined, not even close. It hurt more than I wanted to admit. I’d missed him, missed his roughness, the way he used to take me without hesitation. And now he was pushing me away?
With tears streaming down my face, I turned and hurried out of his room, the door slamming softly behind me. He did smell like sex. Maybe I was losing my touch… or maybe he was just frustrated because he still hadn’t come—not once, not with anyone.
I burst into my room and threw myself face-down onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow. This wasn’t like him at all. Why had he been so harsh, so cold? Liam had never spoken to me that way before.
I had to find out who this new girl was. Maybe one of the new recruits he’d been training—someone younger, fresher. No one was going to take him from me. He was my first everything: my first kiss, my first touch, the one who taught me every single thing I knew about pleasure. He couldn’t just toss me aside for someone else.
I'll have to ask someone, maybe Jerry, but Jerry was out of the question; he was too loyal to Liam. I’d have to dig carefully, find another way.
The next morning, I felt hollow. I barely touched my breakfast, sitting slumped on the living room couch, staring at nothing. Then the air shifted—he walked in, all confidence and presence, instantly filling the room like he owned every inch of it.
“Are you still upset, hmm, my precious Pattie?” he murmured, dropping down beside me. I turned my head away, pouting, arms crossed tight over my chest.
“I didn’t like how you treated me yesterday,” I mumbled, voice small.
His warm hand cupped my chin, gently but firmly turning my face back to him. I met his eyes—those sharp, handsome eyes—and heat pooled low in my belly, my body betraying me as arousal slicked between my thighs.
“What can I do to make it up to you, hmm?” he asked softly, a smile playing on his lips. Then I noticed the small black box in his other hand. My breath caught.
“Stand up,” he ordered, voice dropping into that familiar commanding tone.
My eyes widened, but I obeyed instantly, rising to my feet.
“Take off your skirt and panties.”
Heart racing, I hooked my fingers into the waistband and shimmied them down my legs, stepping out until I stood bare from the waist down. This was the Liam I knew—the one who took control without hesitation.
His gaze dropped to my exposed pussy, lingering, but something flickered across his face, an odd shadow that made my stomach twist.
He opened the box and pulled out a sleek pink vibrator. My pulse quickened as he held it out. “Here, wet it.”
I took it from him, bringing it to my lips, sucking slowly, tongue swirling around the smooth silicone while my nipples tightened painfully against my top, aching for his touch.
When it glistened with my saliva, I handed it back. He spread me open with two fingers—gentle but deliberate—and eased the toy inside. I jerked slightly at the intrusion, a soft gasp escaping me.
He fished the remote from the box and pressed a button. The vibrator hummed to life deep inside me, sending waves of pleasure pulsing through my core. I stood there trembling, thighs pressed together, waiting for him to drop to his knees, to taste me, to suck my clit the way he used to while the toy worked me over.
But he only watched, expression unreadable.
“Liam… do something,” I pleaded, voice breathy.
Instead, he stood. I tilted my head up to meet his eyes.
He smiled, leaned down, and kissed me—deep, slow, his tongue sliding against mine, tasting me thoroughly. For a moment I melted into it, knees weakening.
Then he pulled back.
“Here,” he said, pressing the remote into my palm. “Use it on yourself, Pattie. There’s no point in fucking you when I won’t cum anyway.”
My eyes flew wide. “But you had sex yesterday—”
He shook his head. “I didn’t. Maybe the scent from someone else just clung to my clothes. Use this when you’re horny… or ask Jerry to take care of you.” he smiles sheepishly.
Shock froze me in place. Before I could find words, he sighed. “I’m busy today. Might not make it home. Don’t miss me too much.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing half-naked, the vibrator still buzzing inside me.
Bullshit. Complete bullshit. He was lying—I could feel it in my bones. He’d found someone else. I'm sure that person is my replacement.
Claire
It had been four days since I last spoke to Ian. I had planned to tell him to come home because the children would be arriving soon, but no matter how many times I tried, I couldn’t reach him.
Was his mistress leaving him really stressing him this much? He must have cared deeply for her. Still, that was no longer my concern.
Unable to sit with the uncertainty, I decided to go to his office. To my surprise, the secretary informed me that Ian had called in sick and wouldn’t be coming in for some time. She looked genuinely shocked when she realized I didn’t already know.
That only deepened my worry.
Where the hell could Ian be?
The only place that made sense was the house I had discovered he bought—the one he stayed in with his mistress. Knowing Ian, he was probably there drowning himself in alcohol.
I couldn’t believe he would reduce himself to this. To throw away his family for the body of a younger, attractive model.
I drove to the estate, but at the gate, security stopped me.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. This is a private residence. Do you have a permit?”
I stepped out of my car and sighed, reaching into my bag for my driver’s license.
“No, I don’t. But I’m Mrs. Anthony,” I said, handing it over. “I was informed my husband owns a house here. I’d like to know if he’s in.”
The guards exchanged looks.
“Why don’t you just call him, ma’am?” one asked.
“I have,” I replied, brows lifting. “His phone isn’t going through. Is he here?”
They nodded.
“Yes, ma’am. He arrived about five days ago and hasn’t left since.”
“And you don’t find that strange?” I blurted out, worry tightening in my chest.
One of them hesitated. “I’ll go with you, ma’am. We should check on him.”
The other tried calling Ian from the security line, but there was no answer.
At that point, panic threatened to creep in.
“He’s not picking,” the guard said finally.
I and the other security guard got into my car and drove off to his house together. All I could think was that I prayed he was still alive. I had no idea what I would tell the children if their father ended up dead because of a younger woman.
When we arrived, the security guard knocked. No response. He rang the bell—still nothing.
My grip tightened on my bag. “Don’t you have a spare key?” I asked sharply.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sir, if you don’t respond, we’ll be coming in,” the guard warned.
There was still no reply.
He unlocked the door.
The stench hit me immediately—stale, sour, unbearable. The house was a mess, as though someone had torn through it in a rage.
“Ian,” I called, my voice strained.
No answer.
We searched until we reached the bedroom, which was just as scattered. But the bathroom—
I couldn’t even step inside.
Ian lay there in his own vomit.
Disgust twisted my face as I turned away, covering my nose while the guard checked on him.
“I think he passed out from excessive drinking,” he said.
I was already dialing for an ambulance—and a cleaning service.
My children were coming soon, and they would see their father as a man—not this broken, shameful bastard.