Chapter 33 A Caring Liam
Claire
At the end I came hard, collapsing onto his chest, my breathing ragged and ecstatic. This was exactly what I’d needed to quiet the storm in my head, and I still couldn’t believe how well it had worked. A deep, exhausted sigh slipped out of me.
“Are you calm now?” Liam asked quietly.
I straightened up slowly and nodded, too overwhelmed to find the right words.
“Good,” he said simply.
I lifted myself off him and slid back to the passenger seat. My release trailed down my thighs as I moved. I reached for the tissue box I kept in the car, wiped myself carefully, then tossed a few tissues toward him. He caught them and cleaned up without a word.
He hadn’t come inside me—not at all. Normally Liam would have kept going, demanding more until he finished, but today he held back. I knew exactly why.
“You want to head home, or come with me?” he asked. I didn’t even need a second to decide. The kids already thought I was tied up with something important, so I just nodded. “I’ll come with you,” I said. That was all he needed—he turned the key and the engine came to life.
The drive to his private place passed in complete silence. That quiet actually helped my mind race even faster. Thank God I wasn’t behind the wheel.
My thoughts kept spinning: what if the kids ever find out? I know I’m keeping up appearances for their sake—so they can hold on to the fantasy of our “perfect” family—but it’s slowly killing me. I don’t know how much longer I can keep smiling through it while I’m breaking apart inside.
Every time I look at Ian, the disgust builds higher. It’s eating away at my mental health, and the spiral was so deep I barely noticed we’d reached the security gate. He flashed his card, the barrier lifted, and he drove straight into the underground parking.
The sooner we’re inside his place, the better. I need to lose myself in him, need him to drown out the noise in my head—even if it’s only for a little while.
When we finally pulled into a spot, we stepped out. He matched my pace as we walked to the elevator. “First thing,” he said as the doors slid open, “you’re washing that awful makeup off your face.”
I didn’t expect it, but a small laugh escaped me. “Don’t call it awful,” I protested, shaking my head.
“But it is, Mrs. Claire. Even I could do a better job. Maybe try a tutorial or two next time.”
That did it—I laughed harder. Brutally honest, zero filter. I might actually take his advice.
When we stepped into his apartment, I braced myself for the usual—him pulling me close the way he used to, hands already hungry, skipping straight to what we both needed. But that wasn’t what happened.
He guided me into the living room, shrugged off his coat, and said quietly, “Come with me.” We walked to the bedroom together. His mood was serious, almost careful. He handed me a pack of makeup wipes without a word.
I sat on the edge of the bed; he stayed standing while I scrubbed everything away—the heavy mascara, the caked powder, the foundation that had felt like wet clay drying on my skin. When it was gone, my face finally felt clean, light, almost human again.
The moment I looked up, Liam dropped to a crouch in front of me. His fingers gently caught my chin and tilted my head to the side. “He hit you hard,” he murmured, more to himself than to me, eyes tracing the faint mark.
“Did you hit him back?” he asked, releasing my face.
I shook my head. He gave a small nod and stood. “He caught my wrist before I could,” I admitted. “But I tried.”
Liam only hummed in response, already reaching for his cufflinks. I watched the muscles shift across his back as he undid his shirt buttons one by one, peeling the fabric away. So we’re doing this now, I thought.
“Strip, Mrs. Claire,” he said over his shoulder, voice low and even.
I rose and started undoing my own clothes. He’s seen every inch of me so many times now that modesty feels like a forgotten habit. By the time I was down to my underwear, he had already shed everything and turned to face me.
He waited, patient, not rushing me. When the last piece fell away, he spoke again. “Loosen your hair.”
I reached up and pulled the pins free, letting it tumble down. For once I didn’t argue or tease—just did as he asked.
“Come here.”
I crossed the short distance on unsteady legs, already slick between my thighs, pulse hammering. When I was close enough, he caught my arm gently.
“We’re going to shower, Mrs. Claire,” he said.
I blinked, caught off guard. Just a shower?
He caught the look on my face and gave a faint, crooked smile. “Don’t look so shocked. I still have a shred of decency left, you know.” With that, he tugged me toward the bathroom.
The warm water poured over me in steady streams, and I let out a long, shuddering sigh, almost losing myself in the sensation—forgetting for a moment that Liam stood right behind me. Somehow he always seemed to read me better than I could read myself, knowing I needed this bath to ease me.
He clearly knew exactly how to navigate a woman’s body, from raw desire to this quieter kind of care when needed. His arms slid around me from behind, strong and sure, as he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to my shoulder. I turned my head instinctively, watching as his lips lingered, then parted to suck gently at the wet skin before grazing it with a light bite.
I ached for his hand—the one resting low on my stomach—to drift lower, to give me what my body was already begging for. But it stayed there, warm and unmoving, even though I could feel how hard he was, his arousal pressing insistently against the curve of my lower back.
He left my shoulder and moved higher, lips brushing the sensitive shell of my ear. I bit down on my lower lip to stifle a sound as my breathing turned ragged. Then his voice came, low and teasing against the damp skin:
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Claire.”
My breath caught sharply in my throat.
I liked the way he said my name without the title Mrs., I don't like to be reminded that I am married to that bastard.
“We should wash,” he said, releasing me.
I noticed the gentleness in him then, the careful way he stepped back. Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated it. But right now, it wasn’t what I needed. I wanted the version of him that didn’t hesitate—the one who was rough, unrestrained, unapologetic, the one that spanks me and whips me, the one that drags my hair until it hurts.
The thought startled me.
I’d never craved pain before. Never wanted to be handled that way. Yet now, the idea lingered in my mind, unwanted and persistent. Maybe that was proof that I’d already lost myself somewhere along the way.
I didn’t recognize who I was becoming.
Just as he suggested, we washed up. Still, distance never truly existed between us—his presence followed me, his touch brief but deliberate, as if reminding me that he was there.
When we stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in towels, he reached for his phone while I dried my hair with another.
“I don’t know if you noticed,” he said casually, “but I ordered food on our way here. I didn’t bother asking what you wanted—your mind seemed… elsewhere.”
I turned to him, eyes widening. “You ordered food?”
He smiled faintly. “Exactly. You didn’t even notice” he looked over at phone and mouthed "it's here”
And just like that, here we are eating.
This wasn’t what I’d come here for—not really—but I didn’t complain. I let him take the lead, let the moment unfold as it pleased him. The food was good, better than I expected, and I ate more than I meant to.
Only then did I realize how little I’d eaten at home lately.
With Ian around, I never truly felt at ease.
When I finished eating and let out a quiet sigh, I noticed he was done too. He wasn’t touching his food anymore—his attention was on me.
I lifted my gaze and caught him staring.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he smiled, slow and knowing, the kind that made my pulse skip.
“I’ll give you what you want now, Claire,” he said softly and heat ran up to my cheeks in an instant.