Chapter 4: The Peeping Billionaire
Water slicked their bodies as Harper shoved Liam backward into the plush leather seat of the cavernous home theater. He landed with a muffled thud, the impact lost in the roar of his pulse and the drumming of water still dripping from his hair onto the expensive velvet. She climbed into his lap, astride him, the wet heat of her core pressing against his already hardening cock through the thin towel hastily wrapped around his hips. Her mouth crashed onto his, a desperate, possessive claim, her tongue demanding entry as one hand fisted in his damp hair, the other tearing at his towel.
"Forget the world, Liam," she growled against his lips, biting his lower lip sharply. "Just fucking feel me." She yanked the towel away, freeing his thick erection, and sank down onto him in one savage stroke. He cried out, a raw, guttural sound ripped from his chest, his hands flying to her hips, his fingers digging into her wet skin as she impaled herself. "Fuck, you're tight," he gasped, arching up to meet her, the sensation of her slick walls clamping down on him almost blinding. "Ride me, Harper. Take what you want."
She moved, a relentless, punishing rhythm, driving herself down onto his cock with each upward thrust he made. The plush leather groaned beneath them. Her wet hair slapped against her back and his chest, her breasts swaying, nipples hard points grazing his skin. "Harder," he begged, his voice ragged, his control utterly shattered, eyes dark with need. "Use me. Fuck me like you own me." She leaned forward, pinning his shoulders back against the seat, taking him impossibly deeper, her pace becoming frantic, animalistic. His hips pistoned up to meet her downward plunge, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the hushed room.
The massive screen flickered to life. Not the expected start-up logo, but a shockingly intimate, high-definition image: Harper’s back arched, her red hair plastered to her skin, Liam’s face contorted in ecstasy beneath her. It was them. Now. The angle was from above, capturing every obscene detail of her riding him. Julian Vance’s cool, predatory voice cut through the humid air and their harsh breathing. "Such passion, Liam. Quite the performance. And Harper... captivating, truly."
Liam froze, a strangled gasp catching in his throat, horror flooding his grey eyes as he stared at the screen, at their exposed, vulnerable selves. Harper went rigid on top of him, her internal muscles clenching around his still-hard cock in a spasm of shock. She whipped her head towards the screen, her face draining of color beneath the flush of exertion, her eyes wide with disbelief and dawning fury.
"Turn it off!" Liam roared, his voice cracking, scrambling to disengage, to shield Harper, but she remained locked in place on him, a terrifying mix of terror and defiance flashing across her face. Julian’s image replaced their own, his smile cold and triumphant. "Oh, I think not. This footage, Liam... it's insurance. Fulfill your duty. Marry Amelia within the month. Or this intimate view of you and your... charity case... goes viral. Imagine what your mother, the board, the world, will think of the mighty Liam Carter being ridden like a common whore?" The screen went black, plunging them back into near-darkness, the silence now thick with panic and the acrid scent of betrayal. Julian was gone, but his threat hung in the air, suffocating. Harper slowly lifted herself off him, her movements stiff, her eyes fixed on the dark screen, the raw heat of moments ago replaced by a chilling vulnerability. "He saw everything," she whispered.