Chapter 4: Jealousy and an Alley Claiming
The sharp, chemical smell of cheap cleaner couldn’t mask the underlying notes of spilled beer and stale popcorn. Hannah shifted on the sticky vinyl barstool, her fingers tracing the chill of her half-finished pint. The Friday night crowd at The Oak Room was a familiar roar—a sea of colleagues and strangers where she usually felt anchored by Liam’s presence. Tonight, the anchor was gone.
He was across the room, near the dartboard, leaning against the dark wood paneling.And he was laughing. A deep, genuine laugh she knew intimately, one that usually belonged to her. It was directed at a woman with sleek dark hair and a confident posture, someone from the publishing house that supplied his store.Hannah knew her vaguely.Claire. She was touching his forearm, her fingers light on the corded muscle beneath his rolled-up sleeve, her head tilted back in a way that was both professional and profoundly inviting.
A cold knot tightened in Hannah’s stomach, acidic and sharp.It was absurd. Two days ago, he’d taken her against his bookshelves. Last night, he’d fallen asleep with his hand possessively cupping her breast in her own bed. But watching him now, in the public ecosystem where they’d always existed as friends, the rules felt nebulous, terrifying. He was Liam-the-bookstore-owner, charming and approachable.And Claire was clearly approaching.
She saw him smile, that gentle, public smile, and say something that made Claire touch his arm again. Hannah’s pint glass hit the bar with a thud. She slid off the stool, the denim skirt she’d worn—subconsciously hoping he’d notice, hoping he’d approve—swinging against her thighs. She didn’t have a plan. Jealousy, hot and illogical, propelled her through the crowd, past groups of laughing friends and couples leaning close.He saw her coming. His eyes lifted from Claire’s face, meeting Hannah’s across the dim, smoky space. His expression didn’t change, didn’t shutter.It simply acknowledged her.It made her fury burn brighter.
“Hannah, hey,” Claire said, offering a polite, distracted smile.“Great to see you. Liam was just telling me about the latest Salinger acquisition. Fascinating stuff.”
“I bet,” Hannah said, her voice tighter than she intended.Her eyes were locked on Liam’s. “Can I talk to you?Outside.”
“Sure,” he said, easy and calm. “Excuse us, Claire.”
Claire’s gaze flickered between them, a glimmer of understanding dawning.“Of course.Talk next week, Liam.”
Hannah didn’t wait. She turned and pushed through the heavy wooden door, the cool, damp night air hitting her like a slap. The alley beside the bar was narrow, a canyon of damp brick lit only by the flickering neon ‘B’ from the bar’s sign overhead. The cobblestones were slick with a recent drizzle, reflecting the sickly red glow.She heard the door shut behind him. She spun, her curls whipping around her face. “What the hell was that?”
“What was what?” He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, a picture of mild inquiry.“That!Her! All that touching, that laughing. You looked fucking cozy.”
“It’s a business associate, Hannah. We were talking about paper quality.”
“Don’t give me that paper quality bullshit.” Her voice cracked.“I saw how she was looking at you.”
He took a step closer. The neon light cast harsh shadows across his face, bleaching the warmth from his eyes, leaving them dark pools. “And how was that?”
“Like she wanted to climb you right there by the dartboard.”
A slow smile, devoid of any warmth, touched his lips. “Jealous?”
The word, spoken aloud, made it real and pathetic.She hated it.“No. I just think it’s disrespectful.To us. To whatever this is.”
“You think I want her?” His voice dropped, losing all pretense of casualness. It was a low, dangerous rumble.“I don’t know, Liam. You were sure enjoying the attention.”
In two swift strides, he was on her. His hand snapped out, closing around her wrist with a force that made her gasp.He didn’t speak. His eyes were black with a possessive fury that stole her breath. He yanked her, pulling her off-balance, and dragged her deeper into the alley, away from the sliver of light from the street. The hum of the bar faded, replaced by the drip of water from a leaky gutter and the frantic beat of her own heart.
He shoved her against the cold, rough brick.The dampness seeped through her thin sweater instantly. He didn’t kiss her.He gripped her face, his thumb digging into her cheekbone. “You think,” he growled, his breath hot against her lips, “after I’ve had you screaming my name, after I’ve felt you come apart on my tongue, after I’ve marked you from the inside out, that I could want anything else? You stupid girl.”
Before she could answer, he spun her around to face the wall.Her palms slammed against the cold, gritty surface. He hiked up her denim skirt, the fabric rough against the backs of her thighs. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties and her tights, yanking them both down to her knees in one brutal motion.The cold, damp air shocked her exposed skin.
She heard the rustle of his jeans, the quick tug of a zipper. Then his body was pressed against her back, hard and unyielding.He didn’t guide himself. He didn’t prepare her.He simply positioned the thick, blunt head of his cock at her entrance and shoved.
Her cry was sharp, fractured by the sudden, breathtaking fullness. He buried himself to the hilt in one deep, possessive thrust, knocking the air from her lungs. She arched against the brick, a whimper tearing from her throat.
His hand clamped over her mouth from behind, his fingers sealing her lips, his palm muffling all sound. His other arm banded around her waist, holding her immobile against him. He pulled back, almost all the way out, the drag agonizing and exquisite, then slammed home again.A deep, brutal thrust that jolted her whole body.
“You think I want anyone else?” he snarled, his lips against her ear. His hips began a punishing rhythm, short, hard drives that punched the air from her lungs beneath his hand. Each impact drove her harder into the wall.The rough brick scraped her cheek. He fucked her with a furious, focused intensity, each deep thrust a claiming.
He bit her earlobe, a sharp, painful sting.“You’re mine. Say it.”
She moaned against his palm, her eyes squeezed shut. The sensations were overwhelming—the cold wall, the heat of him splitting her open, the rough fabric of his jeans against her bare thighs, the vulgar, wet sounds of their joining echoing in the dank alley.He spanked her.Not on the ass. His hand left her mouth for a split second, swung down, and cracked hard against her exposed pussy lips. The slap was shocking, a bright burst of pain that made her shriek into the sudden absence of his hand. He covered her mouth again before the sound could fully escape.
“Say it!” he commanded, his thrusts never faltering, growing harder, deeper.
The pain mixed with the brutal pleasure, coiling tight in her core.She was stretched, filled, owned. “Yours!” she cried, the word garbled and desperate against his palm.“Again.”
“Yours! Liam, I’m yours!” The admission, forced from her in this filthy alley, felt more true than anything she’d ever said in a soft bed.“Good girl.” His voice was guttural, approving. He drove into her, his pelvis grinding against her ass as he buried himself as deep as he could go. He held there, the thick base of him stretching her open, and she felt him pulse inside her. “Feel that?That’s me.In you. Claiming you.” He ground his nut into her, a slow, deliberate rotation that rubbed his cock against that perfect, sensitive spot deep inside. She moaned, long and low, her nails scratching at the brick. A hot, liquid pressure built, different from any orgasm she’d known.
He pulled almost all the way out, then sank back in with a deep, slow, possessive thrust.“Your perfect little cunt is mine. It drips for me.It clenches for me. It squirts for me.” He thrust again, hard.“Let go. Show me.”
His words were filth in her ear, a dark incantation.The pressure broke. It wasn’t a clenching climax, but a release. A hot, gushing flood of liquid spilled out of her, streaming down her inner thighs, soaking his trousers where they met her skin. She cried out, the intensity of it shocking her, a surrender so complete it left her trembling.He didn’t stop. “Again,” he whispered, his hand tightening over her mouth. He pistoned into her, his thrusts relentless, chasing another wave.“Such a good girl, soaking my cock.Marking me. Let me feel it again.”
The stimulation was too much, too direct. Another surge built, triggered by his ruthless pace and his filthy promises. She came a second time, another jet of her release splattering against him and the cobblestones below with a soft, wet sound.Her legs shook violently.
He fucked her through it, his own breath ragged in her ear.“That’s it. My perfect, filthy girl.Nothing but a slut for me. A squirting little slut who belongs to me.” He thrust.She whimpered. He spanked her pussy again, a sharp crack that made her clench around him and gush another, smaller stream. The mingled sensations—the sting, the overwhelming fullness, the degrading, beautiful words—tipped her over a third time. Her body convulsed in a silent scream against his hand, a final, powerful jet of liquid heat leaving her.Only then did his control snap.His thrusts lost their rhythm, becoming fast and frantic. A deep, guttural groan was ripped from his chest, muffled by her hair. He shoved into her one last, searing time, holding her impossibly close as he pulsed, his release hot and sudden inside her. He ground himself into her, milking every last drop, his body shuddering against hers.
For a long moment, they stayed locked together, panting in the cold, damp air. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant, indifferent murmur of the bar.Slowly, he softened inside her. Even more slowly, his hand loosened from her mouth.He kissed her temple, his lips surprisingly soft.
“Never doubt me again,” he whispered, his voice raw.He carefully pulled out.A rush of cool air and their combined fluids followed. He gently pulled her tights and panties back up, his hands tender as he smoothed her skirt down.He tucked himself away, zipped his jeans.Then he turned her around. Her face was tear-streaked, her lipstick smeared.He wiped a thumb under her eye.
“Look at you,” he murmured, no trace of anger left. “All ruined for me.”
She leaned into his touch, her body humming, hollowed out and full simultaneously.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand.His grip was firm, sure. “I’m taking you home.”
He didn’t lead her back past the bar windows. He took her the long way, through the darker alleys until they emerged onto a quieter street.His car was parked a block away. He opened the passenger door for her, his hand on the small of her back, guiding her in. The interior was warm, smelling of old paper and his cologne.
He drove in silence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh, a heavy, comforting weight. The city lights blurred past the rain-specked window. She watched his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet intensity of his focus on the road. The jealousy was gone, burnt away in the alley’s cold fire, replaced by a profound, weary certainty.He parked outside her apartment building. He came around, opened her door.They didn’t speak in the elevator. Inside her apartment, he locked the door behind them. The familiar space—her sketches on the wall, her plants by the window—felt different now, a stage for a different play.“Shower,” he stated, not asked. He led her to the bathroom, turned on the water until steam began to fog the mirrors. He undressed her slowly, methodically, peeling the damp clothes from her skin.He undressed himself. He wasn’t aroused now, just present, taking care.
He washed her under the hot spray, his hands moving over her body with a clinical thoroughness that was its own intimacy. He soaped between her legs, rinsing away the evidence of the alley, his touch firm but not sexual. He washed her hair, massaging her scalp until her head lolled forward. He wrapped her in a large, clean towel, dried her with the same focus.
In her bedroom, he pulled back the duvet.“Get in.”
She slid between the cool sheets. He climbed in beside her, on top of the covers, still naked. He pulled her into his chest, her back against his front, his arm a solid band across her ribs.His breath warmed the nape of her neck.
“Sleep,” he said.
And encircled by his heat, his scent, his absolute possession, she did.