Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 51: I don’t want to think(R18)

Chapter 51: I don’t want to think(R18)

Evening settled over London, casting long shadows across the executive suite. The rain had intensified, streaking the floor-to-ceiling windows with silver trails as the city pulsed below. Inside Isabella’s office, the atmosphere remained taut with unresolved energy, the ghost of Sarah Bennett’s blood still clinging to the paperweight on her desk.

Christina and Marcus stood near the door, watching Isabella warily. They were waiting for an order, but Isabella was in no rush to give one. She sat behind her desk, fingers steepled, staring at the cityscape as if willing it to provide answers.

"Go home," she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. "Both of you."

Marcus frowned. "Are you sure? You don’t—"

"I need space," Isabella interrupted, shifting her gaze to them. "I won’t ask twice."

Christina hesitated but exchanged a glance with Marcus before nodding. "Call if you need anything."

Marcus remained still for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before following Christina out. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving only one person behind.

Liam.

He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even flinched when she dismissed the others. He simply stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her with that infuriating mix of patience and curiosity.

"Not you," she murmured when he made no move to leave.

Liam arched a brow. "Figured."

She pushed back her chair and rose to her feet, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the day. "You’re awfully calm for someone who just watched me smash a woman’s face in."

Liam smirked. "I’ve seen worse."

She let out a short, humorless laugh. "Of course you have."

Silence stretched between them, thick with something neither had the energy to name. Isabella turned away, walking toward the wet-glass view of the city. The reflection showed Liam still watching her, his sharp blue eyes unreadable in the dim light.

"Say it," she muttered.

"Say what?"

"That I lost control." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "That I let my emotions get the best of me."

Liam exhaled through his nose, stepping forward. "If you’d lost control, Sarah would be in hospital—or worse." He stopped a few feet from her, hands still in his pockets. "You didn’t lose control, Isabella. You made a choice."

She tilted her head, studying him. "And you approve?"

"Does it matter if I do?"

"It does." The admission surprised even her.

Liam’s lips quirked, but his gaze remained steady. "Then yeah. I approve."

A slow breath left her, and she turned back toward the window. "I should be feeling better now," she admitted. "But I don’t."

"Because it’s not over," Liam said simply.

She nodded. "Sarah wasn’t the root of this."

"No," Liam agreed. "She was just another piece on the board."

Isabella turned then, really looking at him. He stood so casually, yet there was nothing careless about him. He was watching her the way he always did—calm, assessing, as if he could see past the walls she put up.

And for the first time in hours, the anger inside her shifted into something else.

"I don’t want to think anymore," she muttered.

Liam’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t ask for clarification. He didn’t need to.

She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but she caught it. He always acted so composed, so unaffected—but she knew better.

"Isabella..." His voice was lower now, rougher.

"Shh," she whispered, lifting a hand to the collar of his shirt. She didn’t pull him in. She didn’t need to.

Liam hesitated. Not because he didn’t want this—but because he knew what it meant. What it could become.

But then Isabella’s fingers curled into his shirt, and his restraint snapped.

His mouth crashed against hers, rough and claiming, swallowing whatever lingering hesitation remained. She met him with equal force, her hands sliding up to his jaw, fingers digging into his hair.

Liam’s hands found her waist, then lower, gripping as if anchoring himself. She was warmth and fire, lips parting just enough for him to deepen the kiss, to taste the frustration and need burning between them.

Isabella moved first, pushing him back toward her desk. Liam let her—only to twist them at the last second, pressing her against the cool glass of the window instead.

She gasped, her back arching against the chill, but he was there, mouth tracing a path down her jaw, along the pulse in her throat. She felt him smirk against her skin when her breath hitched.

"Shut up," she muttered, tilting her head to give him better access.

"Didn’t say anything."

"Your ego is deafening."

Liam chuckled, low and husky, before kissing her again—deeper this time, slower. She melted into it, letting the day slip away, letting herself exist only in this moment.

His hands slid under her blazer, fingers brushing against the silk of her blouse. He didn’t rush, didn’t push—just took his time mapping out the shape of her, learning the way she reacted.

Isabella pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing uneven.

"You’re still my assistant," she murmured, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

Liam smirked. "And you’re still my boss."

She considered that, then arched a brow. "That’s the problem."

His grip tightened on her waist. "Sounds like an excuse."

She huffed a laugh. "Liam..."

"I know." He exhaled slowly, forehead resting against hers. "I know."

Reality settled between them, thick and unspoken, but Isabella was done hesitating.

Liam’s breath was uneven, his grip still firm on her waist, waiting—watching.

She met his gaze, then without a word, reached between them, she pressed her palm against his hard cock, feeling the heat, the weight, the way his body tensed at her touch.

A rough curse left his lips, his forehead dropping to hers as his restraint threatened to snap.

She smirked, enjoying how his control wavered under her touch. The rain battered against the glass behind her, the city blurred and distant, but none of it mattered.

Here, now—she had him exactly where she wanted him, hard and throbbing in her hand.

And she wasn’t done yet.

Her fingers trailed lower, finding the zipper of his trousers. Slowly, deliberately, she tugged it down.

Liam’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire. "Isabella..." he warned, but it was too late