Friends with benefits(R18)

Liam stared out the window, the city lights flickering past in a blur. His grip on the armrest was tight, his mind a storm he couldn't quiet. The auction, the bidding, the way they had reduced people to numbers—it had left something in him that wouldn't sit right.

He exhaled, slow and measured. "That wasn't what I expected," he said finally, glancing at Isabella.

She sat beside him, legs crossed, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. The dark tint of the car windows made the interior feel isolated, almost intimate. She met his gaze, her expression unreadable. "No?"

Liam hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I knew your world had... gray areas. But that was something else."

Isabella tilted her head slightly, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "And what do you think my world is, exactly?"

Liam leaned back, studying her. "I think it's powerful. Dangerous. Profitable." His voice dropped slightly. "I think it's a place where people do whatever it takes to stay on top."

A slow smile tugged at her lips. "That's an interesting assessment."

He didn't smile back. "Were you ever involved in that?" His tone was even, careful. Not accusatory—just searching.

Isabella took a slow sip of her drink, letting the question settle between them. When she lowered the glass, her gaze held his. "I've been involved in many things, Liam. Business is rarely clean."

Not an answer. Not really.

Liam held her stare, waiting.

Isabella sighed, as if indulging him. "But that? No." Her voice was smooth, effortless. "There are lines, even in my world. Some things are... untouchable."

Liam studied her, searching for something—an edge, a flicker of dishonesty. But there was nothing. Just the same cool composure she always carried.

And maybe that was the problem.

But he nodded, letting it go.

For now.

******

Back in the estate, it was quiet, save for the hum of the AC and the faint clink of ice against glass. Marcus leaned against the counter, rolling the whiskey between his fingers, watching as Christina stretched her arms above her head. Her tank top lifted, exposing a sliver of toned stomach, and he didn't bother hiding the way his gaze lingered.

"You always get restless when Isabella's out," Christina mused, smirking as she caught him looking.

Marcus took a slow sip. "And you always get nosy when you're bored."

Christina stepped closer, plucking the glass from his hand and taking a sip herself. The burn of the liquor barely registered. She licked a stray drop off her lower lip, watching him. "Let's pass the time."

Marcus didn't answer. He just grabbed her by the hips and spun her against the counter.

She gasped, but the grin never left her face. He kissed her hard, hands gripping her waist, pulling her against him. Her ass pressed against the cool marble, thighs spreading just enough to cage him in. She could already feel how hard he was, his dick pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants, thick and ready.

She reached down, palming him through the fabric, earning a low grunt from him. "Mmm, already?" she teased.

Marcus grabbed her ass, squeezing hard before dragging her hips against his. "You started it," he muttered, voice rough.

She laughed breathlessly as he kissed down her neck, his hands pushing under her shirt, fingers grazing the undercurve of her tits before tugging the fabric over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra—never did when she was home—and the moment the cool air hit her nipples, Marcus's mouth was on them. He sucked one into his mouth, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, while his other hand kneaded the soft flesh of her other tit.

Christina moaned, arching into his mouth, her fingers threading into his hair. "Fuck," she breathed.

Marcus pulled back, gripping her thighs and pulling her to the edge of the counter. His fingers slid beneath her shorts, brushing against the damp fabric of her panties. "Already wet for me?" he murmured, smirking.

She rolled her eyes, but the way her hips rocked into his touch betrayed her. "Shut up and do something about it."

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of her shorts and panties, dragging them down her legs in one smooth motion. The sight of her spread open for him, slick and needy, made his cock throb painfully against his pants. He reached down, rubbing slow circles over her clit with his thumb, watching the way her breath hitched.

"Marcus," she exhaled, gripping his wrist.

He chuckled darkly. "Patience."

She wasn't interested in patience. She tugged at the waistband of his sweats, and he helped her pull them down just enough to free his cock, thick and hard, the tip already glistening. She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking slow, teasing.

Marcus groaned, grabbing her wrist. "Turn around."

She obeyed, planting her hands against the counter as he pressed up behind her. He ran his fingers through her slick folds before positioning himself at her entrance. His hand slid up her back, gripping her hair as he pushed inside her, stretching her inch by inch.

Christina moaned, back arching. "Ahh—fuck, you always feel so good," she murmured.

Marcus gritted his teeth as he bottomed out, giving her a moment to adjust before pulling back and thrusting into her again. His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging into soft flesh as he set a steady, deep rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the kitchen, mingling with Christina's breathy moans.

"Ahh—fuck—Marcus—" she gasped, pushing back against him.

Her tits bounced with each thrust, her hands gripping the counter for leverage. Marcus reached around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing firm circles that made her whimper. "Come for me," he muttered against her ear, voice low and commanding.

"Ahh—ahh—fuck—" she choked out, body tensing as her orgasm hit. Her walls clenched around him, her body shaking as pleasure overtook her.

Marcus groaned, thrusting a few more times before following her over the edge, spilling inside her with a deep, guttural sound. "Mmm—fuck," he muttered.

For a moment, they stayed like that, bodies still pressed together, heavy breaths filling the room. Then—

The silence shattered first.

A distant rumble—mechanical and predatory—crawled up the estate's gravel drive like a warning. Christina's body went rigid, muscle by muscle, before the sound fully registered. "Shit," she breathed, the word barely escaping her lips.

Marcus exhaled roughly, a sound somewhere between frustration and resignation. His hands—strong, unapologetic—pulled away, reaching for the dish towel with practiced efficiency. Cotton fibers scraped against skin, erasing evidence of their momentary escape.

"You pick the worst places," he muttered, shaking his head as he pulled his sweats back up.

Christina moved with a hunter's precision. Her tank top slipped over her head in one fluid motion, covering skin still warm from contact. A grin played at the corner of her mouth—dangerous, knowing. "Next time, you choose," she said, a challenge wrapped in silk.

Footsteps now. Voices carrying through the expansive rooms, growing closer with each heartbeat.

The moment dissolved. Reality rushed back, cold and unforgiving.

Somewhere in the house, a door opened. Then another.

They were no longer alone.