When I pop the front clasp of my bra, my breasts spring free, heavy and large. Liam groans.
“God, Emma...”
Emboldened by the darkness in his eyes, the pure desire on his face, I drop the bra and pull my thong over my hips.
I’m so wet again just from the kissing, the dancing, the sight of his chiseled body. The insides of my thighs glisten with my desire, and when he moves his hand from his cock to the space between my legs, we both gasp.
“Oh, Emma,” he moans. “So wet for me.”
“Only for you,” I say. “Keep touching me.”
He slips his fingers into my slick heat, sliding them through the wetness, pressing my clit, playing at my entrance. I push against his touch, wanting more.
The length of him is insistent against my waist, begging for me to stroke it. Just touching each other for the first time.
Or for the hundredth time...it’severything.
This is how it’s supposed to feel—desire and warmth and the need for more, and more. Liam and I are the only two people on the planet right now, and it always felt like that with him, even when we were young.
I’ve missed this, missed the way we fit, missed the connection between us.
“Christ,” he hisses through his teeth as I grip his cock tighter, my hand moving along his length in long, tight strokes, thumb playing at the tip, spreading a dot of precum across the silky skin.
Liam feels impossibly big—everywhere. His hands span my waist like they were made to fit there, and suddenly I feel small in a way I haven’t in a long time.
Protected. Claimed. Wanted.
When his hand leaves the place where I ache for him, a quiet sound slips from me, half protest, half plea. But then it’s on me again, sliding higher, leaving trails of heat that make my pulse race.
He brushes against my breast, teasing, his thumb drawing slow circles that steal my breath. My body arches into his touch, craving more before I even realize it.
“I’ve always loved these,” he murmurs, his voice a dark rasp against my skin. Then his mouth replaces his hand—soft lips, warm breath, each kiss a spark that shoots straight through me.
A sigh escapes me as my back arches, offering him more. He takes his time, tasting, teasing, and worshiping, while I stroke his cock with one hand.
He trails kisses up my chest, along my collarbone, across my shoulder. Each touch feels slow, deliberate, endless, suspended in time. Every brush of his lips pulls me deeper under, until the world doesn’t exist.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the logic whispers. I should be checking on Laddie.
I should slow down.
There’s still so much I haven’t told him, and the truths could change everything.
But right now, with his breath warm against my skin and his hands grounding me to the present, all I can do is let myself feel.
When Liam leads me to the couch, he’s gentle as he sits me down, spreading my legs wide as his palms slide down my thighs, before he lowers himself in front of me.
He looks up to meet my hooded gaze and says, “I need to taste you, Emma. Is that okay?”
My pulse is wild, my breath shaky. I can’t find words, so I just nod.
He moves his hands to my ass, pulling me forward to get better access. And then his face is between my legs, and his tongue is flicking against my clit, and my whole body is jolting, nerves sparking to life.
A sound tears out of me. It fills the quiet room, raw and unrestrained, as Liam devours me like a man who’s been starving.
I can’t look away. The sight of this handsome man between my legs, desperate to taste me, is almost as intoxicating as the way it feels. His hair falls forward, catching the light, and I see the flush in his cheeks, the focus in his eyes.
One of his hands grips my thigh, firm and grounding, while the other moves with the same relentless rhythm as his mouth, two fingers thrusting in and out of my hungry pussy.
