I’d thrown my paints back into the art box, and when I looked up, Liam was just staring at my painting.
“I can’t believe you turned all those scattered tubes intothis,” he said, staring at the messy, abstract skyline I’d painted almost involuntarily. It had felt like a trance—like the art was channeling through me, not something I was consciouslyproducing.
Finally.
Now, back in the apartment, Liam comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and trails his mouth down the column of my throat.
My whole life has felt calculated—every move part of someone else’s long-term vision. Professors, art critics, Marshall—they all had ideas of what I should become. I needed something I was completely in control of.
I need to get out of my head and just feel. This thing with Liam—it’s the perfect distraction. No stakes, no strings.
“Your body is unreal,” he murmurs into my neck, hands wandering under my hastily buttoned shirt before spinning me in his arms to face him.
“Are you ready, old man?” I laugh.
He huffs. “I was ready the moment I got your perfect tits in my hands.”
“Hey, I know we talked about not sleeping with anyone else, but I’ve been tested and I’m clear,” I say, and Liam pulls back from kissing my neck to look at me.
“The team doctors test us every month,” he explains, tucking a curl behind my ear. “But I haven’t slept with anyone in months, anyway.”
“I still want to use condoms,” I tell him.
“Of course,” he says. “My mom had me at fifteen. Safe sex has been drilled into me since I could talk.”
“Okay, then,” I say.
“Hey,” he wraps a hand around the nape of my neck, but uses his thumb on my jaw to still me. “We don’t have to do this. Consent is a continuous conversation. You can change your mind.”
“Oh, I want to.” That isn’t the problem. It’s that I can’t believe how much I want to, and I worry that might be the problem.
I close the distance between us and press my lips to his. He tastes like mint, and I can still smell the citrusy body wash from his shower. I tug at the hem of his shirt, and he lets me pull it off. I take in the slope of his broad chest, the long line of his shoulder, and each ridge of his abs—a body honed since childhood to perform at an elite level. I kiss the hard slope of his chest muscle and let my tongue drag across his nipple.
“Fuck,” he lets out, reaching under my shirt to squeeze my breasts. “I need you naked.”
He walks me backwards to the bedroom, undoing the two shirt buttons I managed to close, pushing it off my shoulders. My breath catches, and my breasts feel heavy with want. He gazes down at me like he can’t believe I’m real.
“Wait here,” he says, like there is anywhere else I’d want to be right now.
He returns with a strip of condoms in a gold foil package, and suddenly the thought of him, of his cock, inside me both thrills and terrifies me. I could barely get my lips around him on the rooftop. Marshall had been nowhere near his size, and even my most impressive vibrator couldn’t prepare me for what was under Liam’s briefs.
He catches the look on my face, and a soft smile spreads across his lips. He tosses the condoms onto the bed. “We’ll take our time,” he assures. “Can I get you naked?”
I nod and unclasp my bra.
“Fuck, Soph.” Liam moans, almost whines, as my bra drops to the floor. His gaze travels across my body before he bends and pulls a taut nipple into his mouth, twirling his tongue around the stiff bud. He mumbles something that sounds like “uh-huh” before biting down just this side of painful.
“Oh!” I gasp, but arch my hips into him, looking for friction. He licks the spot he just bit, soothing with his tongue. His fingers trail down my body to the button of my shorts, and he slides his hands around to knead the curve of my ass, letting my shorts pool on the ground. I begin to grind when he pulls me against his thigh, and the denim of his jeans rough and perfect against the thin cotton of my panties.
There are sensations everywhere. My skin sparks everywhere he touches me, and yet it’s still not enough.
“Please,” I beg, undoing the button of his jeans and shoving them off his hips. His erection strains against the fabric of his black boxers. I reach for him, but he stills my hand.
“Not yet, I want you to come in my mouth.” He pulls my face to his, kissing me thoroughly before nipping at my lower lip. “I need to taste you.”
He tugs me towards the bed, but lies back against the mattress first. He hooks a hand around my knee, and I realize the position he wants me in.
“Liam, I’ll smother you.” I laugh.
