I roll her onto her back and unfold her legs, using my thumb to spread her thighs.
“God, Soph,” I say in awe, dropping my forehead to her belly. “This never gets less incredible.”
She runs her fingers through my hair, scratching my scalp. I kiss just below her navel, and then the slope of her hip, dragging my teeth lightly across the bone. Her knee tips wider to the side, an invitation. She’s pliant and glowingunder my touch, and I want to spend the whole night—maybe my entire life—kissing every inch of her.
I drag my tongue slowly up her center, and she’s so wet that I can’t help the groan that escapes my lips, vibrating her skin. She shifts, but I already know where she wants me. I already know how much pressure she likes. I already know when to bite down in a way that makes her gasp and how to soothe the flick of pain with my tongue. And when she explodes in my mouth, I already know what she tastes like.
I pull back enough to look at her. Her flushed cheeks, the dazed, wrecked look in her eyes. She’s barely stopped convulsing when she’s pulling at my shoulders, trying to wiggle down further underneath me.
“More,” she breathes.
And I don’t waste another second giving her what she wants. I roll the condom on and position myself between her thighs.
We’ve done this enough times that her body opens to me easily now, like it’s welcoming me home. Still, I go slow and reach between our bodies to stroke her.
She runs her nails up and down my back, over the plane of my shoulder blade, before digging her fingers into my hip and pulling me into her.
I need you inside me,echoes around my head.
I bend her knee, push her leg up, and press into her. She gasps and sighs and whimpers, and I fold over her to catch every moan with my mouth. I’m fully seated now, deep in this position, and the sensation of her stretching around me is almost enough for me to erupt right there. I take a deep breath and vow to take my time, to make this last. I move my hips slowly, deliberately, pressing deep, so fucking deep. She arches into me like we’re made for this, and maybe we are. Maybe I was made for her.
“Yes, Liam,” she gasps, and I can’t hold back. I drive into her with the exact force I know she likes. She cries out, andthen we are both coming, hard and fast and messy and perfect.
I collapse on top of her and roll us both to the side so I don’t crush her. She curls right back into my chest, and I pull her tight. Both of us are breathing heavily, labored. I stroke her hair and kiss her temple.
“Liam.” There’s a tremble in her voice when she whispers my name, but also a contentment, a promise, and I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life chasing that sound. “Stay.”
And I know I’ll never leave.
This bed, this apartment, this heart.
Chapter 24
Sophie
I think I’m falling for him.
Who am I kidding—I’ve already fallen, hard. Liam gets me in a way no one ever has. He never asks me to be more or less than I am. He knows where I left my keys and how to unlock the pleasure in my body. He understands the difference between my frustrated sighs and the sharp gasp of a yes—and he knows how to respond to both. He knows when to push and when to hold space.
But more than anything, he understands how crushing it is to carry the weight of other people’s expectations.
He doesn’t seeSophie, Cal’s kid sister. OrSophia, the artist with something to prove.
He just sees me.
I’ve already started imagining what could come next. For so long, my future felt pre-written—like I’d boarded a train years ago and never questioned where it was headed. Then I abruptly got off, and I’ve been stuck at this station for the last two years.
With Liam, everything feels different. I’m still unsure what the future holds for me or where art or my career fits into it, but for the first time, not knowing doesn’t feel like I’m lost or stuck—it feels expansive. And I think that isbecause I don’t have to do it alone. My future, our future, can be shaped by us.
Maybe when Cal comes home, Liam and I don’t have to let this go. Maybe this could be something more.
I turn under the grounding weight of his arm and bury my face in his chest, in his scent, citrus and musky and safe. I tuck myself tighter against his body like I’m trying to cocoon into his flesh.
He responds, just a sleepy pull that brings me closer. His arm curls around my back, pressing me to him like he’s anchoring us both. His eyes stay closed, but I know he’s awake—barely. Like we’re both suspended in the softness of a dream we don’t want to leave.
“I could get used to this,” he whispers into my hair.
“Same.”
