Not when Liam was looking at me like this, not when we were pressed together in the dark with hearts racing and breathing hard, not when the thing I’d been running from was right here and undeniable and burning and so fucking real.
I wanted him.
God, I wanted him so badly it hurt.
I closed the distance.
Our lips crashed together.
Nothing gentle. Nothing tentative. Just desperate and hungry and a year’s worth of denial breaking open all at once.
Liam groaned against my mouth and the sound went straight through me, hot and raw. His hands were in my hair, pulling me closer like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d been starving for this too.
I kissed him back harder.
We’d done it. We’d fucking done it. Deleted the video. Avoided capture. Survived the impossible.
And now—now we were here, finally letting this thing between us break free, and it felt like coming up for air after drowning for a year.
His tongue swept into my mouth and I made a sound I’d never made before—something desperate and needy that should have embarrassed me but didn’t because Liam was making the same sounds, his body pressed against mine so hard I could feel every muscle, every breath, every inch of him.
“Guys?” Noah’s voice crackled in my ear, distant and easy to ignore. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t answer.
Liam’s hands slid down my sides, gripped my hips, pulled me harder against him and—fuck.
I could feel his dick.
Hard. Right there. Pressed against my thigh in a way that made my brain short-circuit and my body respond immediately, heat pooling low in my stomach as I ground against him without thinking, without caring about anything except more.
“Liam? Alex? Hello?” Noah again, more insistent now. “Did you guys die? Should I be worried?”
Liam pulled back just enough to gasp against my mouth, “We’re good.”
Then he pulled out his phone and turned off the call with Noah before kissing me again, deeper this time, his teeth catching my bottom lip in a way that made me groan.
I reached down.
Ran my hand down Liam’s stomach—felt the muscle there tense under my palm, felt him suck in a breath—and then lower, until my hand was on him, gripping him through his jeans.
He was so hard.
“Fuck,” Liam breathed against my neck, his hips jerking forward into my hand. “Alex—”
I wanted him. Wanted this. Wanted to feel him without the layers between us, wanted to know what he sounded like when he came apart, wanted everything I’d been denying myself for a year.
Liam spun us.
Pinned me against the wall with his body, his mouth finding mine again as his hands slid under my jacket, under my shirt, hot against my skin. His thigh pushed between my legs and the pressure made me gasp, made me rock against him, made me forget where we were or why this was dangerous.
Something clattered.
A mop fell. Then a bucket. Cleaning supplies tumbling off the shelf we’d knocked into, hitting the floor with dull thuds that would have been funny if I could think, if I could focus on anything except Liam’s mouth and his hands and the way he was grinding against me like he was as desperate as I was.
We were smiling.
