So I took a breath and nudged the moment back toward laughter.
“Anyway,” I said lightly, “I’m thinking of leaving you a review. Five stars. Would recommend. Very soothing…in a rugged, lumberjack-adjacent way.”
His laugh came easier this time, fuller. “Lumberjack-adjacent?”
“Rough, but cozy. Snores with a heart of gold.”
The porch went quiet for a beat — warm, easy, not awkward.
Then Liam nudged my knee with his. “I’m glad you slept,” he said softly. I didn’t correct him. Didn’t pretend. Didn’t joke it away.
“Me too,” I whispered. “Because of you.”
That night, when I climbed into bed beside him, I said, "Hey, can you snore extra loud tonight? I want the full chainsaw experience."
"I don't control the snoring, Steph. It just happens."
"Well, try. Really lean into it. Give me your best work."
He pulled me against him, kissing the top of my head. "You're weird."
Within minutes, he was asleep, and there it was. Not too loud, not too soft, just right. The Goldilocks of snoring. I pressed my ear against his chest, feeling the vibration through his whole torso, letting it sink into my bones.
This was safety. This was home. This was the sound that kept the nightmares at bay.
"Thank you," I whispered, knowing he couldn't hear me over his own snoring. "Thank you for being my chainsaw teddy bear."
He snored in response, and I smiled in the darkness.
The nightmares never came when he was snoring. And he snored every night, steady as a promise, loud as safety, perfect as home.
Chapter 12
Liam
I woke slowly, consciousness seeping in like honey through cloth. Still mostly asleep, my body was doing inventory before my brain came online. Warm. Comfortable. The familiar weight of Stephy against me, her back pressed to my chest, my arm around her waist. Her scent—that lavender soap mixed with something uniquely her—filling my lungs with each breath.
Lost in that lavender haze and sleep, I nuzzled my face in her hair, wanting closer. My hand slid up her body with a mind of its own, finding soft, supple flesh. I squeezed her through the thin cotton of her tank top. The weight of her, perfect in my palm, sent signals straight south before my conscious mind could intervene. I was already half-hard, morning arousal mixing with the proximity of the woman I'd wanted for years.
I brushed my thumb across where I could feel her nipple through the thin fabric. Just the lightest touch, instinctive, the way you might stroke something soft without thinking.
Stephy made a sound—breathy, needy—and pressed back against me. Her ass pushed directly against my hardening cock,and my brain short-circuited. She moved again, a gentle rolling motion, still asleep but responding to my touch, to my body against hers.
Christ.
My thumb moved again, circling her nipple, which was now hard as a pebble under her shirt. She arched into my hand, another one of those sounds escaping her, and her hips rolled back against me with more purpose. The heat of her through our thin sleep clothes was going to kill me.
Running on instinct and want, I pressed against her, my cock nestled perfectly against her ass. She pushed back, creating friction that made me groan into her hair. My hand on her breast became more deliberate, fingers finding her nipple, rolling it gently.
She turned in my arms, slow and liquid, still in that drowsy state where inhibitions didn't exist. Her eyes drowsy and desire-filled. Her lips found my chest first, pressing open-mouthed kisses against my skin, her tongue tasting me. Then my neck, her teeth grazing that spot that made me shudder.
Next thing I knew, she was moving on top of me, her weight settling over my hips, her center pressed against my cock with nothing but our underwear between us. The heat of her—Jesus, the heat of her—was like a brand even through fabric. She was moving, rolling her hips in a way that sought friction, sought pressure, sought more.
My hands found her hips, gripping, guiding her movement. Her mouth was on my throat, my jaw, working her way up with sleepy determination. When she finally kissed me, it was hungry despite the drowsiness, her tongue sliding against mine, her hands in my hair.
We were grinding against each other now, her making these desperate little sounds into my mouth, me so hard it hurt, both of us chasing something, lost in the haze of sleep and want?—
“Steph." Her name came out rough, and it was like a bucket of cold water. We both froze, suddenly completely awake, aware of our position. She was straddling me, my cock pressed against her center, her hands in my hair, my hands on her ass, both of us breathing like we'd run a marathon.
