He turned his head just enough that I could see the outline of his eyes in the dark, watching me, waiting, the air between us suddenly hot and fragile.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice rough with grogginess or want or both.
"I can't sleep."
"The storm will pass."
I swallowed roughly. “It’s not the storm."
Silence except for rain attacking the roof like it had a personal vendetta against shingles.
"This morning—" I started.
"We don't have to talk about?—"
"I want to. I need to." I turned toward him in the darkness, and could barely make out his profile between lightning flashes. "I've been on fire all day. Since this morning. Since before this morning. Since you carried me out of LA, if I'm honest."
"Steph—"
"No, listen. Please." Lightning illuminated his face for a heartbeat—jaw clenched, eyes on the ceiling, control held by threads. "I feel like the storm. Like there's all this electricity under my skin with nowhere to go. Like I'm going to explode if I don't...if we don't..."
"You're still healing."
"I'm tired of healing. I'm tired of being careful. I'm tired of waiting for some perfect moment when I'm completely fixed." I sat up, the sheet falling away, my tank top clinging to me from the humidity. "I don't want to be fixed. I want to be alive. And you make me feel alive."
He sat up too, and in the next lightning flash I saw his face—hungry, desperate, barely controlled. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I want you. Completely. Wholly. In every way a person can be wanted. Not because you're safe—though you are. Not because you're here—though thank God you are. But because you're you. Because you're the only person I've ever been completely myself with. Because my body remembers Austin and wants more.Iwant more.”
Thunder rolled through, long and low, and when it passed, I continued.
"We don't have to name this. Whatever this is between us—friendship, love, destiny, disaster—I don't care. Our worlds don't fit together, I know that. You belong here on this ranch, and Ibelong...hell, I don't know where I belong. But right here, right now, in this bed, we fit. Don't we?"
"Steph—"
"Don't we?" I moved closer, close enough to feel his breath. I took his hand in mine, savoring his warmth, just how much bigger it was than mine. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you haven't been thinking about it all day. That this morning wasn’t just a fraction of what’s between us. Tell me you don't remember Austin, that hotel room, the way we?—"
He kissed me. Not gentle, not careful, but like a dam breaking. His hands were in my hair, his mouth desperate on mine, and I could taste everything he'd been holding back—weeks of want, years of waiting, decades of loving me from afar.
I laid back, pulling Liam down with me. His body was big and safe on top of mine. His mouth claimed mine with rough, urgent kisses that made my head spin.
Just like the storm outside, we’d been unleashed.
I reached behind him, frantic hands tugging at his shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it carelessly across the room, his focus solely on me. My mouth watered at the sight of him. All warm skin and defined muscle crafted from hard work and discipline. The personification of every dream I’ve ever had.
Liam didn’t waste any time, and my shirt came off next, the air cool against my overheated skin. He knelt back on his knees, breathing hard. “Fuck, baby, look at you.” His hands slid up my thighs before hooking them in the waistband of my panties.
“You better do more than just look,” I demanded while he pulled them down painfully slow.
His smile was pure sin when he looked up at me. “You’ve always been a bossy little thing.” My panties flew over his shoulder, joining the rest of our clothes on the floor. He peered up at me through his brows and spread my legs apart before lowering between them.
My breath caught in the back of my throat when his mouth met my pussy. He groaned low and rough as his tongue swept along my entrance. He was confident and assured, as if he still knew every inch of me from all those years ago. Liquid heat rushed down my spine, settling low.
“Five years,” he rasped between open-mouthed kisses. “Five fucking years I’ve been thinking about this. About how good you taste.”
He lowered his head again, brown eyes locked on mine, while his mouth latched onto my clit. My jaw dropped with a moan, unable to look away while he reminded me why no one else ever compared. “So good,” I whimpered, tangling my fingers in his dark hair. My eyes rolled shut, hips bucking against his face. “So fucking good, baby.”
Liam moaned again, his tongue moving faster. “Oh God,” I cried out when he slipped two fingers in me knuckle deep. The stretch was perfection, memory not doing it justice. My toes curled. My back arched. I felt like I was melting right into the mattress.
