I fell apart right after, pulling him into me.
Afterward, we lay tangled and breathless, the storm still raging outside, but nothing compared to what had just happened between us. My body hummed with satisfaction, with aliveness, with the knowledge that I could still feel pleasure, could still choose it, could still give and receive without fear.
"Shower," I said, my voice rough. "I need...we're both..."
"Sweaty," he finished, laughing softly. "Very sweaty."
We stumbled to his bathroom, legs unsteady, hands unable to stop touching—his fingers on my hip, my palm on his chest, like we needed constant contact to believe this was real.
The shower was small, meant for one, but we made it work. The hot water hit my sensitized skin, and I gasped, then gasped again when he pressed against me from behind, his body solid and perfect.
God, his body. I'd seen it before, of course—working on the ranch, that morning I'd watched him with the horses—but feeling it was different. He was all functional muscle, nothingfor show, everything for use. Strong from actual work, not gym routines. Shoulders broad from lifting hay bales, arms corded from working horses, hands rough from honest labor.
I turned in his arms, water streaming between us. “You’re beautiful, Lee.”
"That's my line," he said, but his hands were reverent on my skin, tracing paths the water followed.
The spray was hot against my back, steam curling around us, blurring everything except him. Liam slid his palms over my hips like he was reminding himself I was real.
I shivered, not from cold but from the way he touched me—slow, hungry, tracing every inch like he was memorizing a path he'd just traveled.
I spun around, and his hands moved up, over my stomach, my ribs, the curve of my breasts. Possessive. Worshipful. Devastating.
I leaned back into him, head falling against his shoulder, breath catching as his mouth brushed my neck. The room felt too small for the way he made me feel—like my body was a live wire and he was the storm hitting it.
“Can’t stop touching you,” he murmured against my skin, voice rough, hands roaming greedily. “Can’t get enough of you, sweetheart.”
My fingers slid into his wet hair, tugging him closer. He groaned—low, deep, wrecking me—and turned me in his arms. The water beat down on both of us, heat melting every last piece of fear still clinging to my ribs.
His thumb stroked my jaw. His other hand cupped the back of my thigh, lifting, opening, claiming.
“Lee…” I whispered, already trembling.
He kissed me like the world was ending outside that shower and we didn’t have much time left—slow at first, then deeper,harder, his hands everywhere, sliding down, around, pulling me flush against him.
Want flared hot and bright between us again.
When he lifted me, my back against the tile wall, I wrapped my legs around his waist. And when he filled me in one fluid motion, I felt complete in a way I hadn't in years. Maybe ever.
This time was brutal—quick and hard. Purely lust-driven. My nails raked down his back. His fingers dug into my thighs where he held me up. My head knocked against the tile with every thrust he made. His grunts bounced off the tile, low and animalistic and so fucking hot I could hardly stand it.
I reached between us, my fingers slipping against our soapy skin, and found my clit. Already sensitive from before, I knew it wouldn’t be long.
Liam leaned back, just enough to see my hand, see where our bodies connected. He groaned low. “Fuck, I could watch you like this forever. So beautiful.”
My eyes rolled shut, pleasure bursting through me like a current as I fell apart, moaning his name. He came right after me, his face buried in my neck and moaning how much he loved me.
We barely made it back to bed before we were reaching for each other again. It was like the dam on five years of sexual tension had burst all at once, and we were drowning in the flood, desperate to experience everything we'd denied ourselves.
"I need more of you," he said, his hands skimming my sides, mapping every curve.
“Me too.” I pulled him down for another kiss. "We have all night. I’m not going anywhere."
And we did take all night. We made love like we were trying to make up for lost time, like we might never get another chance. Slow and sweet, then desperate and needy, then laughing at ourselves for being insatiable, then starting all over again.
Between rounds, we talked—really talked—lying face to face in the darkness.
"I used to dream about this," I admitted, tracing patterns on his chest. "In hotel rooms in cities I couldn't remember. I'd lie there and imagine you with me."
