Her hand slid up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt like she needed the anchor. Emotion shimmered in her eyes—recognition, relief, love so deep it felt like déjà vu.
“It’s only ever been you,” she said quietly. No teasing, no hesitation. Just truth. “It was always you, Lee.”
Those words hit me like a hand to the heart—gentle, holy, final.
She lifted her face, brushing her lips over mine, soft as a promise. “And yes,” she murmured. “You’re right.”
Her forehead rested against mine, breaths mingling, the whole world narrowing to the space between us. “Whenever you ask…my answer’s already yes.”
Thunder cracked again, rolling across the fields, and the porch lights flickered like even the damn house knew what was happening between us. I tugged her closer, meaning to pull her inside, away from the storm—but she stopped, her hand tightening on mine.
“Wait,” she whispered.
Her eyes lifted to mine, wide and wanting, and hell, if that didn’t hit me straight in the chest. Lower, too. Rain started to fall, soft at first, pattering on the tin roof, the scent of wet cedar rising up around us.
She sat back on the porch swing, tugging me by the belt loop until I stood right in front of her. Her knees pressed to my thighs, her breath warm on my shirt as she looked up at me like I was something she’d been starving for.
“Steph…” My voice came out rough, already breaking on her name.
“Come here,” she said—soft, sure, a command wrapped in silk.
I did. Hell, I couldn’t have stopped myself if a tornado dropped straight into the front yard. I sank to my knees in front of her, palms sliding up her thighs like they were finding their way home.
Thunder cracked again. She shivered. Not because of the storm.
“What do you need, baby?” The words scraped out of me. I needed to hear it from her mouth—needed it like air.
Her fingers slipped into my hair, gentle at first, then firmer, tugging just enough to knock my pulse sideways. “You owe me porch sex,” she giggled, the sound smoky and wicked. Then she framed my face in her hands, bringing me close.
“I want you.” A kiss to my forehead. “Every day.” A kiss to my cheek. “Always.” My nose.“Forever.” My neck. “And ever.” The corner of my mouth.
Then, quiet and claiming, on my lips. “Mine.”
“Yes,” I breathed. No hesitation. No doubt. Just truth.
I pushed her skirt higher on her thighs, just enough for my fingers to find heat—slick, ready heat that punched the air right out of me. “Christ,” I muttered, exhaling hard as I slid two fingers inside, slow, testing.
She arched off the swing like she’d been starving for that exact touch.
“Damn, sweetheart.” My forehead dropped to her thigh, breath shaking. “So wet for me.”
My hand kept working her, slow and deep, while I turned my head and pressed my mouth to the soft inside of her thigh. Her breath hitched—sharp, desperate—and that sound alone damn near undid me.
I kissed her again, higher this time. Then again. Slow, worshipful, deliberate.
Her skin was warm under my mouth, trembling under every touch. I dragged my lips along the curve of her thigh, letting my stubble scrape her just enough to make her gasp. She tasted like heat and rain and Steph—all of it hitting me in one punch to the chest.
“Liam…” My name came out on a whine, thready and wanting.
I slid my free hand up, spreading her for me, my thumb brushing her clit just right as I kissed higher, inch by inch, like I had all the time in the damn world. Her fingers tightened in my hair, guiding me, pleading without a word.
I nipped gently at the tender spot near the crease of her hip. She stuttered a moan. My control snapped a little.
“Sweetheart,” I murmured against her skin, my voice nothing but gravel and want, “I could spend all night right here.”
Her hips lifted toward me, offering herself, trusting me.
I kissed up—slow, reverent, claiming—until my mouth replaced my thumb, working in tandem with my fingers.
