Because it was real. Liam was real. This was actually happening.
His shoulders flexed as he shifted between my legs—broad and tanned from hours on the water, muscles rolling under skin.I could see the line of his spine, the way his back tapered to his waist, the way his body moved with the same unconscious rhythm he had on the water. Like everything he did was physical. Instinctive.
His biceps tensed every time his hand stroked up my shaft, and the sight of those forearms—the ones I'd watched grip oars a thousand times—working me instead made something primal twist in my gut.
My hands were in his hair, trying not to grip too hard. My hips wanted to move—to thrust up into the heat of his mouth—but I forced myself to stay still. Let him set the pace. Let him figure it out.
Control. Even now. Even with his mouth on me, some part of my brain was calculating—don't push too hard, don't scare him off, don't be the one who ruined this by wanting too much.
He did something with his tongue—flattened it, pressed hard against the underside—and my back arched off the mattress before I could stop it. A sound came out of me that I didn't recognize. Raw. Desperate.
Liam pulled off just enough to speak, his lips brushing the head of my cock with every word. "You like that?"
"Don't stop." It came out like begging. I didn't care.
He grinned. That cocky, infuriating grin I'd seen a hundred times across the water—except now his lips were swollen and wet and inches from my cock.
"Wasn't planning on it," he said.
Then he took me deep again.
"Fuck," I breathed. "Liam—"
He looked up at me and the sight nearly destroyed me. His eyes were bright, pupils blown wide, lips stretched around me. A flush had spread across his cheeks and down his neck, disappearing into the hard planes of his chest.
This was Liam Moore. My "rival." The person I'd been trying not to want for over a year. And he was between my legs, mouth on me, one hand wrapped around my cock and the other pressed flat against my stomach—fingers spread wide across my abs like he wanted to feel every muscle tense, every involuntary shudder his mouth pulled out of me.
I looked down at myself—his rough hand against my skin, the way my cock disappeared between his lips, at my own chest heaving with breaths I couldn't control. My body had never felt more visible. More wanted.
My balls tightened. My cock throbbed hard. Electric shot through my spine—I was going to come.
Soon. Too soon.
But something else was rising up inside me—something bigger than physical release. A need that went deeper than getting off. A want that terrified me because it had nothing to do with sex and everything to do withhim.
I wanted to be close to him. Actually close. Face to face. Kissing him while this happened. Seeing his eyes. Feeling his body against mine with nothing between us.
The words came out rough. Desperate. Stripped of every qualifier I usually hid behind. "Liam, wait—"
He pulled back immediately, concern flashing across his face.
"Come here."
He came willingly. I grabbed his face and kissed him hard.
"What's wrong?" Liam asked between kisses.
"Nothing's wrong." I pulled him down on top of me, our bodies aligning. "I just—I want you here. Like this."
His weight pressed me into the mattress. His chest against mine. His cock hard against my hip. Everything aligned and connected andright.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
I kissed him again. Deep and slow. His hands were in my hair now, angling my head to deepen it. My hands slid down his back—the muscles flexing under my palms, the dip of his spine, the raw strength in his body that I'd spent years studying from across the water and could finally, actually touch.
This was what I wanted. Not just the release. The intimacy of it—the way our bodies fit together, the way our breathing synced up, the way his heartbeat hammered against mine through the press of our chests.
