“Great shot,” I say, though I missed the entire thing.
Liam turns to me, his smile bright, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You didn’t see it, did you?”
“I got distracted.”
“By what?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with possibilities. I could lie again, make up something about being lost in thought, about art and the stupid iPad, or my apartment. Anything else.
“By you,” I admit, my voice barely audible over the game. I feel a strange kind of power. My heart races and my palms sweat, but I’m the one making this choice. Not Papa, not fate, not some twisted sense of revenge.
Just me, wanting something and allowing myself to have it.
The thought hardens into decision. Before I can second guess myself, I reach out and touch Liam’s forearm where it rests on his knee. His skin is warm as I trail my fingers along the exposed skin between his sleeve and wrist. The simple contact sends electricity racing up my arm.
Liam freezes. His breath catches audibly, and I watch his throat work as he swallows. For a suspended moment, neither of us moves.
“Ash.”
Just my name. The name I chose. I have hundreds of memories of him calling me Lynn or Lynnie. But I’m not that little girl anymore.
Instead of answering, I lean forward. This close, his scent envelops me completely, and I can taste his bourbon and caramel on my lips.
“Kiss me.”
“Ash…”
The first brush of my lips against his is tentative, questioning. His lips are softer than I expected. I pull back slightly, gauging his reaction. His eyes have drifted closed, his breaths coming faster now.
Emboldened, I kiss him again, firmer this time. My hand slides up his arm to his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt. One of his hands comes up to frame my face, his touchsurprisingly gentle as his fingers curl against my jaw. The other remains where it was, giving me space to retreat if I want to.
I don’t want to.
On the television, the commentator’s words dissolve into meaningless noise. All that matters is Liam’s mouth on mine, the gentle pressure of his fingers on my face, the scent of him filling my lungs.
I shift closer on the couch, my free hand finding his chest. Through his shirt, I feel his heartbeat racing beneath my palm. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat, not quite a groan, but close.
“Is this okay?” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rougher than before.
I answer by climbing into his lap, my knees on either side of his hips. I gasp a little when I rub against his hard cock.
“Sorry.” His voice is a gravely whisper. “Sitting next to you all night when you smell like…”
I’ve been kissed before, touched before, but always as a transaction, a means to an end. Never like this. Well, it was like this with Beckett.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” Liam says, his thumbs drawing small circles on my hip bones. “Anytime.”
I pull my T-shirt up over my head. The look on Liam’s face stops me dead.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine.
I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but instead I feel powerful. His hands stay on my hips like he’s waiting for permission.
“Liam, if you don’t touch me, I’m going to die.”
He snorts a little but finally drags his fingertips up my stomach and sides. It’s the lightest of touches, almost like he’s finger painting on my skin. I shiver all over and throw my head back. There’s a roaring sound in my head; could be the TV or all my hormones rushing in.
His fingers are everywhere, except… there. He seems perfectly content to have me wiggle on his lap while his fingers explore. With a groan, I yank down the cups of my bra, hoping he’ll take the hint. He sits up and starts placing barely-there kisses across my chest.
