The word came out softer than I intended, but he heard everything in it—the want, the need, the love.
He pressed his forehead against mine again, like he needed one last second to steady himself before giving me what I was asking for. His hand slid into my hair as his other gripped my waist.
Every touch said he was paying attention. Every second said he knew exactly what this meant to me.
I had never felt safer wanting someone this much.
His hand came up to my face. “Tell me.”
I swallowed. “I’m here. I want this. I want you.”
The look that crossed his face nearly wrecked me.
Then he kissed me again, and this time there was no distance left in it. Only hunger. Only love. Only the hard, steady certainty of being wanted by someone who knew exactly how much I mattered.
I let myself have it.
I let myself pull him closer.
I let myself stop thinking.
By the time he thrust into me, I was shaking with need, shaking with the force of wanting and being wanted back with equal intensity.
I arched my back and moaned in sheer relief. He felt so damn good inside me.
Liam kept murmuring my name against my skin like it meant something sacred. I kept answering him because I had nothing left to hide.
His hips moved in a slow, steady rhythm. Every thrust made me gasp as pleasure washed over me in waves. He took my hand, lacing our fingers together as my orgasm crashed over me.
Trembling from the force of it, I cried out and clenched around him. He stayed with me through it, his mouth at my throat, my shoulder, my cheek, saying my name over and over with an aching reverence that made everything feel bigger.
I touched his face. “Come here,” I said softly.
I let go of his hand and pushed gently at his shoulder until he understood. He went without resistance, rolling onto his back and bringing me with him in one smooth movement, his hands sliding to my waist to steady me as I rose over him.
His face changed when I settled there, a possessive streak flaring in his eyes.
I sat up slowly, giving him time to look at me, letting myself look at him. His hands stayed on my hips, firm and warm, but he didn’t move. He was letting me choose the pace now. Letting me take what I wanted from him the way he had just given me everything.
I put my hands on his chest and moved, keeping my eyes locked on his.
The sound he made was low and immediate. His head tipped back against the pillow, his throat working hard.
His hands roamed up my stomach and to my breasts, squeezing lightly before they made their way back down and gripped my ass.
His gaze came back to me, heavy and direct, and I felt it everywhere. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Zoey,” he said, his voice rough and wrecked.
I leaned down and kissed him.
He answered with the same hungry devotion. The care with which he attended made me feel almost unbearably tender.
It also made me want to ruin what was left of his control.
I kissed his jaw, his mouth, his temples. My fingers slid into his hair and held there while I moved over him again, slower this time, watching what it did to him.
He opened his eyes fully then.
