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I rock my hips, matching his slow rolls. Our lips meet, tongues tangling as our hands explore each other with intimate caresses. The fire builds to a blaze once again, and I involuntarily clench around him each time he reaches the sweet spot inside me.
His body trembles. Mine shakes. Each of us wanting this to last. Both of us knowing it won’t be much longer.
“God, you feel so fucking good, baby.” My lashes flutter as I squeeze him again. “Yeah, Tiger Lily, just like that.” He grips my face, crashing his mouth to mine, driving his tongue inside. His beard scrapes my neck as he drifts down my neck, nuzzling the delicate skin below my ear. He sucks and bites across my shoulders while my fingers dig into his scalp.
“Liam.” His name is a whisper on my lips. A prayer from my heart to his.
He hears it without hesitation, bringing our lips together again as he reaches inside me and touches my soul, then presses his forehead to mine. “Look at me, little flower.” The hurt, the heartbreak, all the foolish pride and ridiculous fears from the months apart fall away as his brilliant blue, variegated ocean pools crack me wide open. “Together, baby.” The anguish and regret are washed away by unbridled love.
Our breaths mingle as we continue to stare at each other, searching each other’s hearts and souls, and sharing our spirit.
We fell apart, shattered into a million pieces.
But diamonds must be cut before they shine.
“I missed you, baby. I missed us,” he whispers against my mouth.
“I missed you more.”
“I doubt that, little flower.” He brushes his lips against mine as he softly runs his fingers through my hair, making my lids slowly fall. His voice sounds far away. Almost like a dream. “But I’ll let you believe that if you need to.
Liam
The sun still isn’t up when my eyes open a second time. The moonlight drifts through my exposed windows, shadows of light giving her soft skin an ethereal glow. She looks like an angel.
When she’s sleeping.
I love her, but my little flower is more akin to a strangling vine than her pretty namesake. Though, I suppose she could be the trumpet flower. Looks pretty and harmless but throw that shit in some tea, and you’ll trip balls before you die.
If she’s my death, I’ll gladly die over and over for a taste.
She’s thrown the covers off, leaving her body exposed. My fingers drift across her soft skin, trailing the outer thigh of one leg and the inner of the other.
With every tantalizing inch of satin I stroke, the urge to spread her wide and sink deep inside her tight body burns deep in my bones.
Dreams make her dark lashes flutter against her cheeks. I want to climb inside her mind and see what she sees. Is she dreaming of me? Of us and the life we could have? Is she dreaming of what my body desperately craves right now? Imagining my tongue in her most sensitive places? My rough, calloused hands against her soft silky skin?
My lips feather across her cheeks, eyes, and lips. I smile when she mutters my name in sweet satisfaction. Then groan quietly when my dick twitches, not caring in the least he was sated only hours ago. Truthfully, he was ready to go again almost instantly, but her heavy lids kept me from going for seconds.
I have to get out of this bed before the temptation becomes too much.
I miss the feel of her skin, her warmth, the moment I slip from the bed. I pull the duvet back over her body, shaking my head at covering such beauty, but I know without my body heat, she’ll get cold. She always does.
After I pull the drapes closed so the rising sun doesn’t disturb her, I move to the heavy dresser across the room and grab a pair of shorts, socks, and a T-shirt. I dress fast and carry my shoes to the living room, where I sit on the sofa and slip them on.
My steps are soft and light as I make my way to the fridge with my backpack. I throw in a few bottles of water, electrolyte packets, and a protein bar and exit the apartment. The door to the stairwell creaks, which is dumb because, while this place may not be the most luxurious in the city by a long shot, it costs enough not to fucking squeak.
And yes, my workout begins with the ten flights down to the gym on the second floor of my building. By the time I reach the gym, I’m warm, so it saves time.
When I enter the gym, I set my bag on a bench, remove my shirt, shove it into the bag, and retrieve my earbuds. One in each ear, I turn Slipknot to full blast and head to the wall where the ropes are kept and get started.
My wrists rotate as my hop begins. Slow and steady at first, I do two-foot hops to find the rhythm of the death metal beating in my ears. After the first song, I’m in the zone where enough muscle memory kicks in, and I know it’s time to switch it up.
The song changes, and along with it, my footwork. After twenty hops, I add a skip every third rotation. Heel, toe, heel, toe. I bounce with my eyes closed, focused on my breathing and the music. When the song changes again, so do I.
The rope swings from side to side as my body moves in the opposite direction. The rope opens wide, and I jump in with a dozen rapid jumps, bringing my knees to my chest. Then, I close the rope, hop to the side, the middle, and the side, and then go in the opposite direction.
I continue this for twenty minutes until my heart rate reaches one-fifty—my target rate—before gradually bringing myself back down.
