A loud mirthful laugh erupts behind me, giving me enough time for key meet hole. A satisfying click follows, and I exhale, opening the door. “Ishouldbe rethinking this.” I shake my head, kicking off my shoes.
“But you aren’t?” He studies me.
“Unfortunately, no.” I slam Liam’s back against the door. He grabs my hips, fingers firm and sure, and pulls me close.
“Good,” he breathes out before our lips crash into each other. None of the electricity arcing between us has dissipated, and this feels less and less like a show and more like a conversation.
The poet Alfred de Musset once said,“the only true language in the world is a kiss,”and as Liam’s other hand tangles in my mess of strawberry curls, I can’t help but think that’s what this is. So many things left unsaid bubble to the surface, baring themselves in the warm sunlight of this embrace. Like somehow, our kisses were inevitable. The magnetic pull would never relent until our lips were finally molded together.
A soft moan emits from my throat as his tongue sweeps inside my mouth. If the first few kisses were an act to satiate a pang of hunger, this—this is an imprint. It’s like he’s claiming my mouth for his own, saying no one else will do from here on out.
A shiver works through me, and I catch my breath. I close my eyes, focusing on the butterflies, the goosebumps, the fire ripping through me and consuming the usual hell.
I. Feel. Good.
You’re screwed,the chaos gremlin says almost gleefully in my head.
I tell it to shut up so I can focus on everything going on here—the heat of him, the spiral of my pulse, the eagerness of his kiss.
His tongue urges my lips apart, shifting, growing in desire and need. My fingers hungrily work on undoing the buttons on his shirt. A muffled groan leaves him while he grips my waist to place me up on the counter. He pulls away, dragging his teeth along my bottom lip.
His fingers swiftly undo the buttons on my shirt as he lays a cascade of kisses along the nape of my neck and down my shoulder in a desperate exploration of my body. One hand runs slowly up the outside of my leg. My breath hitches, and my back arches, pressing further into him.
“Hi,” I breathe. Smooth.
“Hi.” Liam smiles, pausing for a brief moment before he moves to the other shoulder.
Okay. Let’s try that again.
He works up my neck, his hands forcefully moving over my back.
Oh, come on, is this man going to kiss my lips again soon? I’m dying here.
“Lips, please.” The words escape me. His exploration stills, and I’m greeted with a crooked grin.
“You miss me, Peaches?” he asks, brushing the pad of his thumb over my limp bottom lip. I’m too dazed and confused to be sufficiently snarky even though I really want to bite back. Unfortunately, I also want to bite him, and the war of dichotomies battling inside overwhelms me, so I nod compliantly in response.
“Huh. Well, today’s a day of firsts here, isn’t it?”
And okay.
“Shut up and kiss me, asshole.”
“There we go!” Liam laughs, cradling my face with his hand. An incantation swirls in his eyes as he leans in slowly, trailing a finger under my shirt and dragging it down my side. A brain-numbing chill takes possession of my entire being.
Finally, Liam returns to my mouth, firm and demanding. Warmth floods me with a passion I’d laid to rest long ago. Resurrected with a press of the lips, the brush of his finger, the scent of his skin. I can’t get close enough.
My legs wrap around his waist and tighten around him, reaching official koala status. His arms fall behind my back, lifting me up and bringing me into my bedroom. Suddenly, Liam’s footing stumbles, foiled by my mess of a room. We collapse on the floor into a mound of dirty laundry. His lumbering figure falls on top of me.
“Ow.” A giant, tension-releasing laugh escapes me.
“Are you okay?” He lays kisses on the side that crashed into the floor, and my heart flutters.
“I’m fine.” I anxiously giggle, the panic of what we’re doing seeping in. Whatever was about to happen was a bad idea. Liam doesn’t need to learn the truth about my intimacy struggles, fake relationship or not. It’s embarrassing.
His eyes widen as they take in my bedroom, landing on the wall decorated with postcards in the back. He inhales sharply, as if he hurt something in the fall, and stands.
I pick myself up off the ground and assess him. I wish I could read him better than I do. It’s like there are parts of Liam that I can read like the back of my hand with buttons and levers I know how to push and pull to my advantage. But there are times like this when he’s a complete enigma to me. Maria thinks he’s the one sending me these. But his gaze is roaming over my wall with wonder, which wouldn’t make sense if he knew about them already.
