“Liam.”
“Avery, I was just in a car accident. I could have died. The least you can do is let me enjoy being alive with a beautiful woman in my lap.”
I laugh. “That's emotional manipulation.”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe.” I touch his face again, mapping the damage. “Where are the puppies?”
“Seriously?” He looks at me incredulously. “That's what you're thinking about right now?”
“I just want to make sure they're okay.”
“They're fine. Olivia set them up in one of the spare bedrooms with food and water and toys. They're probably asleep.” His hands slide up my thighs and he grips my hips. “Forget about the puppies.”
He kisses me again, silencing my protests, and I forget why I was resisting. His hands are everywhere. My hips, my waist and then under my t-shirt. I arch into his touch, gasping when his thumbs graze the undersides of my breasts.
“No bra,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Were you planning to seduce me, Ms. Carter?”
“I was panicking about you dying and in a rush, actually.”
“Hot.”
I laugh and smack his shoulder lightly. “You're ridiculous.”
“You like it.” His hands cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples. “Tell me you like it.”
“I love…” The words die when he pinches lightly, sending heat straight between my legs. “Liam.”
“That's what I thought.”
We shouldn't be doing this. But his hands feel so good, and he's alive, and I was so scared.
“Bedroom,” I breathe.
“I can’t wait,” he says. “I need you now.” He reached for the hem of my t-shirt, pulling it over my head. Then his mouth is on my breast, and I stop caring about logistics.
I fumble with his sweatpants, trying to be careful of his injuries while also desperately needing to touch him. He helps me, lifting his hips so I can push the fabric down. Then he's freeing himself, and I'm lifting up, positioning myself over him.
“Wait,” he gasps. “Condom?—”
“I'm on birth control,” I say, because I've already forgotten every reason this is a bad idea.
“Thank God.” He grips my hips, guides me down, and we both groan as I take him in.
For a moment, we just stay like that, joined and breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
“You came,” he says again, voice filled with wonder.
“Of course I came.” I start to move, slow and deep. “I thought I lost you.”
His hands guide my movements, and it's different from Sunday night. Less desperate, more tender. Like we're confirming something beyond just physical need.
“Ride me, Avery,” he urges.
I rise up on my knees until he’s almost to the tip, feeling the exquisite, stretching fullness begin to recede, a silent protest from my body. Then, I sink back down, taking every inch of him back inside.
A groan sound escapes him, his hips twitching upward to meet my descent.
