“Fuck, Avery.” Liam’s eyes are dark with a need so raw, it frightens me.
I set the rhythm again, a slow undulation of my hips that isn’t just about friction. It’s about feeling him. The thick, hard length of him buried to the hilt, the way my body clenches around him.
I rock forward, changing the angle. Liam’s head falls back on the couch pillow, tendons standing out in his neck. “Don’t fucking stop.”
A sense of power surges through me. This is what he does to me. This is what I do to him. As my orgasm builds, Liam grips my hips and slams me on his cock. Over and over again, until we come within seconds of each other.
I collapse on top of him, and he wraps his hands around me. We stay like that for a while, catching our breath. Then Liam shifts, wincing.
“Okay, maybe the couch wasn't the best idea.”
“Your ribs?”
“Are reminding me they're bruised.” He cups my face. “Worth it though.”
I climb off him carefully, suddenly aware that I'm completely naked in his living room. “I should go.”
“Don't.” His hand catches my wrist. “Don't run this time, Avery. Please.”
“I'm not running.”
“You're already looking for the exit.” He stands, wincing again, then holds out his hand. “Stay. Let me hold you.”
I take his hand. I’m beyond caring about consequences now. “Okay. But you need to rest. You have a game tomorrow.”
“Yes, Coach.” He grins, then sobers. “I'm sorry about the car. You're right, it was stupid and reckless. I bought it because I was angry and hurt, and that's not an excuse, but it's the truth.”
“It was incredibly stupid,” I agree. “And risky. You could have been killed.”
“I know.” He leads me toward his bedroom.
“Buying a four-hundred-thousand-dollar car because you were upset is not healthy coping, Liam.”
“I know that too.” We reach his bedroom, and he closes the door behind us. “I'm not saying I'm perfect, Avery. I'm saying I'm trying.”
He pulls back the covers and we climb into bed, and when he pulls me against his chest, careful of his bruised ribs, it feels achingly right.
“Tell me about your family,” he says after a moment.
The change of subject throws me. “My family?”
“Yeah. I want to know you. The real you.”
I settle more comfortably against him, my head on his shoulder. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Start with the basics. Parents, siblings, childhood trauma.” He's teasing, but there's curiosity in his voice.
“Well, there's my mother, my father, and my sister Sadie. She's an artist.”
“What kind of art?”
“Painting mostly. Abstract stuff that I don't always understand but that sells for ridiculous amounts of money.” I trace patterns on his chest with my finger. “My mother runs a nonprofit for environmental advocacy.”
“And your dad?”
“He’s a lawyer,” I say.
“Oh shit.” Liam shifts to look at me, mock alarm on his face. “Note to self. Don't piss off Avery. Her dad will sue me into the next century.”
