"I owe you," I say shyly. "For breakfast."
His brow furrows as he slides a knuckle down my cheek. "You don't owe me a goddamn thing."
"Well, I want to," I say quickly. My throat tightens, but words still come barreling out. "I wantyou, Liam."
Nothing short of a growl escapes his throat as I sit forward, cautiously reaching for the hem of his shirt and sliding it up his chest. He lets me, his eyes glued to mine, then reaches behind him and tugs it the rest of the way off. I take him in—broad and lean, hair trimmed neatly acrosshis pecs. It doesn't feel like the first time I've seen him this way, though it is. I think all along I've pictured perfection.
I press my mouth between his ribs, Liam's head dropping back as I slip my fingertips into his waistband again. I work the elastic past his hips, kissing down the trail that disappears into his tight, black briefs, my own need growing each time my lips touch skin.
"You're beautiful," Liam breathes, his muscles straining as I run my hand over the cotton, palming the length of him.
I tug those down too, releasing all of him, and almost say the same thing. His cock is exactly as I expected—thick, devastating—just like the rest of him. But the way his thighs quake the second my breath floats past him surprises me.
A gravelly sound escapes his throat as I wrap my hand around him, his tip already wet before my lips even brush it.
"I told you… it's been awhile," he murmurs, his voice low—almost broken.
"Since you've been… intimate?" I ask.
His expression shifts—honest, not defensive. "Since I've been touched."
I suck in a breath, privilege stealing the air from my lungs.
"It's strange, I know," he adds quietly.
I shake my head. Any nerves I had about being here before—about all of this—dissipating completely. "It's perfect."
Without waiting any longer, I dip forward, sliding my lips down to his base. Liam hums as I hollow my cheeks, taking all of him and sucking back up to his tip. I swirl my tongue through his saltiness, and his breath kicks up, quick and heavy. I peer up at him to find him watching me—marveling like I'm some sort of wonder.
He slides his hand past my jaw, cradling it—not shifting for me or quickening my movements. He's fully engaged, his eyes trailing my movement as I rock back and forth, and the sight hits differently than I'd expect.
I'm not used to this being about me too—someone savoring the idea of it happening at all. But Liam's not escaping this moment to besomewhere in his mind or rushing to get to the finish line. He's hanging on for dear life, relishing—appreciating—every passing second.
I continue taking all of him at once, my hand following my mouth every time I pull back.
"Holy shit," he pants when I pin him to the back of my throat.
I hum with Liam's cock still buried deep, and his thighs quiver again. The image alone would be enough to make me wet if I wasn't already—my ability to make such massive muscles shake beneath my touch is electrifying. But when he breathes my name like he's reaching for a lifeline, my own legs squeeze together.
"Tessa." He grips my hair tightly, pumping in and out as he empties inside me.
Now, it's my turn to savor him, catching his release, full and thick like it was built-up just for me. His eyes sink shut as I squeeze out every last drop, swallowing him down as mine glaze with tears.
With one heavy breath, Liam's head lolls forward again, and I stand to meet him. He looks down at me with that same admiration, wiping the edge of my lip with his thumb.
But then something changes.
His face turns serious as he tucks himself back into his briefs, pulling his shorts back over his hips. He turns without warning and leaves the room, draping me first in confusion before a jumble of thoughts take over.
Here I am—lips bruised, leggings soaked between my thighs, lungs empty and cheeks flushed—and he… leaves? Suddenly, the temperature in the room feels infinitely warmer.
I just got done reminding myself that everything Liam does is thoughtful—considerate. But still, instinct kicks in, and I can't help but feel… dismissed. Again.
I rip at the hem of my t-shirt, pulling it up my chest. Now I'm even more exposed, but I can't care—I need relief from the heat crawling up my skin. I tug the fabric over my head, but as I toss it to the floor, more than the cool air calms me down.
"You thought I left," Liam says, standing in the doorframe, a wad of Gator green balled in one hand.
"You did," I mutter, hyper-aware that I'm now standing in just a bra and the damp leggings he caused.
