Liam strides to me in three quick steps, smoothing my hair back over my shoulder. "To get this." He holds up a piece of clothing I don't need to question, and just the smell of it erases the last sixty seconds.
"Why do you—"
"Put it on," he says, his voice husky.
My fingers reach for it before I consciously decide to, my end of the magnet drawn right to his.
I turn the sweatshirt over, dipping one arm inside, but Liam grabs at my elbow, stopping me. "Onlythis."
His eyes glaze over in a way I've never seen before—from anyone.
"Liam…" I mutter, that self-consciousness still lingering in the back of my mind.
"Please," he begs desperately.
I nod once, then twist toward the bed, allowing gravity to pull the hoodie onto the mattress. When I turn back to him, we lock eyes again as I reach behind me to unclip my bra.
The satin drops to the floor, the soft brush as it hits the carpet echoing around us. Liam drinks me in the same way he's done everything else leading up to this moment—patiently. Cautiously. He drags a palm down his face, and I arch ever so slightly, my peaks reaching for him. For his touch.
His eyes slink shut after he watches it happen, but he doesn't grant me that. Instead, he gestures toward my leggings. I swallow the need gathering underneath my tongue and dip my fingertips into my waistband. My own touch on my skin sends shivers down my spine and encourages me to move faster.
I slide the lycra down my legs and pull them off, suddenly unashamed at how exposed I am—how ready. Liam steps forward, and just when I think he might finally put those big, calloused hands on me, he dips behind me, his sweet breath drifting past my neck.
He reappears with his clubhouse-only sweatshirt in his hands.
"Arms up, Tessa."
I oblige, and he slides the thick material over my head, the heavy cotton sweeping over my aching nipples. He drops down to pull the hem past my hips, exhaling deeply—purposely—past my core.
I whimper, and he flies back up, closer than ever. "My God," Liam groans, hovering over me. He leans down and peppers kisses up the side of my neck. "I've wanted this since I threw my sweatshirt into the stands."
"To see me in it?" I ask, somewhat confused.
Because he has. He did.
Liam nudges me gently, and I fall onto the bed. "To taste you in it."
My breath stutters as I settle onto the mattress, and as if he commanded them to, my knees fall open as Liam sinks to the floor.
"Maybe we should go slower?" I mutter, still open and ready. I hate that this feels… inconvenient for him. He drags his pointer finger down my middle, and my hips buck in response.
"I think this is as slow as I can manage," he admits, his breath just inches from my center.
I gulp down the sound I want to make. "You don't have to…" I start instead, but my voice trails off. I can't say it aloud—
Do this.
Reciprocate.
Liam pauses, his face stern. He kisses the inside of my thigh, then climbs up over me, his muscles straining to bear his weight on either side of my body. "Don't you dare finish that sentence," he murmurs, pressing his lips roughly to mine. "Don't even think it."
I gasp, then nod, as his reaction soothes something in me.
Liam smiles before lowering himself back to the ground. "Slow," he promises as his lips cover my clit.
My hand dives into his hair as he begins to suck, careful pulls from his mouth dragging me closer to the edge. His number stitched on my sleeve stares up at me, a reminder—or a warning—that from here on out, everything will change.
Again.
