Page 54 of Landing Liam

“I still can’t believe you brought condoms to our non-date,” he murmurs against my skin as his hands glide over my waist. His words make me laugh softly, but the sound dissolves into a shaky breath as his mouth finds the sensitive dip of my hip.

“I can’t believe I did, either,” I manage as his lips press against mine. His mouth is insistent, devouring, each flick of his tongue against mine unraveling me. My fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer, anchoring me to the moment.

His hard length presses into my stomach, the heat of him impossible to ignore as my own desire coils tighter, blazing hot in my core. The need is all-consuming, and it spills out of me in a quiet, breathy moan that seems to make him smile against my lips.

He pulls back, just enough to reach for the small foil packet. The crinkle of the wrapper seems impossibly loud in the quiet, firelit room. I watch, mesmerized, as he rolls the condom on, his muscles flexing under the golden light.

“Come here,” he murmurs thick with need.

My heart pounds as I crawl into his lap, the heat of the fire nothing compared to the scorching warmth radiating from his body. His hands find my hips, strong and steady, guiding me as I sink onto him. A gasp catches in my throat as he fills me, stretching me, and my chest presses tightly against his.

His lips trail up my neck, kissing and nibbling the delicate skin there, while his hands hold me in place. He rolls his hips expertly his movements sending jolts of pleasure through me. The sensation is overwhelming, white-hot and consuming, and before I can stop myself, my body responds.

The orgasm tears through me, sudden and powerful, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I cling to him. Liam groans, low and raw, his grip on me tightening as he moves in perfect rhythm, carrying me through the storm of sensation.

“Again,” he whispers against my neck like a promise, his body already driving me toward the edge once more. And I know I’ll let him. Again and again.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Liam

I’ve had Maggie in every way imaginable—on top of me, beneath me, pressed against the wall, her body pliant and eager, fitting against mine like we were made for this. Now, as the faint pink glow of dawn creeps through the snow-covered window, casting its soft light across her bare shoulders, I can’t stop the gnawing fear clawing at my chest.

Because this—her lying tangled in the sheets beside me, her steady breaths mingling with the crackling remnants of the fireplace—might be the last time. She might walk out that door when the sun is fully risen, leaving me with nothing but the ghost of her laugh, the warmth of her touch, and the way she looked at me when she finally let her walls down.

And I don’t know if I can let her go.

I sit up slowly, careful not to wake her, and rake a hand through my hair. My body aches in the best way from the hours we spent exploring every inch of each other, but my mind won’t rest. What if this is it? A single night, however unforgettable, is a cruel trade for the way she’s already rooted herself in my head—and maybe even my heart.

I glance down at her, the soft curve of her back barely covered by the sheet, her hair fanned out like an invitation. She’s beautiful, unguarded like this. Vulnerable in a way that makes me want to shield her from anything and everything that could ever hurt her.

The thought hits me like a gut punch. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before—not like this. And now, I’m terrified of what comes next.

The soft hum of electricity returning fills the room as the lights flicker on. Maggie stirs slightly, her freckled cheek pressed against the pillow, her lashes casting delicate shadows across her face. I should probably let her sleep, but I can’t tear my eyes away. She looks peaceful, utterly content, and I can’t help but wonder if I had something to do with that.

I reach for my dead phone on the nightstand, the screen dark and unresponsive, and rummage through the bedside drawer in search of a cord. My fingers finally close around one, and I plug it in, watching the screen light up as it begins to charge.

By the time I glance up, the horizon is painted in delicate streaks of pink and orange, the first rays of sunlight creeping through the curtains. The storm is gone, leaving a pristine, glittering blanket of snow outside. The whole world looks like it’s starting over—fresh, unblemished—and for some reason, it makes my chest ache.

Maggie stirs again, her fingers curling into the sheets. A few strands of hair have fallen into her face, and before I can stop myself, I reach out and gently tuck them behind her ear. Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips, and the simple touch sends a rush of something undefinable through me.

I sit back and let out a deep breath. The sun might be rising, but I don’t feel ready for the day to start—not if it means letting her go.

She lets out a contented sigh beside me, the soft sound breaking the quiet of the room. I watch as her brows knit together for a moment before relaxing, her breathing steady and peaceful. My chest tightens, and I swallow hard against the knot forming in my throat.

Snowboarding has been my entire life. Every decision I’ve made, every sacrifice, every success—it’s all been for the thrill of the mountain, the rush of the air, the fleeting moments of weightlessness. But as I sit here, watching her, the steady rise and fall of her chest, I can’t help but wonder… what if there’s something more?

What if there’s a new life waiting for me? One that’s slower, simpler, and undeniably sweeter? The kind of life where mornings start with sunlight streaming through the windows and her sleepy smile greeting me instead of alarms and training schedules. The kind of life where my biggest challenge isn’t landing a trick but making her laugh. What if this life—this view right here—is better than anything I’ve been chasing?

I drag a hand through my hair, the weight of the thought almost too much to process. For so long, I’ve defined myself by the sport, by the competition. But now… now there’s this possibility, this aching desire for something real, something lasting.

Maggie shifts again, her fingers clutching the edge of the blanket, and my heart feels like it’s being pulled in two different directions. Am I ready to let go of the life I’ve always known? Could I truly start over?

She murmurs something in her sleep, her voice soft and unintelligible, but it grounds me. Maybe I don’t have to have all the answers right now. What if life is less about chasing the next big thing and more about finding someone who makes you want to stay?

My phone buzzes on the bedside table, but I ignore it, letting it rattle against the wood while I sink deeper into the mattress. Without thinking, I curl my body around Maggie, pulling her closer. She responds immediately, her hand instinctively resting on my chest. The simple touch sends a jolt through me, making my heart pound against her palm.

“Morning,” she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep. Her words are soft, and the way she nestles closer for a brief moment feels far more intimate than anything we did last night.