Page 4 of Liquids

He cuts me off. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

He’s lying. No one likes living in someone else’s squalor. I may not be great at life generally, but I understand this. My dad would be rolling in his grave. Despite his asshole comments, he was so proud of everything I did, my art, my nursing … My eyes tighten without warning.

“Go to bed, babe.”

My eyes shoot back to him to find him watching me, and I swallow. “I’m sorry, this must be …”

His hand darts out and takes hold of mine. He turns it over to examine my palm. Something crackles through me from my fingers to my toes. He draws a warm finger down the center of it.

“Go to bed, babe,” he says softly, and I nod. All I wanted was to forget how much I’ve given up on life, but now he’s seeing the evidence of it firsthand. You’ve just got to get through how mortifying this is and not cry on his huge shoulders. He’ll be gone tomorrow before I’m up. No smart guy hangs around here in the morning.

2

WATERING

The room is dark when my eyes blink open. Strange. I’m usually too drunk to close the curtains. I roll onto my back and … something’s cooking. Bacon? I’m not much of a breakfast person; one of the benefits of drinking too much is being too hungover to eat first thing. But for some reason, my stomach growls. I stand and sway, blinking at my feet. Rig’s insistence on Tylenol and coffee last night means my head feels okay for the first time in … quite a long time. The booze helps … Gah, I’ll take the lack of a hangover as a win. I move out of my bedroom past the crumpled comforter on the couch to the kitchen. I’ll bet he was uncomfortable on that.

I’m met with an eye-watering view of a naked, broad, muscled back and a rough pair of jeans.

“You’re cooking?”

He peers over his shoulder, eyes sweeping me up and down, then he turns back to the stove as all the muscles in his shoulders bunch up tight. Then he says, “Fuck it,” places the pan on an unlit burner, and swings around, stalking toward me.

“What … what …?”

“I was cooking, and I wasn’t going to take advantage of you, babe, but you’ve turned up in that.” His hand waves down my camisole and checked pajama bottoms. “And let me tell you, it leaves nothing to the imagination.”

Looking down, my nipples are peaked under the thin top. Damn. I start to turn, but he grabs my arm.

“I was cooking, but now I’m fucking,” he says. “You can’t come in here dressed like that and not expect to be fucked.”

Before I can say anything—like last night was a mistake, that I should never have sat at his table, or anything else that springs to mind—he’s in my space with his mouth on mine. And I forget everything because he tastes of coffee and salt and his lips are hard and demanding. His large hand slides down over my ass and pulls me into something that feels … pretty damn good. Fingers dig in, lifting me up, and it’s all I can do to wrap my legs around his giant hips and hang on. He presses into me right where I want it, and tingles run down into my toes. If you’d asked me if I wanted sex this morning or even five minutes ago, I would have said, “Hell, no,” but as soon as he does this, I’m like “Yes, please” and “Right now.”

He turns and hitches me onto the countertop, hands grabbing the sides of my cami, which he whips up and off and tosses somewhere behind him. He stares down at my naked chest for several heartbeats, eyes narrowed and grim. There’s a cut above his left eye and a bruise on his chin that I didn’t notice in the dim light of the bar last night. Why’s he all beaten up? I scrabble at the fastener on his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping him and finding no boxers, just dark curly hair and … oh my God. My hands wrap around his length, and a noise vibrates in my throat, followed by his answering rumble.

He steps back and pulls a condom out of his pocket and rips it open with his teeth. My hand slips away as he rolls it on and tugs at my pajama bottoms, so I lift up and then they’re gone, his hand sliding between my legs. He finds my clit with unerring accuracy, but his touch isn’t rough at all; it’s like perfect pressure, so right, and my eyes roll back in my head as his thumb explores. Fucking perfect. Jesus.

“Oh yeah, baby,” he groans.

He pulls me toward him, and before I can say, “I’m not ready yet,” or “You’re too big,” his cock stretches me as he pushes in, and the sting makes my scalp prickle. I lift up and away from him, because I can’t take it, I can’t. I’m not wet enough, he’s huge and … he thrusts roughly forward, and I squeak as water leaks out of the corners of my eyes … but his fingers come back and he starts doing some rubbing-and-rolling thing. All the air leaves my body as I tilt forward and open my legs wider. Like an animal, all instinct and need.

“Fuck, yeah,” he says, pushing deeper, and his thumb presses harder. The combination of being stretched so much and played with so much makes my thighs shake, a deep ache starting somewhere in my pelvis, tightening and tightening, until I don’t know what to do with myself. I claw at his shoulders, trying to hold on, trying to shift closer, to move my ass forward, and he clamps a hand on my butt dragging me right into him.

“That’s it, that’s it. Baby, that’s it.”

“Oh God, oh God.” That strangled voice can’t be mine. I’m wetter now, and he starts some strange movement, rolling his hips and pulling me forward in a rhythm on the edge of the countertop, thumb still perfect, and my toes curl into the rough denim of his jeans now hanging low on his hips.

The ache that has taken over my entire pelvis grows and expands, running down my legs into my feet and I gasp, tipping my head back.

“Beautiful,” he says.

My head snaps back to find him looking down at my breasts, and he closes his eyes.

“God, baby,” he rumbles. “You close?”

I can’t answer him because I can’t speak. It’s coming for me like a ten-ton truck, and I’m out of my body, the truck looming larger and larger, pinned to the road and unable to move before it hits me.

“Oh … oh … oh …” It slams into me like a huge wave, and I fly apart, jerking into the soft curls on his chest, pressing in, trying to stop myself falling into a million little pieces.