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Freedom.
Peace.
He had all of that and more. When Taylor rested her hand on his leg, he took it tightly and held on as they sped to her house. Pulling to a stop, she practically jumped out.
“You need a shower,” she said, reaching in for her keys to unlock the door. “Are you hungry? You didn’t eat much of the sandwich Brady put in front of you—”
“Taylor,” he called to bring her back as he followed her inside. “A stór,I only hunger for you. But I do need a shower. Join me.”
She gulped and threw her purse down on the couch. “You scared the hell out of me, and I missed you so much. Dammit, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re mine, so you’d better get used to it because I amneverletting you out of my sight again.”
His heart pulsed loudly with his answer as he walked toward her. “I love you too. Even where time doesn’t exist and back. Come here.”
She laid a tentative hand on his chest. “Wait! I know what a shower can mean, Liam. It’s about more than getting clean. Sometimes you need to wash a bad experience off.”
He traced her cheek. “Not everyone would understand that.”
She pursed her mouth as her eyes brimmed with tears. “Lucky for you, I understand everything when it comes to you. You even get a head massage in the shower.”
Then she was pulling him to her bedroom and her en suite bathroom. He started pulling off his clothes—which he would burn in a fire ceremony, he’d decided—as she turned on the water in the shower. He nearly laughed when she raised a brow, hitting the button for the immersion heater, which would ensure they had plenty of hot water. She checked it for temperature with her hand before standing aside. “It’s ready.”
He caught her eyes on his body, already hard and aching for her. Leaving the door open, he stepped under the spray, savoring the rush of hot water over his body as he watched her undress. Their gazes locked as she drew off each piece of clothing, and then she was stepping into the spray with him, reaching for the shampoo. Her body was as beautiful and tantalizing as he remembered. He itched to lay his hands on her, but he knew she was right. The moment he did, the moment they really touched, there would be no turning back, so he turned around and let her work the shampoo into a thick lather. Her fingers pressing on his nape and the soft spot on top of his head were magic, releasing tension and cleaning the past days away along with the water.
When she lowered her hands to his shoulders and rubbed the overtired muscles there, he groaned, laying his forehead against the tiles at last. His body had sat nonstop in meditation save the few hours he’d spent trying to sleep on the cold cement floor. Soon he would need to tell her those things, because there would never be secrets between them.
He rinsed his hair as she lathered the rest of his body, igniting his raging desire as she ran her hands over him. He could tell she didn’t mean for it to be sexual, but their connection meant her touch could never be impersonal. When she massaged the tops of his feet, on the floor before him, he had to raise her up.
“I’m clean enough,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “Let’s wash away the rest. From us both.”
Her eyes swam with all the emotions he’d known she must be fighting—the fear, the worry, the helplessness. He knew her too well not to sense them.
The first meeting of their lips had them both groaning. He could feel the urge to take her swamp him, but this was a sacred moment, and he would not rush. He gentled his mouth, sipping slowly at her lips, pouring his love into her as if he were the water rushing over her.
She fisted her hands in his hair and gave back, pressing her silken wet body against him, filling him with her love, her courage, and her undeniable power. He kissed his way down her neck, finding her breasts. She arched into him, moaning, and he caged her waist with his hands, going lower until he could take her breasts into his mouth, one at a time, her nipples hard and straining.
Lowering himself to his knees in front of her, he locked eyes with her. “Let me,” he whispered, touching her thighs.
She widened her stance and braced herself against the tile. He sought redemption in that moment, wanting to give to her, needing to share all the love filling his being. What she had done for him… Who she was to him… Words could not encapsulate it, only actions that brought bliss, a bliss neither of them had known until they’d come together.
Her cries and urgent presses against his mouth made him soar. He was a man. Her man. Hersoulmate. And she was surrendering to the knowledge as much as he, as they had from the first time they’d given themselves to each other.
When she lowered onto his lap, he guided himself inside her. They both gasped, and it took a moment for them to fight past the agony of longing created by their connection.
She held his shoulders as she met his eyes. “I love you,” she whispered, tracing the jaw the Garda had insisted he shave before being released.
He murmured the Gaelic to her.I love you.And then he began to move inside her.
They rocked together, their sounds, their breathing, their hearts—all of it coming together and finding a rhythm and beat unique to them. He could feel her tightening again, could feel the rush of his own release at the small of his back. He pressed deep and held her there, suspended over him as she cried out and began to pulse, triggering his own earth-shattering release. She gripped his hips with her thighs and arched back, taking him higher until there was no water, there was no shower, there was no sound.
Only a floating feeling of endless love.
He held her to him as she laid her head on his shoulder. The water grew cold, and that reality brought him out of those higher dimensions. He picked her up and walked her to the towels, where he dried her off and then himself.
She finger-combed her hair before taking his hand and leading him to her bed. It was unmade, the signs of a sleepless night written all over it. He lay down on the side he’d claimed, the one closest to the door, the one he’d have for all their days together.
“So…” She rolled over until she could wrap her leg over him. “After-prison sex is even more intense than soulmate sex. Not that I ever want to have after-prison sex again, to be clear. This was our one and only time.”
Humor would be the way she’d get through this. He pushed back wet hair from her cheek, taking in the changes. Her fatigue was obvious in the slight strain around her eyes as much as the wanness of her color. She looked as if she had lost weight too. Both of them had, at that. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
