CHAPTER ELEVEN
CELESTE
We sink in a mess of tangled limbs and bubbles blown from shrieks of laughter. And something about falling through the water with this unhinged man, completely submerged, after a day of drowning my haggard grief, is like coming up for air. Other than Ivy, I haven’t shown myself to anyone since Ben passed.
But I was too depleted to care tonight, too weary to fret over whether he’d judge me any more than he already had. While some of those judgments have been so vastly off base that they bounced right off me, one was more poignant than I’d been prepared for. He labeled me a chameleon, claiming I don’t know my own color, and maybe I don’t—not beyond the smoke and fire. Because that horror has charred every moment after, and the only way to breathe in smog is with a mask.
What if I choke without it?
His golden hairs waggle and sway, buoyant and directionless as we tumble and drift. He’s the kind of freedom I crave. Unapologetically him, even in the brashness. Floating through the weight of life like I long to do.
And he listened—really listened.
When he looked at me, I didn’t simply feel seen. I felt desired for the me no one knows. The me I’ve tried to suffocate.
Sprouting out of the water like a geyser, Liam coils my body around his as sprinkles from our reentrance rain down on us. His stature swallows me while his presence bolsters me stronger somehow. Every inch of him is chiseled, like he’s forgone carbs for a decade, or maybe it’s the calisthenics with the log I watched. That would do it. Regardless, he’s an electric blanket of heat and comfort, thrill and energy, on this chilly night.
His lips collide with mine in a frenzied kiss, a soul-searing one. He’s changed. His intensity has shifted.
Determined.
For what, I’m not sure, but his tongue seems intent on learning the deepest parts of me. Marking and branding me. For this one night, I want to let him—to know what it would be like if I wasn’t me and I could be his. The truth in what he said is an oppressive anchor.
“The goodbye you can’t bear.”
Maybe so. Just another one to carry.
But that isn’t tonight. And now, there’s a throbbing between my legs that desperately needs to be tended to. I’m fully confident he can obliterate that. When he lapped at my clit in the most divine rotation I’ve ever experienced—good God, I had to stop it. I’m already tipping, plummeting possibly. My heart is entangled in a dangerous, possessive tango that I refuse to entertain. It was vital to remind him and myself who was running the show—a feat I feel I conquered tenfold.
’Cause I fucking blew him out of the water. Pun totally intended.
“You’re in for it now, Carver.” His scruff bristles my cheek, prickling as his lips lift into a smile. “I was already planning to render you speechless and dumbfound you for days, but I’m upping my game.” He captures my lower lip between his teeth before licking over it. “It’s going to be downright lethal, baby girl. You ready?”
“Do it. Annihilate me until I’m catatonic,” I challenge against his lips, unable to disguise how parched I am for his touch. Bringing him to his knees left me desperate to spread mine wide open.
His forehead drops to mine. “That was incredible, Ace. You are … you’re so much more.” He locks those mesmerizing hazels on to mine, clutching my face as though he’s holding something precious. “I’ve been waiting. I see you.”
I turn my head and sigh. Fuck, he’s going to make this hurt.
He grips my chin, consuming the whole of me with another claiming kiss. “Don’t do that. I get all of you tonight.”
Right. One night.
Always keep them guessing.
“Ticktock then, Graves. No sense in wasting our time on sweet talk. I’m a sure thing … for the next few hours.”
“Seventeen,” he says, hand roaming beneath the water. Ass. Hips. Inner thighs.
“Seventeen?”
“Hours,” he explains, inching further. Two fingers dive inside me, curling to hit the perfect spot before retreating and circling my clit. “No one will be home until one tomorrow.” He flicks and swirls and plunges. “You’re all mine, Celeste.”
His.
Lips on my neck.
Chest to chest.
Hair fisted.
Sting and soothe.
Fingers frolicking all over my pussy in a pattern I can’t predict, yet also the most harmonious tempo. I slump against him, my hands roving over his taut muscles, tracing the sinuous trail of his ink—a dark angel spanning his chest, compasses and code etched on one bicep and trickling around the dark angel, the skeleton of a tree frog on the other arm—simple yet elaborate in a way that speaks volumes about the man clasping me against him.
The scene is so damn erotic, naked and wading to the pattering tune of the waterfalls under the picturesque canopy of a freckled night. My vision clouds at the edges, mimicking the sky above with stars and shadows.
“Jesus,” I hiss. “So good. I’m gonna …” I whimper into his wet skin. “I’m gonna come.”
“Not yet, baby,” he contends, withdrawing his hand to encircle my waist.
The loss is shocking and nothing short of tragic. “What?” I pant. “Why would you stop?”
He chuckles and kisses my temple. “You got round one, Ace. I get the rest. Prepare to be wrecked.”
I scoff, subtly rocking my hips in search of friction. “You’d think letting me come would play a part in that.”
Rolling one of my nipples between his fingers to deliver a delicious tingle that zaps right through to the throbbing ache between my legs, he smirks. “Don’t be greedy, Carver. It’s so unbecoming.”
No time to respond because, as if we were one of those swing-dancing couples, he throws my legs off his hips and out of the water, catching them so I’m cradled in his arms—my knees draped over one, the other under my back, but snaking over to resume his massage on my clit. I tether myself to his neck, folded like a taco inside his mammoth reach, and any objections I have dissolve in the pool. My body immediately twitches in his hold, igniting with goose bumps, every muscle fraught with a volatile longing.
“I’ve got to get you somewhere warmer though, baby,” he says. “Hang on.”
His fingers keep cavorting over my clit and whirling inside me as he carries me out of the water, both of us dripping all over the travertine, my limbs heavy and trembling.
“Fuck,” I squeak, head lolling back in ecstasy. “Oh God.”
He smacks my pussy, and the bastard has the gall to wink when I gape at him.
“What the hell, Graves?” I hiss.
He tsks. “Keep it together for me, would ya?” His head shakes in admonishment. “Yelling and making a mess all over my arm. That perfect glistening cunt is gushing everywhere, baby girl. Really.”
And as the man holding all the damn power, he recommences his torture, pleasuring me into submission.
I miss the entire journey leading to his room, eyes watering all over my face, too heavy-lidded to open. As he drops me on the bed, I bounce with a flop, but can’t find it in me to care about my naked acrobatics because his mouth descends upon my aching heat.
“That’s it. Yes. Jesus.” I wouldn’t tell him, but allowing him to do this is an extreme act of trust for me. I don’t …
He licks and laps, his tongue rollicking with his own ferocious groans. God, I love to hear him ravenous for me.
My hips buck, so feral and crazed, fingers clenching his thick hair to glue him in place. Almost there. “Don’t you fucking move, Liam. I’ll smother you if I have to.”
He chuckles against me and stands. Asshole.
I bound off the bed with a homicidal hysteria, shoving my acrylic nail into his inked steel pecs. “I swear to God, if you keep this shit up, I’ll kill you and dry-hump your corpse.”
That sends him into his own hysteria, which he powers through for a good two minutes while I huff and glare. He finally calms himself and scoops me into his embrace, hazels nearly gold in this light, like a menacing lion, brimming with both amusement and possessiveness. Even in my orgasm-denial agony, I love his eyes on me.
His knuckles sail over my cheek, fingertips coasting down my jaw to splay his palm across my throat. “I’ve got you. But you need to trust me.”
I’m sure he simply means that in regard to our evening sexcapade, but it twists something inside me. I’m not in the habit of trusting people. But with Liam, on some level, I think I’ve trusted him for a while. Even when he was a jerk, he felt like a shield.
“You’re tormenting me,” I whine, “and I was fucking good to you.”
“Lie down, Carver. Stop your grumbling and let me eat that delectable pussy.” He pushes me backward so that my compliance is a given. I don’t even care as long as he gets on with it. And he does.
Tongue and fingers. Mouth and hands.
Taste and slurp. Circle and smack.
Moans and whimpers. Stars and spots.
A spark to a jolt.
And …
Desertion. Nothing.
On the damn brink, and he ceases.
I holler nonsensical squawks, slumping in an irate heap—on the verge of tears over an orgasm. Or lack thereof. Not my most dignified moment.
“Okay, that’s my girl. You’re doing so good.”
His praise is a balm I wasn’t expecting, yanking me from my disgruntled haze with a swelling sense of fulfillment. He rips open a condom wrapper, sheathing himself.
Where the hell did he even get that?Doesn’t matter. It’s on, so I will soon be satiated.
Torture concluded.
Before I know it, his rock-hard dick—so fucking long and thick—is swiping up and down. Clit to entrance. Images of sucking him off flash before me. God, he was so beautiful out there that my chest hurt. Just as he is here, towering over me in all his glory. His eight-pack abs and V succeeding in their due diligence to direct my eyes to the star player.
“I’m going to stay right here,” he says, voice husky and starved, “rubbing over you. All you have to do is beg me, and I’ll thrust inside, pumping you full until you come so hard on my cock that you black out. But it doesn’t happen before then.”
That’s a checkmate move if I’ve ever seen one.
“Motherfucker,” I snarl, and he grins like the damn Joker. Demented.
He glides himself through my sopping mess in a dreadfully slow traipse. “There are rules, Ace. Eyes never leave mine. Hands under your head.” He leers until I obey with a huff, my jaw jutting out. “Good girl, but you need to temper that sass, or I’m taking you over my goddamn knee before you ever come.”
Fuck me.A traitorous whimper escapes me.
His eyebrows dart up. “You like the sound of that, baby? My kinky girl.”
His.
He increases the friction, and I’m helpless to it, writhing and moaning. Gyrating my hips to no avail. It’s not enough. But I won’t cave.
“Just touching you like this is driving me crazy. Maybe I’ll be the one to crack. You’re so fucking sexy, Celeste.” His Adam’s apple bobs, his suffering a plea of his own. “The things I want to do to you.”
“Like what?” I murmur, so desperate that I’m choking back spit.
“Ice. Wax. Maybe some light bondage.” He teases my opening with a cruel circling.“A spreader bar. My palm print on your luscious ass. Bite marks on your magnificent tits.” His breathing picks up, right along with my ratcheting heart rate. Exquisite misery. “But what excites me most is the picture I started to paint last night. I’d make you come all over the city, public places, in your prim-and-proper attire while you unraveled, wild and feral, in my arms. Our secret.”
I have no words, only unintelligible murmurs of agreement as I lose myself inside his hungry eyes.
“Whatever we did,” he continues, licking his lips through his goading sweeps, “I’d always start with a taste of your sweet cunt because I’ve never feasted on anything so mouthwatering.”
I rotate my hips in another fruitless attempt to secure what I need. “That all sounds …” My voice is unrecognizable, hoarse and rapacious. Every cell in my body wants him, to feel him inhabit every facet of my being. To be claimed by him in all the ways he’s suggesting. And more. “It sounds perfect.”
“Yeah,” he rasps. “It would be.” A pearl of sweat rolls down his chest, mingling with the tiny remnants of beaded pool water, all of them glimmering over the fallen angel veiling his heart as he continues to fist his dick and punish us both. But his next words are far more rattling. “Too bad we only have tonight.”
Fuck. He plays so dirty. That’s a wound knocking the wind out of me. My gaze flits to the ceiling. It’s so much harder to shut out the pain when the pleasure is dangling out of reach.
“Carver, eyes on me.”
I comply with a slow exhale.
Never let them see.
He sees it anyway.
“Tell me,” he pleads. “Tell me what you want, and I promise I’ll deliver.”
Play their game.
Tonight, I don’t want to. I just want him.
“You’re so fucking stubborn.” He smirks, but he’s wearing down—the impending rapture too much to fight. “You’ll deny yourself just to spite me, huh?”
He’s so close to cracking. I can feel it, but I’d rather feel him.
Always keep them guessing.
“No,” I squeak. “I can’t. Please, Liam. Please. I need you to fuck me.”
He thrusts inside me so forcefully that I scream, but it’s the best feeling I’ve ever had. His movements are so fluid and fast; he’s like a damn superhero, hovering over me, slinging my ankles onto his shoulders, bending me in half, and cocooning me in his embrace, like he’s sheltering something precious while simultaneously destroying it.
“Fuck, baby,” he hisses. “Look at you, taking my cock so well. So goddamn tight.”
This angle has him both hitting the perfect spot inside and assaulting my clit at once. The aching of the tumultuous buildup churns into a raging tempest, thundering through my veins and nerve endings. Burrowing into my bones with a fiery squall that heats my muscles and skin, fingers and toes. Everything disappears—past and future. Pressures and expectations.
It’s only us.
With my eyes locked on to his, my hands holding his scruffy face, my back bowed so that we’re pressed into one—no me without him—the storm is unleashed.
“That’s my good girl. Give it to me, Ace.”
A euphoric tornado that spins everything I thought I knew into a wreckage of upside right and blacked-out bliss. My only vision, the moldavite haze engulfing me.
“Jesus, Liam.”
“Don’t stop, baby. Keep coming for me. You’ve got more.”
He’s right. It’s without an end—an electric seizing that sizzles and jolts with an all-consuming frisson.
He pumps and thrusts, cradles and praises.
I unravel and pant, clutch and become.
When I’m all tapped out, he lifts my limp body and slams into me with his own typhoon of tempestuous lust, his sentiments the measure of his cadence. “You’re a fucking fantasy, Ace. Most breathtaking sight I’ve ever seen. So goddamn perfect. Mine.”
His.
Just when I think he’s going to surrender to his own release, he pulls out, flips me over, and enters me from behind. “Let’s get you one more now, baby girl.”
Thrust.
“Just the beginning though.”
A smack on my pulsing clit.
“I promise a whole night full of stars.”
Pump.
“I don’t think I can,” I mumble, still so satiated.
“You will,” he demands as his hips piston and his fingers prance with an enchanting agenda. “Clamp that sopping cunt down on my cock again, Carver.”
With that, he continues his commanding crusade to take me on a celestial voyage. And does he ever deliver. I float and fly into another raptured demise. My amplified moans slicing through the still house as his grunts do the same, his formidable frame crumbling around me in our collective undoing until we collapse in a puffing mound of thrashing hearts and sweaty skin.
“Okay,” I wheeze. “Round two: Liam.”
“And three,” he boasts, dragging me on top of his chest. “That was a twofer. But I plan to wreck you until morning, so no need to keep count.”
I laugh—his arrogance is cuter than I’d prefer to admit. “I think if I come out the loser tonight, it’ll be my greatest win to date.”
“Concession from Carver.” A kiss on my nose. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
What can I say? I’m still a desecrated bag of Jell-O.
He cleans us up after that, pitching the condom, wiping me with a warm cloth, and attempting to feed me. Sustenance is probably wise, but right now, I only want him. The problem is, I’m currently freaking out at the sight of his back tattoo.
His shoulder blades are dressed in an ace of spades design. The letter A and a black spade line the top-left corner. Beneath it, shaded in black, are bleeding, outlined hearts, diamonds, and clovers that drip into melted whispers of the above symbols. The design is mirrored in reverse on the right side of his back—an upside-down A and spade beneath the shoulder blade, like a card. And over his spine is a gigantic spade, filled in with a kraken sinking a ship. The artwork is phenomenal, the meaning clearly one of him taking control of his life.
But my heart jumps to my throat. He calls me Ace. I don’t know what to make of that, but I can’t ask, so I excuse myself to the bathroom. My eyes snag on words written in script at the bottom of the design—Seize the game changer—as I exit.
It means nothing.
I meander through his room toward the en suite. The layout is vast with a separate lounge area and two closets. Simple decor, a moody blue paint that reads as green or gray, depending on the angle, paired with creams and black and turquoise. Masculine and tasteful. Ivy mentioned he had a knack for design. The same style is mimicked in the bathroom with stacked stones, rich woods, and polished concrete. It’s all so Liam.
Just like the ink he chooses to flaunt.
When I’m at the sink, splashing my face, he raps on the door, and a T-shirt appears through the crack. I take it, grateful to cover myself. After stringing my fingers through my still-wet hair and calming my nerves, I reemerge to find him perched on his window bench in a pair of mesh shorts.
“Do you ever smoke after sex?” I ask, thinking that may help.
His eyebrow quirks. “Want one?”
I roll my lips in and nod. It’s frowned upon in my circle, which makes it that much more enticing. Once in a great while, I indulge. “I do.”
He saunters over to his dresser and sifts through the top drawer to retrieve the forbidden fruit as I curl up on the bench.
“This is a cozy spot,” I observe.
“Is now,” he quips, nestling in beside me.
He cracks the window, a gush of crisp night air enveloping us, but I don’t mind the chill. It’s got nothing on the warmth of this scene. Tugging my feet onto his lap, he snicks his Zippo flame, sucking in a drag.
In the hopes of diverting my thoughts from the ace on his back, I focus on something else. “Tell me about the angel tattoo. It’s new.”
It wasn’t there last year when he showed me his bullet wound, but it camouflages it now.
“A dark angel,” he corrects, ashing the cigarette. He passes it to me as his plume of smoke billows out into the night. “They were cast out. I was three when my mother died. Between three and seventeen, I lived in nineteen foster homes, not counting temporary placements. At seventeen, I got signed off to join the Navy. Two years in, I met Wells. He was—don’t ever fucking repeat this to him—he was like a goddamn machine.”
That makes me laugh, having seen how Liam likes to rile Wells. I’m sure he never inflates Wells’s ego willingly.
“I’d never been so impressed in my life,” he says with such reverence that it radiates off him. “He rose so fast. He was exactly how he is now—always the best; a hard-ass, dominating every room. But behind closed doors, he cared. He asked questions, paid attention. Mentored. No one had ever done that for me.”
He snatches the cigarette back, pulling another hit as I wait for more. “Then, we were erased from the Navy SEALs. On one hand, I didn’t give a shit. Nothing to go home to anyway. And it was a testament to all we’d accomplished as a team—they needed us. But it was one more place … anyway, once we were settled, Wells gathered us together, said we were a family and that he would stop at nothing until being erased was the greatest thing that ever happened to us. Whatever transpired from that moment forward, we were in it together.”
Liam’s eyes brim with a veneration that is nothing short of astounding. Wells told me how much he loved these guys. It’s clear that devotion is mutual.
“Over and over,” he continues, returning the dwindling cigarette to me and massaging my foot, “I was cast out. But dark angels weren’t alone. They had each other. That’s how it was when we were POWs and when we were erased. But after I was shot and Ivy went through her trial, when the guys and I helped Wells nurse her through her grief and PTSD, I felt it stronger than ever. The four of them would stick by me through anything—whether I fucked up, whether or not it was convenient. My blackened soul, my gray morals, my raging demons—none of it sends them packing. They own my shit, and I own theirs.”
Belonging.
I snuff out the barely there cherry in the tiny ashtray on the sill, understanding Liam, Ivy, and this whole weird found family of hers a lot better. “You’ve all been through a lot, but having each other is a gift.”
Rooted in brokenness.
He dumps the ashtray into the trash, spritzes his mouth and mine with breath spray, and lights a diffuser to eradicate the scent of smoke. “In spite of all the fucked-up shit we’ve endured, we found each other—a tighter family than most people ever have. Ivy’s better than the rest of us, purer, but we all wrestle some dark demons, so a fallen angel seemed fitting.”
“It is,” I agree, but guilt over his meltdown at the stables plagues me. “I didn’t know about the foster care. That’s why—”
“I know you didn’t, Ace.” He holds out his hand to me. “C’mon. A bath. We can’t let that smell linger on us with Felicity coming home tomorrow.”
It takes several minutes to fill the tub, so Liam saunters off and returns with water, wine, beer, fruit, cheese, crackers, and my shower products. He rests the tray on the back of the tub, hydrating me and feeding me some berries and a few pieces of sharp cheddar before he peels off my shirt and his shorts, and guides me into the warm water.
“I love the way you smell,” he says, squeezing my honeysuckle shampoo into his palm and lathering me up. “As much as I’d love to cover you in my scent, I’d miss yours.”
I’m not sure where my words have gone. The intimacy of this night is seeping into my blood, rushing through me, swishing in my ears, so that all I can concentrate on is how no one has ever cared for me like this. Who knew something so tranquil could be so exhilarating?
A conversation with my brother a few months before he died washes over me.
I’m lying on Ben’s couch while he finishes a late-night brief. I love staying at his apartment even if he spends the time working. He also takes me to his races—something my parents would never approve of because they say the whole scene is dangerous.
“Ben, why do you still race? You’re already a hotshot lawyer. On your way to becoming a judge or senator someday—what you’ve always wanted. Why risk it?”
He glances up from his laptop. “President,” he insists. “I’m going to be president someday.”
“Fine.” I laugh. “Doesn’t mean you should be evading questions already, Mr. President.”
That stirs a smile on his face. “A life without risk is flatlining, squirt. Don’t let ambitions or the allure of luxury and prestige rob you of the thrill a single moment can deliver. That’s all life really is—a string of moments. Make ’em good.”
I prop my head up on my bent elbow to see him better. “Being swayed by ambitions isn’t my issue. I want nothing to do with the political prestige you so aspire to.”
He shoves his computer aside, really taking me in. “Then, do you. Keep taking pictures, Cee. You’ve got a great eye. Live thrilling moments and capture others.”
“Maybe,” I concede, thankful he’s paved the way for me to forge my own.
“Seriously.” He chuckles, returning to his work. “Is there anything I’m not good at? This is life coaching at its finest.” Ben morphs arrogance into charm like nobody can.
Rolling onto my back, I let my gaze drift to the spinning ceiling fan. “I wish I knew what would deliver a thrill for me.”
“Easy,” he says, half distracted. “It’s usually the very thing you’re told not to do.” His eyes narrow at me. “But forget I said that for about ten more years.”
“Tell me about your brother’s best friend.” Liam’s demand knocks me out of my daze with a start.
“What’s to tell?”
His fingers trickle down my arms with the cascading bubbles as he rinses my hair. “What does he have to do with your innocence, Carver?”
Irritation courses through me, not wanting to journey into this. “Sounds like you have your answer.”
His body tenses behind me, tenor icy. “Tell me I’m fucking wrong. Tell me that guy, who looked to be in his mid-twenties in that picture, wasn’t your first. How old were you?”
I scooch myself away from him, plucking the glass of wine and a purple grape from the tray and turning to face him head-on. “I don’t need your judgment.”
“I’m not judging you at all, baby.” His eyes close like the idea pains him.
I’ve envisioned Ben’s reaction to be a thousand times worse than that, so I shouldn’t overreact.
“It wasn’t like that … I know it was wrong.” I swill a hefty gulp of the wine and return it to the tray. “I was sixteen, which I’m sure makes him sound like—”
“A predator,” he proclaims, whole body wooden.
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I whisper. “He’s dead. None of it matters.”
“Tell me his name, and I’ll drop it for tonight.”
I huff, sensing that this will be a detonation in our blissful evening. “Do not say another word about it after I tell you.” He nods, so I reluctantly answer, “Easton Lancaster, Pruitt’s older brother.”
His grinding teeth tell me he remembers Pruitt well, but he keeps to his word, towing me into his lap and switching gears. “How’d you meet Ivy?”
I smile, grateful for the lighter topic, and feed him the grape I still haven’t eaten. “The first day of second grade,” I begin, relaxing into his arms, fingers skimming the cuts and grooves and cords of his muscles. “Ivy was on the swings by herself, ginger pigtails soaring behind her, staring up at the clouds in wonder. The playground was noisy and chaotic—recess politics needing sorted out before the year got underway. But she was so peaceful. I’d never seen anyone escape in the midst of such a ruckus. So, fascinated and being the bold, confident socialite that I was, I decided to introduce myself to the new girl. Beyond the simple intro forced on us that morning.”
Squirting his spicy lodge-scented bodywash onto a loofah, I allow myself to bask in that memory. It’s been a lifetime. “She didn’t notice me take the swing beside her, so eventually, I reached out and touched her arm. Her eyes brightened like she was waking up. When they landed on me, I said, ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Celeste.’ ”
He laughs, tapping my nose. “So well spoken, even then.”
“My parents put me through an etiquette boot camp as soon as I could speak,” I deadpan. It’s barely an exaggeration, so I don’t tarry there. “Anyway, Ivy scanned me for a minute before coming to some sort of resolution. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m Ivanna, but I’ll call you Lettie.’ I giggled. In my private-school world, even for a seven-year-old, it was an odd response. ‘Why?’ I asked.”
Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away and lather up the beautiful man before me. “Her head tilted like the answer was obvious. ‘Because you don’t have to hide with me,’ she said. I didn’t understand what she meant, but I knew she was safe. That she’d always be safe.”
“Sounds like Ivy,” Liam rasps, his wet thumb sweeping over my cheekbone.
“Yeah.” I swallow, mouth growing parched as I feel him harden beneath me, but I keep talking and carry on with my sudsing task. “We were inseparable after that. Sometimes, kids would make fun of her for zoning out or blurting quirky things, although she held her own better each year. I’d get in fights, so upset that they tried to hurt her. But Ivy never cared.” My gaze floats to that dark angel of belonging, iridescent bubbles popping over it. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to fit. She’s spent hers embracing the ways she didn’t. My hero.”
He cradles my face in his hands, lips pressing into mine with a gentle kiss that feels like more in its sweetness. “What if you stopped?” he asks against my lips. “Stopped being who others expect?”
“I don’t know how,” I whisper.
“Yes, you do.” His fingers rove through the water, crawling over me with a needling tingle. “And not just with Ivy. You do it with those kids at the stables. With Ty when you allow him to call you Lettie. When you bonded with Gage over whatever fucked-up show you two were chattering about at the hospital. Somehow, you did it with Wells. Gaining his respect is not an easy feat. He doesn’t welcome people into our circle.”
He nips at my neck while simultaneously lifting me and teasing my entrance with the tip of his cock. His lips wet my ear. “And you’re doing it with me.” My body chills in the tepid water as he adds, “This is you, Celeste. So, stay.”
“What?” I gasp, both from the agony of his taunting touches and his baffling demand.
“Birth control?” he asks.
I nod eagerly. “I’ve never … without one.”
“Me neither,” he admits. “I’m clean.”
“Me too. Okay,” I agree, desperate for him to be inside me again. “Fill me up.”
“Fuck, baby girl. You want my cum?” He thrusts, our shared groans echoing with the bathroom acoustics.
“God, yes,” I moan, enthralled by the feel of him bare.
“Stay with me,” he returns, ripping through my blitzed fog. “Let’s figure this out.”
I shake my head, already succumbing to a breathless rhapsody. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you’re mine,” he growls, clutching me against him as he pistons his hips into me in commanding pumps. “It means no goddamn politicians. No pursuing paths that make you feel like an imposter. No putting everyone’s happiness above your own.”
I brace my hands on his shoulders and match his fervor with my own punishing bounces as the water swashes around us. “It means breaking the hearts of everyone in my family when they’ve been slaughtered enough. I won’t do that.”
“They’ll get over it.” He fists my hair with a sting, fingers clamping over my clit in the most delicious prickle, but his hazels darken with an affliction that stabs through me. “I won’t.”
“You agreed to one night.” The words tumble around us as my climax ramps.
“I lied,” he says.
“I didn’t,” I snarl, arching my back in search of the oblivion I crave.
“Actually, I take that back.” He lifts my breast, teeth sinking in to leave a mark, the savage bite injecting an addictive rush deep into my veins. “I warned you. And you begged for my cum. You’re in this just like I am, which is good because me respectfully asking won’t last long.”
“By the end of the night, I’ll be the taste on your lips, the beating in your chest, the goddamn breath in your lungs. The goodbye you can’t bear.”
Or the goodbye he won’t grant.
“Please don’t do this. I can’t.” The room fades to halos of white and shimmery stars. “Jesus,” I purr, but seconds before I explode, I manage to squeak out the question that shouldn’t matter. “What do you want from me, Liam?”
He grunts as we both tremble through another earth-shattering release. “You, Ace. All of you.”
Ace.
It can’t matter. I won’t let it matter. It’s only one night.