Twenty-Two
TWENTY-TWO
SOPHIE
“ W ell, this time you were actually right, congratulations,” I snap, the words heavy with resentment and a whirlwind of other emotions I can't quite name.
There it is, the most beautiful table I’ve ever seen—a masterpiece that’s graced the pages of Architectural Digest and many other well-known design magazines. My breath catches but I shove it down, refusing to let awe soften the resentment simmering under my skin.
How could I have known he was telling the truth? It's not that he usually lies, you just took on that narrative to make yourself feel better. If I could smack myself without looking insane, I’d do it right this second, anything to silence these thoughts.
“This time?” Liam’s voice cuts through the air, cold and sharp. “I’m tired of you calling me a liar,” he says, his anger barely contained. His eyes darken, intensity burning within them as he fixes me with a look that almost makes me step back. But you know what? I’m also angry.
“Don't get us started, Liam.”
“Started? Sunshine, we're way past started.” We stand face-to-face, locked in a battle. I take a step forward, the heat between us almost tangible. He’s intentionally using the nickname on me, even after I told him not to, and I don’t find it funny, not in the slightest.
“I told you not to call me Sunshine anymore,” I remind him, my hands balling into fists.
He smirks, his eyes briefly flickering down to my clenched fists before meeting my gaze again. “ Sunshine, Sunshine, Sunshine ,” his smirk widens, a deliberate challenge, daring me to snap. He knows exactly which buttons to push.
“Liam, I'm warning you,” I growl. My voice drops low, a warning. But he doesn’t flinch–instead, he steps closer.
He leans in, bringing us nose to nose, his breath warm against my skin. “What are you going to do about it, Sunshine ?” His challenge ignites a fire within me, the heat between us almost suffocating. His nearness is overwhelming, the familiar scent of him clouding my thoughts, it makes it almost impossible to cling to my anger. But the question gnawing at me burns hotter than the space between us, refusing to be ignored. I need to know.
“Why did you even show up?”
He doesn’t answer right away, his eyes flicker between mine like he’s searching for the right words–or a way out. “I told you,” he says, finally, his voice a rumble. ”I was hungry. Meeting you was a happy coincidence.”
My tone sharpens, cutting though his carefully controlled facade. “No. Try again, Liam. Why did you show up?”
His gaze falters, just for a moment, but it’s enough, I can almost see it—whatever he’s holding back, hovering just behind his lips.
“Tell me!” I demand, my voice unyielding.
His eyes close briefly, and he takes a deep breath before opening them again, fire blazing within their dark depths.
He straightens, breaking the closeness between us, and I inhale sharply, my lungs greedy for air that feels too thin. But it doesn’t last. He turns away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, tension radiating off him in waves, thick and suffocating, on the verge of breaking. He takes a few steps before whirling back around, frustration carved into every line of his face.
“You really want to know? Huh?” His voice rises, cracking the wall he’s put up. The intensity of it sends my pulse hammering against my ribs. “I was fucking jealous. Are you happy now?” His bitter laugh cuts through the air, sharp and mocking. I freeze. My mouth opens but no words come out. Not a single syllable forms on my tongue.
My mind races as his words sink in, raw and unfiltered, tearing through the layers of anger and confusion I’ve built.
“I know I shouldn’t be. I don’t have the right anymore,” he continues, his tone softer but still laced with frustration. “But I couldn’t help it. The thought of you with Jared—God, it drove me insane.”
He pauses, his chest heaving as if trying to wrestle his emotions back under control, but his voice drops lower, rougher, more vulnerable. “Just the thought of him having your time, your laughs…” His jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring. “Your body. That he’d be touching you, fucking you—right under my nose.” He takes a few steps closer again, the fire in his eyes searing me.
“Stop,” I whisper, shaking my head, but the quiver in my voice betrays me, crumbling under the weight of his words.
“Why? Because it’s the truth?” His eyes pierce mine, challenging me silently to respond, to say something more. My chest tightens, and my heart pounds harder than it has in years.
Liam's driving me to the edge; so much that I almost want to scream or tear at my hair out of sheer exasperation— or maybe, I admit in the quiet, shameful corners of my mind, it’s the raw, unfiltered desire coiling low in my stomach causing this. Our chests are moving at the same pace, and I just snap.
“Oh, just shut up,” I manage to choke out, the words barely a whisper before my lips crash against his in a reckless surge of pent-up longing and years of unresolved 'what-ifs.'
His lips are just as warm and inviting as I remember, and when his hand cradles my cheek, I almost cry at the sheer pain of the memories.
What the hell are we doing?
I pull away abruptly, putting space between us, gasping for air as if I’ve been submerged underwater. My chest rises and falls, my spiraling mind racing to catch up.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper as my fingers touch my lips, tracing the tingling sensation his touch left behind. My voice is almost drowned out by the pounding drumbeat of my heart.
Liam’s eyes are feral, the dark depths burn with unrelenting hunger, stripping me bare in ways that words never could. “No, we shouldn’t have,” he agrees, his voice low and husky. His admission stings a little, but there’s no time to dwell on it. Without waiting for my barriers to rebuild, he closes the distance I had so desperately put between us, his intention clear. “And I shouldn’t do this either.”
He grabs my face and slams his lips onto mince once again. This time, there's no restraint. Our lips move in a heated frenzy, the kiss deepening as we lose ourselves in each other. The word fades away, the only thing anchoring me to this moment is him–his lips, his hands, his touch, as if nothing else exists.
His tongue finds its way to mine, and I melt into him. My hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in as the fire of desire burns through my veins like wildfire. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, his touch insistent, almost as if he's trying to fuse us together. It’s desperate, almost frantic, like he’s afraid of letting go. I am too.
Just when I think the intensity can’t escalate further, Liam lifts me effortlessly without breaking the kiss. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, my heels falling away as I kick them off, leaving only the sensation of his strong grip and the heat between us. His hands grip my thighs, pulling me tighter against him, and every nerve in my body lights up with the raw pull of his nearness. “Much better,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice a dangerous mix of satisfaction and promises, sending shivers down my spine. The world tilts, spins, and does somersaults around us; the only reality that matters is the scorching connection blazing between us.
My hands grip his shirt tightly, anchoring myself to him as heat floods my chest and spreads through my entire body. I gasp against his mouth, the words tumbling out before I can stop them, “I hate that I can’t stop myself from wanting this.”
His lips still for a moment, just enough to make my heart lurch, before his grip tightens on my waist, pulling me even closer. “Then don’t,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion as his mouth claims mine again, making the world disappear all over again.
Each touch of his fingertips sears through my clothes, branding my skin with a heat that’s almost unbearable. He presses me against the nearest wall, while his mouth keeps exploring, claiming, as if he could conquer every part of me with just this kiss.
He presses his firm body against mine, leaving no room for any kind of space. I echo each heaving breath between us when our lips part for mere seconds, before crashing together again. The world outside this heated bubble of desire fades, irrelevant to the urgency that drives our movements. Whatever happened before does not exist at this moment.
His fingers slide into my hair, tugging gently at the roots, angling my head back to deepen the kiss. I gasp into his mouth, and he takes advantage, his tongue sweeping in to dance with mine in a rhythm that's both wild and perfectly synchronized. My hands roam over his back, feeling the powerful muscles flex beneath his shirt, pulling him even closer if that’s even possible. But somehow, I need him closer as if closing the distance between us could soothe the ache that’s been building inside me for years.
Liam’s other hand wanders down my back, settling on the small of my back before slipping lower to cup my ass, lifting me slightly. The change in angle makes my center brush against his rock-hard cock, and a moan escapes me, swallowed by his hungry mouth.
I’m lost in sensory overload, the taste of him. Liam pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze intense and unreadable for a moment.
“Sophie,” he breathes out, his voice rough with want. “Tell me to stop, and I will. Right now, tell me, or?—”
I cut him off, pulling his head down to mine, silencing any doubts with a kiss laced with all the passion and need spiraling inside me. “Don’t you dare stop,” I whisper against his lips, sealing my words with another kiss that promises there are no boundaries left between us tonight. If he stops, even for a minute, the weight of reality will crash back down on me. Right now, I can't bear the thought of stepping back into the role of being just his employee, responsible and restrained. Tonight, I don't want to think about past promises or future consequences. I just want to feel everything he makes me feel.
“For tonight, let’s forget everything. Just tonight,” I whisper, my voice trembling with a mix of need and desperation. Because that’s what I am this second. Needy and desperate for his touch.
He groans, his grip tightening as he shifts us, moving away from the wall without breaking our connection. Each step he takes is measured, deliberate, as he carries me toward what I can only assume is the bedroom.
He gently sets me down on the bed, his movements smooth yet charged with urgency. He stands for a moment, his hands moving to his white T-shirt which he peels off with a swift, fluid motion. As the fabric falls away, I catch my breath, taking in the sight of him. My eyes trail over the sharp lines of his chest, the ridges of his abs, and the way his skin glows under the dim light, every inch of him a testament to strength and control. He’s like a living sculpture, his body exuding power. I remember him from ten years ago—lean and strong, but now he's transformed, more defined and imposing. His muscles are harder, his frame larger, each movement rippling. It’s impossible to look away, my breath hitching as the sheer presence of him seems to fill the room, leaving no space for doubt or hesitation. I almost drool at the view. I catch myself blinking rapidly, as if trying to memorize every detail, my cheeks burning at the thought of how ridiculous I must look.
Back then, he had a few tattoos on his arms and chest. Now, he's a canvas of intricate ink, with nearly every inch of his arms, torso, and neck etched with patterns and symbols that tell stories I long to read. Each line and curve seems deliberate, as if every stroke of ink carries a piece of his past, his pain, and his strength—a history etched onto his skin. He's not just stunning; he’s breathtakingly beautiful.
I lick my lips unconsciously, and he catches it, his smile deepening with the knowledge of his effect on me. The way he looks at me—like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, exactly what I want—thrills me to my core, making it hard to think straight.
Liam doesn’t pause. He moves toward the bed, his presence commanding as he leans over me, his hand tracing a line from my stomach to my neck. His lips follow, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that ignite a trail of fire. Each kiss linger, leaving a phantom heat that spreads through me. When he reaches my neck, he pauses, his breath warm against my pulse point, sending a shiver down my spine before he kisses my flower tattoo behind my ear, igniting a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It’s as though he’s rediscovering me, piece by piece, and my body responds to his touch like it remembers, even after all these years. His lips find mine again in a kiss that’s both a continuation and a new beginning.
“I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you,” he murmurs between kisses.
“Me too,” I whisper back before I can stop myself. The words hang between us, and I feel their weight immediately. It’s like they’ve taken a life of their own, echoing in the silence between kisses, too honest to take back. I shouldn’t have said it—I know it’ll only make this harder, make it impossible to pretend this is just a fleeting moment. But I’m selfish enough to let it linger. To let him believe it, because right now, I need him. I need this. One more time. One last time. I can’t erase the years or pretend nothing’s changed, but for once, I let myself let go. For once, I choose to drown in the moment.
“Turn around.” Liam's voice is a soft command. I obey, lying on my stomach. I feel the touch of his fingers at the zipper of my dress, pulling it down slowly, purposely. Then he signals for me to turn back toward him, to sit up. As I do, he gently slides the straps of my dress down my shoulders, his tattooed hands tracing a path along my skin as he undresses me. The fabric falls away, exposing my bare chest to the cool air of the room. He pauses, his gaze lingering, appreciative. “You’re a vision,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, before lowering his lips to my skin. His breath is warm against my breast, heightening the sensation as he captures my nipple. I almost scream out loud. That’s how touch-deprived I’ve been for the last year.
He kisses along my collarbone, each touch sparking a trail of heat that spirals down my spine. His movements are unhurried, as if every second counts, every touch meant to convey more than words could. But I need more, I need him.
I reach for him, fumbling with the button of his jeans. “I need more.” I breathe out, my voice thick with want.
His hand gently catches mine, halting my movements. “We don’t need to hurry.” His voice is soft, almost pained, as if he’s holding himself back from something he craves just as much as I do.. “I’m going to make you feel so good, I promise.”
But I can’t wait, the urgency and need within me is too great to ignore. I rise up, meeting his gaze squarely. “Do you have a condom?”
He smiles, a slow, knowing grin that only deepens the flush on my cheeks. “Always prepared,” he responds, his voice thick with anticipation. Retrieving a condom from his pocket. I try not to think about why he had that condom waiting in his pocket. A flicker of doubt crosses my mind— Was he planning this? Or hoping to get lucky with someone else?
He sheds his pants and boxers in one fluid motion, revealing his full, breathtaking form. Every inch of him is sculpted perfection—the ridges of his abs, the taut muscles of his chest, and the undeniable power in his thighs. Thick and solid, they flex with a natural ease, a testament to the strength that lies beneath. The pronounced V-lines that seem to point directly to the thick, commanding length of him. My breath catches as my gaze drops lower, and my mouth dries at the sight of his cock, hard and glistening at the tip, a bead of arousal shimmering in the dim light like a promise I’m desperate to claim.
In one fluid motion, he’s on top of me, my hands shooting up to his shoulder, pressing him against me, my mouth searching for his as if it held the last droplet of water.
Each kiss is hot, commanding every single part of me. He tastes like spices and freedom. He molds to my body, and it feels like all my layers are slipping away.
Why does it feel so right with him? So safe.
I draw my hands down his back slowly until they reach his perfectly sculpted ass, pressing him against my core. He groans against my mouth, but he doesn’t give in.
“Sophie,” he grits out from between his teeth, and he locks his eyes on mine in a challenge. Can he start fucking me before all senses come back to me? Please?
His hands don’t go straight to where I want him most—not yet. His fingers trace along my inner thighs, feather-light and maddening, skimming the sensitive skin that’s already burning for his touch. Every teasing glide of his fingertips has my body arching toward him, begging silently for more
“Liam, stop playing.”
He chuckles low in his throat, the sound dark and full of promise. “You’re so impatient,” he murmurs, his hands sliding higher, brushing everywhere but where I need him. My breath hitches as he takes his time, torturing me in the most exquisite way.
“Liam...” At last, his fingers find me, stroking me with deliberate laziness, each motion drawing a sharp gasp from my lips. His touch is so precise, so devastatingly sure, as if he’s memorized every inch of me, every place that drives me wild.
“You’re drenched.” He keeps on rubbing, inserting one thick finger inside me to the hilt, and random stuttering words leave my mouth. “I told you I would make you feel good.”
“Yeah,” I breathe out the word, desire flaming hotter with every touch, every kiss to my neck. It’s been ten years, yet he still knows how to play my body like an instrument crafted solely for his hands. As much as others have tried, no one else can elicit the symphony of sensations that Liam does.
“Have you been thinking about this, Sunshine?” he murmurs, his voice molten heat against my skin. My mind is too fogged to respond, a whimper spilling out instead. “Oh, that’s what I thought,” he says, smug and relentless, his tongue tracing the shell of my ear. “But I want to hear you say it.” Another finger slides into me, his thumb pressing down on my clit, and the plea tumbles out before I can stop it. “Yes, Liam—yes, for ten years.” I let the admission out. There’s nothing that would stop it at this point. Nothing at all.
“I knew it,” he says, and I can hear the pride and smile on his face. His hand disappears, leaving me achingly empty for a heartbeat—but not for long. In one swift, powerful motion, he aligns his body perfectly with mine and fills me completely. A gasp tears from my throat, raw and unrestrained, as he claims me. The rhythm of our bodies is desperate, a decade of longing spilling out in every thrust, every moan, every breathless cry.
Primal sounds fill the room—our voices mingling in a raw chorus. I'm not sure who's louder, me or Liam.
The sensation is intense, a deep, fulfilling connection that sends a bolt of pleasure through me, grounding me and unraveling me all at once. My breath comes in rapid, shallow bursts as the heat between us builds to an almost unbearable intensity. Every nerve in my body is alive, tingling with raw desire as he remains still for a moment.
“I could stay here forever,” he breathes, his voice a husky whisper against the curve of my neck, each word sinking into my skin like a promise I want so desperately to believe. His words send a pang of emotion through me, so deep and visceral it’s almost painful. I cling to him, overwhelmed by the sweetness of his words and the weight of what they mean. My heart feels like it might burst, caught between wanting to believe him and fearing the consequences of doing so.
For a fleeting second, it feels like everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be—as if this, us , is the only thing that makes sense in the chaos. But the sweetness is laced with a bitter edge, a reminder that this moment, as perfect as it feels, exists in a fragile bubble that reality will inevitably burst. I can’t let my heart join the game, no matter how much it aches to do so.
I don’t let myself respond. I can’t. His rough, unrelenting rhythm pulls me out of my thoughts, replacing every lingering doubt and fear with a haze of pure, unfiltered sensation. Each deliberate thrust sends shockwaves through me, until there’s nothing left but us—gasping for air, completely consumed.