Chapter Eight #2
Liam's chin is still lifted, but his eyebrow arches, softening his features, making him appear less threatening as well. "I caved. I gave you what you wanted. You regretted that phone call even before it ended."
My brows furrow and I turn my entire body to him now, confusion effectively shattering the last of my bravado. "No, I didn't?" I don't mean to form a question, but here we are.
He lets out a humorless chuckle. "Please. You couldn't even look at me."
Oh, for fuck's sake.
My hands shoot up in an Are you mad? gesture. "Awkward! The way you're looking for is awkward." I put my hands down and onto the backrest, fumbling with the wrinkle in the leather, as I add, mumbling, "I've never had phone sex before."
Heat floods my cheeks and it takes me three tries to look at his face.
I haven't exactly found utter embarrassment in the cards either, alas...
It takes him a few moments to drop his chin to a natural level, his gaze still penetrating me, as if he's trying to decide if I'm being honest.
Holding his stare is difficult, but I manage not to blink.
And finally, finally he deems me worthy. His features soften even more and one corner of his mouth curls up slightly, but high enough for me to tell he's trying not to smile.
"Well, in that case." He pauses. "Not bad for a rookie."
And now it's me who's trying to keep a straight face. But unlike Liam, I know I have no chance of winning this game, so instead of trying, I decide to change the discipline altogether.
I straighten up, stepping away from the backrest of the sofa and make sure to maintain eye contact as I slowly, as slowly as I can, reach down for the hem of my t-shirt and pull it up over my head before tossing it on the ground. "I wouldn't say I'm a total rookie."
I don't miss how his face changes, how it morphs into something I can't yet pinpoint, even though his facial muscles don't seem to move at all.
And once I learn how to name his peculiar set of emotions, I'll be able to read him like a book, no matter how hard he tries to keep his appearances.
He clears his throat, his eyes no longer on mine, roaming my torso instead. "What do you train?"
And just like that, I've got him exactly where I want him.
I go for a nonchalant shrug. "I'll tell you next time."
"Next time?" he asks my chest.
"Yeah. When we go out on a date."
His eyes snap back to mine then. "A what?"
"A date. D-A-T-E. Don't they teach English in muscle school?"
He fails to conceal his chuckle this time. "You're pl—"
"I know, I know," I cut him off as I stroll around the sofa. "Playing with fire. I don't think I am, though." I finish my journey once I'm standing in front of Liam, the backs of my knees touching the edge of the sofa. "You're not that hot."
And with that, I unceremoniously plop down and place my elbows on the backrest, utterly pleased with myself.
Am I smooth, or what?
My contentment doesn't last long though, as the next thing that comes out of Liam's mouth proves that it's the or what after all. "And since when do you find men hot?"
I let out a heavy exhale. "I don't know, okay? I don't know," I say, serious for the first time tonight. I lean forward, put my elbows on my knees, and run my palms over my face. Or maybe I'm trying to hide behind them. "You think this is easy for me?"
Liam regards me for a second. "Seems to be."
With my head still hanging low, I tilt it up to look him in the eye. "Well, it's not. Just because I don't show it doesn't mean I don't… question things."
He gives me the longest silence yet, as his eyes search my face, slowly, deliberately, diligently. I don't try to defuse the moment. I don't try to conceal anything, either. If he's looking for the truth, all he has to do is reach for it.
After the silence stretches so thin it morphs into imaginary sounds and then back into nothingness again, he finally seems to find it. "It's not easy for me, either."
And that's about as much tension as I can take because even though Liam has reached the truth, he's still searching for something. Yeah, this man's stare can be intimidating even when he doesn't intend it to be.
Unable to hold his gaze, I half-turn my body, so that I'm facing him and go for the lowest voice within my range. "So… would you say it's hard, then?
His expression changes without really changing again, and my breath catches in my throat. Because I recognize this one.
I've seen it before.
And if the look on his face wasn't enough to make me forget how to joke altogether, his words definitely are. "I don't know. Is it?"
I beg my mouth not to fall open and I graze my teeth against my lower lip instead. Too many thoughts war inside my mind, too many questions demand answers all at once.
I have no fucking agency. I'm merely a spectator, an observer of my own actions as I watch my hand lift in slow motion and float through the air between us—impatient, determined. Shaking.
A part of me wishes whatever alter-ego is controlling my movements right now would put my hand right on his crotch, squeeze his dick, and slap a cocky grin on my face.
I think he'd like that. Maybe he even expects it.
But my alter-ego is not that bold and my hand lands on his solid thigh instead, fingers trembling, embarrassing me, exposing me for what I am—huge mouth, little game.
Liam's skin is hot even through the fabric.
He stares right into my eyes, and the glint in his is challenging, almost taunting.
Trying to hold his stare is a fucking workout.
I'm a stone statue, sitting perfectly still as an invisible force slides my hand down to the inside of his thigh and then up, and up, and up along the vastness of his body.
Faster, my consciousness screams, cozying itself in a role of a third party in this two-person scenario.
For a second I lose a sense of self. I'm an actor, and a director and a viewer of my own movie, and it's not until my hand travels that final inch and the tips of my fingers graze against Liam's cock that all of my scrambled parts come together and I'm myself again.
Touching another man's dick.
"Verdict?" His voice finds a way to be rough and soft at the same time.
I bite on my lower lip, scoot closer and all but grope him.
Jesus.
"Yep. Definitely hard."
Liam's upper body tenses, shoulder blades pulling back as he slowly closes his eyes and parts his lips slightly at the same time, before letting out a deep exhale.
Everything becomes easier without the weight of his stare on me and I'm becoming acutely aware of my own body.
I'm uncomfortably hot, painfully tense. And hard like a motherfucker.
I slowly rise to my feet and try not to focus too much on the reality of what I'm doing as I press my palm harder against his obvious boner before moving it up and down in rhythm with the music spilling through the crack under the heavy doors, from the jungle right into our private little garden.
I feel every move of my hand on my own cock, as if I'm the one being touched. I put my free hand on his upper back and slide it from shoulder to shoulder, from massive arm to massive arm. Learning the map of his body.
Fear doesn't leave me, but desire is stronger, dulling every other sensation. Even my fingers are steadier now as I move them up and pop open the button of his jeans with ease.
Funny…
"What is?" Liam asks, his words catching me off guard.
I didn't realize I said it out loud.
My curiosity, my urge, my excitement don't let me fall into self—consciousness as I slowly pull down his zipper, the massive bulge inside his underwear coming into view.
"I'm in over my head, really," I admit, words leaving my mouth unnaturally slow as I push my hand against his cock and massage it.
There's a hot, damp spot where the head of his dick is.
Fuck… "I could have picked someone else.
Not that I had a choice, but still. Could have picked someone"—I almost say smaller—"easier to digest. More familiar.
More average. Instead," my head spins as I run my index finger along his waistband, bracing myself to make the final step, "I chose a man and a half. "
It's not until Liam's eyes open, settling at half-mast and meet mine that I realize I've been staring at his face the whole time.
"If this is too much for—"
"Oh, shut the hell up."
And he does, words dying in his throat as I pick this very moment to cross the line in the sand and push my palm inside his boxers, wrapping it around his cock while simultaneously fishing it out from all those stupid layers of fabric.
That's the end of our eye contact. Not because I can't look him in the eye.
But because something is calling me even more than his face does.
The second my eyes land on a good seven inches of hard flesh, I'm high on a cocktail of excitement and intimidation. And I just know I won't be able to tear my eyes off it until…until I make the magic happen. For him.
My dick pushes painfully against my zipper as I grip him tighter, moving my closed fist up and down his thick shaft. He's cut and there's not enough glide to my movements. If Liam's hurting, he doesn't show it, hundreds of muscles shifting as steps in closer, his head inches above mine.
"Do you"—I clear my constricted throat—"happen to have any lube?"
He lets out half a chuckle that's cut off when I move to run my index finger around his slit, smearing pre-cum all around the head of his cock. "I don't tend to have lube on me at all times, no," he still manages to rasp out, not without effort.
"Maybe you should start."
I don't miss how his entire body jerks at my words.
Jesus. I'm the one doing that.
I let go of his cock, my palm already missing the novel sensation, and bring it to my mouth.
I initially plan to spit on it, but I can feel Liam's eyes on me. I can hear the heavy puffs of breath escaping from his parted lips, so I stick out my tongue instead and lick the inside of my palm.
The same palm that played with him a second ago.