33. Liam
33
LIAM
We pull up to the house just as the porch light flickers on. Birdie cradles a half-empty travel mug Sena made her take, her cheeks pink from the cold.
She’s more at ease in my car now, though her fingers still grip the edge of the seat like we might launch into orbit at any second. She avoids watching the road, her eyes following the sky, the buildings sliding by, anything but the glare of oncoming headlights. It’s a quiet shift, but it’s there.
I’m ridiculously proud of her and honored that she trusts me.
She catches me looking and smiles—a small, tired curve of her lips that warms me all the way through. “That was really fun,” she says softly, her voice carrying over the low hum of the engine. “I want to come to more of your practices.”
I grin, shifting the car into park. “Yeah?”
Her nod is subtle but sure. “Yeah. I like seeing you like that—doing what you’re good at. What you love.”
I shut off the engine, the soft click of the key cutting through the quiet. “You’re welcome anytime.”
Inside, the smell of coffee and toasted bread greets us first, warm and familiar. Then we spot Warren, sprawled across the couch like it’s his personal throne. His physics textbook is open on one knee, a half-eaten sandwich balanced precariously on the armrest, and he’s wearing the same vaguely annoyed expression that seems permanently etched onto his face.
“Donovan,” he says without looking up, his tone flat. “Your door squeaks.”
“Nice to see you, too, Warren,” I reply, kicking off my shoes. “Glad you’re making yourself at home.”
“Well, I do live here,” he mutters.
Birdie muffles a laugh beside me, her eyes dancing as she watches our exchange. “Is he always like this?”
“Always,” I say with mock resignation, gesturing for her to follow me to the kitchen. “And yet, somehow, he grows on you.”
Warren shuts his book with an obnoxious amount of force and stretches, his movements unhurried and deliberate. He looks at me, then at Birdie, his green eyes narrowing like he’s trying to solve a math problem. Then, he stands, grabbing his plate.
“Don’t worry,” Warren says, voice deadpan. “I’ll clear out. Looks like you two need some privacy.”
Birdie turns crimson so fast it’s almost impressive.
“Warren,” I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “Please spare my girlfriend.”
It’s funny because that’s exactly the kind of thing I’d say to Hayes or Chase. But the fact that he’s embarrassing Birdie makes me feel weirdly defensive—like he’s stepping on some invisible boundary I didn’t know I had.
Warren shrugs, completely unfazed. “Should I stay and watch the show?”
Before I can respond, he grabs his coat and leaves the house, the front door closing behind him with a quiet click. Birdie lets out a laugh, the sound somewhere between amused and mortified.
“Your roommate,” she says, still laughing. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “He’s a special kind of angry.”
She grins up at me, and just like that, the awkward tension evaporates. “Angry, but not hateful. He just seems . . . I don’t know, like a grumpy old man trapped in a swimmer’s body.”
She’s not wrong. I’ve started to figure Warren out better now. He doesn’t hate me—he’s just rough around the edges, carrying this worn-in energy like he’s lived ten lives already. Like he’s seen it all and doesn’t have the patience for much more.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I say, eyeing her with a smirk. “But enough about him and his swimmer’s body . Come on.” I tilt my head toward the hallway. “Let me show you the rest of the place.”
When we reach my room, my pulse does this weird, jittery thing. It’s not like she hasn’t been over before, but this feels different. She’s stepping into my space. My room. The one place that’s really mine, where I don’t have to worry about keeping up appearances or filtering out the messy parts of me.
“Here we are,” I say, pushing the door open.
She steps inside, her eyes sweeping over the space like she’s trying to piece me together from the things I keep around. The walls are bare except for a few soccer posters and a framed photo of my team from last season. My desk is cluttered—laptop, a few notebooks, a half-empty water bottle—and my bed’s not exactly pristine, but it’s made. Sort of.
“It’s . . . cozy,” she says, her lips curving into a teasing smile.
“Cozy?” I close the door behind us, leaning back against it. “That’s a compliment?”
“Yes, it’s . . . very you.”
She steps closer to the desk, picking up one of the notebooks and flipping it open. Her eyes scan the page, and I realize too late that it’s filled with notes on plays and formations. Nothing too embarrassing, but still—this is my stuff .
“Do you ever stop thinking about soccer?” she asks, glancing at me over her shoulder.
“Yeah, of course,” I say, shrugging. “But it’s kinda my thing.”
She sets the notebook down and turns toward me, her smile softening. “I like it. Your thing.”
“That’s good,” I say, clearing my throat and pushing off the door. “Now you’ve seen my not-so-cozy room. What do you think? Could use a lava lamp, right? Or maybe a beanbag chair?”
She laughs, and it’s the same light, musical sound I’ve grown to love. “I think you’re good without it.” She sinks onto the edge of my bed. “I like being here,” she says after a moment. “With you.”
Her words hit like a soft punch to the chest—not painful, but unexpected and full of weight. Not because I didn’t think she felt that way, but because hearing her say it out loud makes it feel real. Tangible.
“Me too,” I say, and I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything.
She tilts her head back, catching sight of the shelf above my bed. It’s lined with knickknacks I’ve collected over the years: a miniature soccer ball, a goofy picture of me and James at a theme park, and, right in the middle, a gray Jellycat bunny with one ear flopped over.
Birdie zeroes in on it immediately. “Wait, is that yours?”
I shrug, my cheeks heating. “Yeah. Got it when I was six. Haven’t had the heart to get rid of it.”
She turns to me, delighted. “I love Jellycats. I have a whole collection back at my apartment.”
I blink. “I’ve never seen them.”
She shifts, suddenly bashful. “That’s because I keep them stored away. It’s . . . kind of an embarrassing amount.”
“How many are we talking?”
“Too many,” she says, laughing. “You’d judge me forever.”
“Probably.”
I move closer, sitting beside her as she picks up one of the smaller trophies from the shelf and turns it over. My hand settles lightly on her back, and I lower my chin to rest on the top of her head.
“You’re so cute,” I murmur, my voice soft against her hair.
She freezes for a half second before relaxing into me, her fingers brushing over the trophy. “Because I like stuffed animals?”
I snort. “Exactly.”
She sets the trophy back and turns in my arms. There’s something unguarded in her expression—open and vulnerable in a way that makes my pulse stutter.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi,” I whisper back, leaning in as her hands slide up my chest.
When our lips meet, it’s soft and slow at first. Gentle. Her hands curl into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer, and my fingers flex against her back, steadying her.
She tilts her head, deepening the kiss, and my heart trips over itself. Her touch grows more confident, her hands cupping the back of my neck, her nails grazing my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
“Birdie,” I murmur roughly. It’s all I can manage because my brain is officially mush.
“Hmm?” she hums back, her breath warm and teasing as she pulls away just enough to meet my eyes.
“I—” My hands move instinctively, skimming over the curve of her waist. “Do you want this? Me? Tonight?”
“Yeah,” she says without hesitation, then, “It’s what I’m here for.”
I laugh softly, a mix of relief and disbelief, and close the distance between us again. This time, the kiss is deeper, hungrier, and I savor the way she presses into me, her warmth sinking into my skin like she’s becoming a part of me.
She swings a leg over to straddle my lap, and her sweater slips off one shoulder, revealing a divot of soft, bare skin. My fingers trace over it, marveling at how perfect she feels. At how she’s letting me have this moment with her.
She tugs at the hem of my shirt. I pull it over my head in one swift motion, and nimble hands immediately explore the planes of my chest, fingertips tracing over the hard ridges of muscle and faint line of my sternum. When she skims lower, following the defined line of my stomach to the deep V at my hips, my breath catches.
The look in her eyes—wide, curious, and a little awed—sends a rush of heat straight through me. “You’re unfairly attractive,” she mutters, cheeks flushing.
“Yeah?” I slide my hands under the hem of her sweater and tug it upward. “Have you seen you?”
Her laugh turns into a gasp as my hands move up her sides, brushing over warm, impossibly soft skin. She raises her arms, letting me pull the sweater off completely, and I take a moment to just look at her, my pulse racing.
Her skin is flushed a delicate pink, and the soft lighting in the room gives her this glow, like she’s something out of a dream. The curve of her shoulders, the line of her collarbone, the way her chest rises and falls with each quickened breath—it’s all so perfectly her.
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” I say, the words coming out rough and unfiltered, like they’ve been pulled straight from my chest.
Her cheeks flush deeper, and she ducks her head, her hands resting lightly on my shoulders. “You’re just saying that because I’m sitting on top of you, ready to have sex.”
“No.” I tip her chin up so she’s looking at me again. “I mean it.”
She holds my gaze for a moment, her expression softening, and then she leans in, her lips brushing mine in a kiss that’s somehow even sweeter than the last. Shaking hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I let mine drift down her back, mapping every inch of her.
She pulls away slightly, forehead resting against mine. “I feel really safe with you,” she whispers, so quiet I’d miss it if I weren’t hanging on her every word.
My chest tightens. I wrap my arms around her, holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. “You are,” I say, full of conviction. “You always will be.”
Her finger trails down my jaw, a touch so light it sends a shiver down my spine, and then she kisses me again, soft and slow. I let my hands wander, brushing over her ribs. When my thumbs skim the edges of her bra, I pause, glancing up to meet her eyes.
“Okay?” I murmur, my voice low.
She nods, her breath hitching, and I take my time, sliding the straps down her shoulders and unhooking it with careful fingers. Her bra falls away, and I stare at her perky, rounded breasts, her rosy pink nipples.
She’s perfect. Soft and flushed and so goddamn beautiful it makes me weak.
“You’re stunning,” I whisper, brushing my lips over her collarbone before trailing lower. I kiss the swell of her breast, then take her nipple into my mouth, rolling my tongue over the hardened peak.
She gasps and arches into me. “Liam.”
I move to her other breast, giving it the same attention, licking and kissing and sucking until she’s squirming in my lap, her thighs tightening around me. Her soft whimpers spur me on, my hands skimming over her hips, pulling her closer.
“Want these off, too,” she says breathlessly, tugging at the waistband of my sweats. I grin, shifting just enough to let her push them down. My boxers go next, and we fumble together, laughing when the fabric gets caught on my heel.
She sits back, gaze falling between us, and her cheeks flush again as her hand reaches for my cock. Five fingers wrap around me, firm but hesitant, and I let out a low groan as she strokes me. “God, baby.”
She bites her lip, her thumb brushing over the tip, and I swear I’m about to lose it already. “You’re so big,” she says, her voice filled with wonder.
I laugh, the sound rough and proud. “Not what you were expecting?”
“Haven’t had much time to picture it,” she teases. “Though it’s quite perfect, I think.”
I swallow roughly. “Oh, I have.”
Her head tilts, eyes curious and sparkling. “Have what?”
“Had plenty of time to picture it,” I rasp. “How we’d be together when we’re like this. What you’d feel like suctioned around my cock. How I’d pump into you until you shudder and come apart. How fucking good it’d feel to come while I fisted my hands in your short hair.”
I rake my fingers through her hair now, gently grabbing hold, and she gasps softly. “Liam,” she murmurs, her whole body flushing.
“Sorry,” I say, though my hand stays where it is, holding her close. “Wanted you to know you’ve been on my mind.”
Her lips curve into a shy smile. “Apparently, in many different ways.”
“Mmm,” I hum, nuzzling into the curve of her neck, pressing a soft kiss there. “And which way appeals to you tonight?”
She hesitates, thinking for a moment, then says, “Me on top. I think it might make me feel . . .”
“Powerful,” I finish for her, my hands bracketing her hips. “You are. You have so much fucking power over me.”
Her smile turns radiant, and she leans in to kiss me again. Then she shifts, her hands sliding to the waistband of her panties, and she tugs them off. I follow suit, grabbing a condom from the drawer and rolling it on as quickly as I can.
We’re both naked now, her body pressed against mine, and I can barely think straight. I grip her hips and lift her, scooching us until I’m leaned back against the headboard and she’s still on top of me.
She takes my cock in her hand, aligning me with her, and I hold my breath as she sinks down, inch by inch.
“Fucking hell,” I groan, my head falling back as the heat of her surrounds me.
Her breath hitches, her fingers gripping my shoulders as she takes me deeper. “Liam, honey, want you so bad.”
I tighten my grip on her hips, helping her find a rhythm as she starts to move. It’s quick and jerky at first, but soon, she settles, her body rising and falling over mine. I slide one hand to the back of her neck, the other cupping her hip as I guide her, pushing and pulling, bouncing her in my lap.
“You feel so fucking good,” I rasp, my voice raw. “Riding me like that.”
Her head falls back, her hair already damp with sweat, and the sight of her—flushed and radiant, completely lost in the moment—is pure magic. I can barely keep my composure as I watch her fuck me, her body moving with a raw, unrestrained sort of desperation.
I thrust up to meet her, matching her pace, and the friction, the heat, it swells in my cock, radiating through my entire body. Every bounce of her hips, every breathless moan that slips past her lips, pushes me closer to the edge.
Her nails dig into my shoulders as her thighs tremble against mine. “Liam,” she whimpers, her voice breaking, “I—I’m—”
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, my voice hoarse with need. “I want you to come.”
Her body tenses, her movements stuttering as she shatters around me, a soft cry escaping her lips. She tightens, pulses, squeezes on my cock, and the sensation is so overwhelming, so all-consuming, that it pulls me right over the edge with her.
I come hard, my release slamming into me with a force that steals my breath. My vision goes white, and for a moment, I swear I’m seeing a whole galaxy of stars. I think we both are.
Her body collapses against mine, trembling, her forehead resting on my shoulder as we try to catch our breath. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, my fingers brushing gently over the damp skin of her back.
“Birdie,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple. My voice is soft now, reverent, like saying her name is some kind of prayer. “Was that as good for you as it was for me?”
“Mmhmm,” she says, too spent to form words, and I grin from ear to fucking ear. Whatever this is between us, whatever we’re building together, it’s everything. It’s infinite.