Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
ASH
“They’re playing better than last week,” Liam says, reaching for the bowl of popcorn. His arm brushes mine, and I have to suppress a shiver.
Sitting here next to Liam, in what could be the perfect nest, and trying to follow a hockey game is nearly impossible.
The commentator’s voice rises with excitement as the Scorpions’ red and gray uniforms blur across the screen.
My fingers twist in the edge of the blanket draped across my lap, the soft material suddenly too warm against my skin.
Liam shifts beside me, his thigh hot next to mine.
His scent tickles my nose. It reminds me of a fancy cocktail, a little sweet but strong.
I can pick up both Beckett and Pierce here too.
On screen, a Scorpion player gets checked hard into the boards, and Liam leans forward, momentarily distracted by the play.
I use the moment to shift position. I know my panties are damp.
My skin feels too tight, my nerve endings firing signals I can’t control.
I’m hyperaware of his every movement, the way he reaches for his water, how his shoulders rise with each breath, the light tap of his fingers on his knee when the game gets tense.
“You want something else to drink?” Liam asks, turning to me.
“I’m good.” I pull the blanket higher, using it as a shield. But the movement only sends another waft of his scent toward me, and my next breath comes in shallower than I intend.
A fight breaks out, making me jump. You can actually hear the punches land and bodies crashing into the boards.
“Ooft.” Liam cringes.
“This is kind of… violent.”
He laughs. It’s a delightful sound.
“Yeah, that’s hockey.”
“Aren’t you ever, you know, afraid for Beckett?”
He takes a long sip of his drink. “Every damn second.” His tone is neutral, but I know he’s hiding his real emotions from me.
He lets out another groan as bodies crash into the glass.
“You know, it’s a fucked up head space,” he says, eyes on the game.
“Beckett is a highly-trained athlete. It’s his job to stop the puck.
He’s played with broken fingers, a cracked collarbone, concussions.
He got high-sticked in the face and lost a tooth.
” Liam turns slightly to me and taps his teeth.
“And it’s desperately primal. He’s an alpha.
The team is his pack in a way. His job is to protect them at all costs.
So, it taps into all that feral alpha bullshit, making it undeniably hot. ”
I look back at the TV. Maybe if I understood the rules, or if Beckett was actually playing, I’d see something more than blurred bodies crashing into each other.
“And he could have a life-altering injury at any time.” Liam turns somber.
“You really love him.”
“Yeah.” Liam’s eyes are glued to the screen. “Do you?” His voice is so soft, I’m not sure he knows he said that out loud.
His leg stretches out, and suddenly his ankle crosses mine. The contact, even through two layers of denim, sends a jolt straight up my spine. I don’t pull away. I should, but I don’t.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, not sounding sorry at all.
Biting my lip, I take a chance and cross my leg over his. He stills, glass halfway to his lips, but he doesn’t push me off or run screaming from the room.
Papa’s voice echoes in my head. His warnings, his threats, his plans for my upcoming heat. How he’s already arranged everything, chosen who I’ll spend it with. My skin crawls at the thought.
Then I think of Tia and Estelle. “My body, my choice.” This is all natural and normal for omegas, right? I know I’m not natural or normal, but I could pretend for just one night, right?
This rush of need for Liam is confusing. More than his “Do you?” comment. And Pierce. I’m supposed to be getting close to them. To do what exactly? Ruin their lives? How does that make sense now that I—
Do I love Beckett? Is this all stupid omega bullshit because Pierce smells so good?
I blink rapidly at the screen.
The crowd roars as the Scorpions score. Liam lets out a whoop, his whole body straightening with excitement. The sudden movement breaks my spiral of thoughts.
“Finally!” he exclaims.
“Great shot,” I say, though I missed the entire thing.
Liam turns to me, his smile bright, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You didn’t see it, did you?”
“I got distracted.”
“By what?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with possibilities. I could lie again, make up something about being lost in thought, about art and the stupid iPad, or my apartment. Anything else.
“By you,” I admit, my voice barely audible over the game. I feel a strange kind of power. My heart races and my palms sweat, but I’m the one making this choice. Not Papa, not fate, not some twisted sense of revenge.
Just me, wanting something and allowing myself to have it.
The thought hardens into decision. Before I can second guess myself, I reach out and touch Liam’s forearm where it rests on his knee. His skin is warm as I trail my fingers along the exposed skin between his sleeve and wrist. The simple contact sends electricity racing up my arm.
Liam freezes. His breath catches audibly, and I watch his throat work as he swallows. For a suspended moment, neither of us moves.
“Ash.”
Just my name. The name I chose. I have hundreds of memories of him calling me Lynn or Lynnie. But I’m not that little girl anymore.
Instead of answering, I lean forward. This close, his scent envelops me completely, and I can taste his bourbon and caramel on my lips.
“Kiss me.”
“Ash…”
The first brush of my lips against his is tentative, questioning. His lips are softer than I expected. I pull back slightly, gauging his reaction. His eyes have drifted closed, his breaths coming faster now.
Emboldened, I kiss him again, firmer this time.
My hand slides up his arm to his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt.
One of his hands comes up to frame my face, his touch surprisingly gentle as his fingers curl against my jaw.
The other remains where it was, giving me space to retreat if I want to.
I don’t want to.
On the television, the commentator’s words dissolve into meaningless noise. All that matters is Liam’s mouth on mine, the gentle pressure of his fingers on my face, the scent of him filling my lungs.
I shift closer on the couch, my free hand finding his chest. Through his shirt, I feel his heartbeat racing beneath my palm. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat, not quite a groan, but close.
“Is this okay?” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rougher than before.
I answer by climbing into his lap, my knees on either side of his hips. I gasp a little when I rub against his hard cock.
“Sorry.” His voice is a gravely whisper. “Sitting next to you all night when you smell like…”
I’ve been kissed before, touched before, but always as a transaction, a means to an end. Never like this. Well, it was like this with Beckett.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” Liam says, his thumbs drawing small circles on my hip bones. “Anytime.”
I pull my T-shirt up over my head. The look on Liam’s face stops me dead.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine.
I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but instead I feel powerful. His hands stay on my hips like he’s waiting for permission.
“Liam, if you don’t touch me, I’m going to die.”
He snorts a little but finally drags his fingertips up my stomach and sides. It’s the lightest of touches, almost like he’s finger painting on my skin. I shiver all over and throw my head back. There’s a roaring sound in my head; could be the TV or all my hormones rushing in.
His fingers are everywhere, except… there. He seems perfectly content to have me wiggle on his lap while his fingers explore. With a groan, I yank down the cups of my bra, hoping he’ll take the hint. He sits up and starts placing barely-there kisses across my chest.
My hips rock all on their own, grinding against the seams of our jeans and Liam’s hard cock. Embarrassed at my own desperation, I try to lift myself up but Liam grabs my hips to keep me in place.
“I’m going to soak through my jeans,” I pant.
“Good.”
He rolls his hips. I can practically feel his knot. Hooking a finger into the cup of my bra, he drags it down further. I arch my back to give him even more access, but he’s ignoring all my attempts like he’s content with slow touches. When he drags his fingertips down my spine, I nearly come.
“Jesus. Ash.” His teeth gently sink into the side of my breast, almost like he wants to hold me in place.
I try shifting again, but he moves both hands to my hips, keeping me in place.
He drags his tongue along the top curve of my breast, then flicks the tip over my nipple.
The sensation is so sharp and perfect, I nearly bite through my lip.
I tangle my hands in his hair, the short strands prickling my palms. My thighs shake from the tension of trying to get even closer, from grinding against him through layers of denim. Liam presses his face to my chest and inhales, hard. I could die from how fucking careful he is.
All I want is to rub my bare cunt against his cock and let him make a mess of me, right here on the couch.
“Off,” I push Liam back. Something like panic flashes in his eyes, and his face falls. My fingers fumble with the button and zipper of my jeans. “Off,” I say again. “I need these jeans off. I need you inside me.”
A grin replaces the panic on his face. Liam brushes my hands aside and uses his fingers, that don’t seem to have a problem undoing the button and pulling down the zipper.
I shift my weight to get off his lap, but he holds me there, peeling down my jeans just enough that he can fit his hand in. My face flushes.
“Sorry,” I mutter, feeling the slickness already there, but he cuts me off.
“You’re so wet, Ash,” he says, his voice gone raspy.
“I know, I’m sorry.”