Chapter 10 #2
“We should…” His voice breaks, and he clears it, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “We should probably head back inside.”
But he doesn’t move. Neither do I. We stay locked there, caught in the gravitational pull of everything unsaid, everything waiting.
Finally, his hand finds mine again, lacing our fingers together so naturally it feels like breathing, and he brings it to his mouth, brushing a kiss across my knuckles.
A small, shattering touch.
“Come on, honey,” he says softly, voice still rough. “Let’s go home.”
Home.
And somehow, impossibly, I realize that's exactly what he means. Wordlessly, I nod, scooting off his lap and into my seat.
Neither of us speaks on the short drive back to the house.
We don't need to.
Every glance, every brush of skin, every breath between us says the same thing.
Something more is brewing between us.
Something neither of us can shove back into the safe little box we’ve kept it in for so long.
At the house, Liam parks the UTV and jumps out, circling around to my side. He holds out his hand, palm up, solid and steady. Without hesitation, I slip mine into his. The warmth of his skin seeps into me, chasing away the last of the morning chill.
He doesn’t let go, not even when we step inside, not even when we kick off our boots in the mudroom.
It’s quiet. Only the soft sound of the rain pattering against the roof, the faint creak of the old wood floors under our feet.
And then when we finally turn to face each other, something snaps. The space between us combusts like a spark, hitting dry timber. Liam’s eyes lock onto mine, wild, raw, hungry, and in the same breath, we move. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No fear.
His hands are on my waist, pulling me into him while mine find the front of his jacket, fisting the fabric like I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I let go.
Our mouths crash together, not soft this time, but hot and messy and real.
His hands slide up my back, palms rough and sure, mapping me like he’s waited his whole life to touch me like this.
I gasp against his mouth, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, stealing the breath from my lungs and replacing it with him.
He crowds me back until my spine hits the wall, but I don't care. I need the pressure. Need to feel him. Need to make sure this isn’t just some beautiful, impossible dream.
His thigh wedges between mine, and without thinking, I arch into him, chasing the heat, the friction… everything I've been aching for. Liam groans into my mouth, the sound guttural, and it wrecks me right back.
When we finally break apart, we’re both gasping, the air between us thick and ragged.
His hands are still on me, possessive and trembling slightly.
“Fuck, Olive,” he rasps, voice so raw it scrapes down my spine. “I don't think I can stop.”
I close my eyes for half a second. Long enough to feel the full weight of the choice hanging between us. And then I lift my gaze to his.
“Then don’t,” I whisper.
The second the words leave my mouth, it’s over.
Liam growls low in his throat, the sound more felt than heard.
And then he’s on me again. His mouth crashing into mine, his hands sliding everywhere at once like he can’t decide where he needs to touch me most. He kisses me like a man starved, devouring every gasp, every whimper, every shattered breath I give him.
My fingers find the buttons of his shirt and I fumble them open, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He shrugs out of it like he can’t get it off fast enough, yanking it over his shoulders and tossing it blindly to the floor.
God, he’s beautiful.
Golden skin stretched over solid muscle, his chest heaving, his blue eyes dark with need so fierce it leaves me dizzy.
He cups my face, gentling the kiss for a beat, letting me catch my breath.
“You sure, honey?” he murmurs against my lips, voice rough and aching.
I nod, threading my fingers through his hair, tugging him back down to me.
“So sure,” I whisper.
He makes a sound like he’s breaking apart and finds my mouth again, slower this time, deeper. His hands roam down my sides, finding the hem of my hoodie and sliding underneath, dragging it upward with agonizing slowness. When he peels it off, his gaze roves over me like he’s memorizing every inch.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, like a prayer.
Heat blooms under my skin, and I arch into him without shame.
Liam lifts me effortlessly, carrying me a few stumbling steps down the hall with laughter, breathless kisses, whispered curses spilling between us until he finds the nearest bedroom.
The door clicks shut behind us.
And then there’s only touch and heat and the sweet, wild certainty that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.
We just look at each other, breathing hard, the air crackling between us.
And then Liam’s hands are on my face again as he kisses me. I meet him halfway, sinking into him, threading my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until there’s not an inch of space left between us.
When his hands find the waistband of my jeans, he pauses, pulling back just enough to search my eyes.
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. His fingers make quick work of the button and zipper, pushing the denim down my hips.
I shimmy out of them, kicking them off as he peels off his own jeans, leaving us stripped down to skin and breath and need.
He lifts me again, carrying me to the bed like I weigh nothing at all, laying me down like I’m something precious.
And when he crawls over me, fitting his body against mine, I swear something deep inside me clicks into place.
His hands roam my body like he’s afraid he’ll wake up and find me gone.
His mouth follows, pressing kisses along my jaw, down my throat, across my collarbone, like he’s worshipping every inch of me.
I arch into him, desperate for more, my nails raking lightly down his back.
When he finally slides inside me, slow and careful, my breath catches. Not from pain. But from how right it feels. Like my body was made for his. Like this was always supposed to happen.
Liam presses his forehead to mine, his breath ragged, his hands framing my face.
“Jesus, Olive,” he whispers. “You feel like home.”
The words shatter me.
I clutch at him, pulling him impossibly closer as he moves inside me slow and deep, every thrust an unspoken promise.
I lose myself in him. In the way he says my name like a prayer.
In the way his hands tremble against my skin.
In the way he holds me like I’m the only thing tethering him to this world.
We move together, messy and real, chasing something bigger than pleasure, something that feels like healing, like belonging, like finally.
When we fall over the edge together, it’s not violent. It’s coming home.
Afterward, Liam doesn’t pull away. If anything, he pulls me closer, gathering me up against him like he’s afraid if he lets go, I’ll vanish.
Our bodies are a mess of tangled limbs and sweaty skin, his heartbeat thundering strong and steady beneath my ear.
He presses a slow, lingering kiss to the top of my head, his arms caging me in, and for a moment, I let myself float there. Weightless, safe, his.
But then from somewhere down the hall, Charlie’s voice rings out, bright. “Liam? Olive? You guys here?”
Liam groans, burying his face against my hair. “That woman has a sixth sense about interrupting us.”
I laugh, a low, lazy sound that vibrates against his chest, and then groan in frustration.
“Ugh. We should see what she wants,” I mutter, casting a reluctant glance at the clock on the nightstand. My stomach twists when I see the time. “Crap. And I still need to prep for dinner with Teddy.”
I try to untangle myself, but Liam’s arm tightens, holding me there for just a second longer.
“You good?” he asks, voice low and serious.
I tip my head back, meeting his gaze.
And God, the way he looks at me like I’m the sun finally breaking through the storm clouds nearly undoes me all over again.
“Better than good,” I whisper.
A slow, wicked grin curves across his mouth. “Same.”
Before I can pull away, he brushes his lips over mine. I melt into him instinctively, a groan escaping before I can stop it. He chuckles against my mouth, smug and warm and so damn dangerous.
“No fair,” I whisper, nipping at his bottom lip. “Now I don’t want to get out of this bed.”
“All part of the plan, honey,” he drawls, his hand sliding lazily up my side like he’s tempted to start all over again.
I manage a weak laugh, heart pounding, and finally, finally pull away, though it feels like tearing off a piece of myself.
I grab a shirt from the closet and tug it over my head, shooting him a mock glare as he lounges there, totally nude and gorgeous and smirking like the devil himself.
With a final, longing glance, I duck into the bathroom to clean up, my legs still a little wobbly, my heart still thrumming like it’s learning a new rhythm set to him.
And no matter what the rest of the day brings, I know it now, deep in my bones. Liam Stone isn't just a chapter in my story. He's the whole damn book.