Chapter 19
I kiss him back like I’ve forgotten every reason I shouldn’t.
His hands are everywhere. Tugging at my hips, fisting in my hair, tracing the curve of my spine like he’s desperate. I gasp against his mouth, and he groans, deep and guttural, sliding one hand down to grab the back of my thigh and hitch it around his waist.
He presses me back against the door, grinding against me, hard and hot through his jeans. My fingers clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer, not caring that it’s clumsy and frantic and messy. I just want more.
Clothes come off in a frantic blur. Shirts yanked over heads, jeans shoved down without ceremony. Somewhere in the chaos, he lifts me, carrying me across the room and dropping me onto the bed.
He follows me down, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my throat, my collarbone, my breasts. Every nerve ending in my body fires to life under his touch. I arch into him, greedy, wild with need.
When he finally thrusts inside me, it’s not slow or careful. It’s rough, raw, a desperate claiming. My head falls back against the pillows, a broken sound escaping me as he moves, deep and relentless, like he’s trying to carve himself into my very bones.
We don’t speak. There are no pretty words, no false promises. Just panting breaths, shuddering moans, the sharp slap of skin on skin as we chase the high that’s been simmering between us since his father showed up and ruined everything.
When my orgasm crashes through me, I bite his shoulder to keep from screaming, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping me from shattering completely. He follows with a harsh groan, collapsing against me, his heart pounding in a frantic rhythm against mine.
For a long moment, we just lie there, tangled together, sweat-slicked and gasping for air.
But even as the aftershocks fade, a cold, creeping fear slides into my chest. Because this wasn’t love. This was something wild and reckless and broken. And I don't know if there’s any coming back from it.
I’m still trying to catch my breath when Liam moves.
One second he’s heavy against me, the next he’s pushing up onto his knees, grabbing my hips and flipping me over onto my stomach with a roughness that sends a fresh bolt of heat straight through me.
I gasp, half from shock, half from the sheer feral need radiating off him. His hands skim down my sides, gripping my hips so tight I know I’ll wear his fingerprints tomorrow, and I don’t care. I want them. I want all of it.
He leans over me, his mouth brushing my ear, his voice rough as gravel. “Not finished with you.”
The blunt head of his cock slides along my slick folds, teasing me until I whimper and arch my back, offering myself to him without shame. He groans, low and savage, and then he thrusts into me in one hard, claiming stroke.
I cry out, gripping the sheets, the stretch and fullness overwhelming and addictive. He sets a brutal rhythm, driving into me with single-minded focus, each thrust deep and punishing, rocking the bed against the wall.
I can barely breathe, can barely think, pleasure shredding me from the inside out. He fists my hair, pulling my head back so he can mouth along my throat, teeth scraping in a way that makes my whole body tighten around him.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls, pounding into me harder, deeper, sending shockwaves through my core.
I shatter around him again, this time so violently my vision whites out, my entire body wracked with trembling spasms. He follows with a ragged shout, spilling inside me, his body collapsing over mine, his weight grounding me even as my world spins.
We stay like that, a tangle of sweat and need and something dangerously close to heartbreak, long after the last tremors fade. And still, neither of us says a word. Because words would break the fragile, burning thing we just set loose between us.
The days crawl by, thick with silence.
We don’t talk, not really. At breakfast, we play our parts.
We’re polite, distant, strangers wearing familiar faces.
We make small, hollow comments about the weather, the food, the cattle.
We hold hands when we walk the property with Teddy and Bessie.
It’s all for show. Empty words that mean nothing compared to the tension burning between us.
But it seems to be working because Teddy and Bessie have no idea the real truth.
But when night falls?
Everything we’re trying to bury ignites.
The second the door closes, we crash into each other. Mouths frantic, hands tearing, needing.
Liam fucks me like he’s starving, like I’m the last thing he’ll ever taste.
One night he slams me against the wall, hiking my leg around his waist, grinding into me with brutal, punishing thrusts that leave me gasping his name into his mouth.
Another, he throws me onto the bed face-down, ripping a groan from my throat as he takes me from behind, his hands branding my hips, his growls vibrating through my spine.
In the shower, he presses me flat to the slick tile wall, water pouring over us as he drives into me so hard the glass door rattles.
In the middle of the night, he drags me out of sleep, flipping me onto my back and pushing into me before I’m even fully awake, his kisses rough and devouring, his hands everywhere at once, like he can’t touch enough of me fast enough.
There are no sweet words.
No tender declarations.
Only gritted teeth, desperate gasps, filthy promises growled against my skin. The frantic slap of skin on skin. The sharp sting of his teeth marking my neck. The helpless way I fall apart under his hands again and again and again.
Every morning, I wake up bruised, aching, and empty.
And every morning, he’s already halfway across the room, pulling on his jeans without looking at me.
By the last day, the only thing left between us is sweat on the sheets and the wreckage of everything we never said. I know I’m just as much to blame as him, I can’t bring myself to care. Not when I’m barely hanging on.
We pack in silence. No goodbye. No apology. No promise this was anything more than what it was. Just a thousand ghosted touches burning under my skin, and the broken pieces of me he’ll never see.
We meet Teddy and Bessie for our last breakfast, the four of us crowded around the big farmhouse table like nothing’s changed. Liam and Teddy pass the contract back and forth, pens scratching paper. Hands shaking on a deal we worked so hard for. A deal we bled for.
I should be happy. Proud, even. But all I feel is hollow.
I stare down at my plate, my stomach churning, the smell of eggs and coffee suddenly unbearable. The future we fought for is signed, sealed, delivered and all I can think about is what it cost me.
Bessie reaches across the table, squeezing my arm with a soft, maternal smile. “You’ll have to let me know.”
I blink, forcing myself to focus. “Know?”
“If the baby-making room worked.”
Her words hit me like a blow to the gut, but somehow, I manage a laugh. Small. Brittle. “I will.”
It’s a lie. A lie stitched together with every other one I’ve told myself this trip just to survive. There’s no way it worked because that wasn’t making love. That was just fucking.
We load up in the truck after that, making the quiet ride to the airport under a heavy sky. I keep the conversation going with Bessie, asking questions, making small jokes and playing the part so well even I almost believe it.
But the second we’re through security, the mask crumbles.
I bolt for the nearest bathroom, barely making it to the stall before I lose everything—breakfast, dignity, hope—heaving it all into the toilet bowl until I’m shaking and empty.
When I finally emerge, Liam is there, waiting.
He watches me, concern flickering in his eyes like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to care anymore.
“You okay?”
I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth and lie again. “Just ready to get home.”
Home.
The word tastes like bile in my mouth. Because that house we’re flying back to isn’t my home. Not really. Not anymore.
Which is why, as we sit in the terminal waiting for our flight, I pull out my phone and quietly start looking for a way out.
There’s a flight leaving Sheridan two hours after we land.
Perfect.
I book it without hesitation, the confirmation email sliding into my inbox like a secret I’m not ready to say out loud. I tuck my phone deep into my bag, sealing the decision away before I can second-guess myself.
Liam doesn’t try to make small talk. He doesn’t even look at me. We move through boarding like ghosts, sitting side by side but miles apart as the plane cuts through the sky, carrying us back to the place that feels heavier than any weight I’ve ever known.
I press my forehead against the window, staring out at the endless stretch of clouds, my stomach coiled tight, my pulse ticking like a countdown.
Because I know what’s waiting for me when we land. Not forgiveness. Not understanding. Not a real future. Just a fight.
The plane touches down with a jolt that rattles through my bones. We make our way to baggage claim in silence, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the air stale and heavy with everything we’re not saying.
Liam grabs my suitcase without a word, then his, motioning for me to follow.
“You go ahead,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He pauses, brows knitting together. “Feeling sick again?”
I shake my head. No lies this time. No shields.
“No. I have another flight to catch.”
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, like he’s sure he misheard me. “A flight. To where?”
I meet his eyes, forcing myself to stay steady.
“I need some time. To figure everything out.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. He crosses his arms over his chest, nodding once. “I see.”
“I did give you my notice, Liam,” I say softly.
We stare at each other, a thousand words clawing for space between us, none of them making it past our lips.
And then I do the only thing I can. I turn and walk away. Each step feels heavier than the last, but I don’t stop. I don’t look back.
And Liam Stone?
He doesn’t try to stop me, either.
Not once.