27. Zoey #2
The kiss deepened slowly as he set me down on the bed. Our kisses turned sharper, hungrier, like the words we had just said had broken something open in both of us and neither of us wanted to put it back.
His hand slid up under my shirt, rougher against my skin, and my entire body answered at once. His mouth moved to my neck.
I shivered.
Every part of me felt awake.
He paused there for half a second, forehead resting against my shoulder like he was trying to hold on to one last piece of control. Then his hand tightened at my waist, and he kissed his way back up, slower this time, like he wanted to feel every reaction I gave him and keep all of it.
I slid my hands into his hair and pulled him back to me.
“Liam.”
The way his name came out changed something in him.
His head lifted. His face was open now in a way that almost undid me. Want. Love. The effort it was taking him not to rush me. The fact that he still would not move faster than I wanted, even now, even like this.
That tenderness made it all worse.
Better.
I reached for him again, needing him closer, and he came without hesitation, settling over me with a care that only made the heat between us harder to bear.
Somewhere in the midst of it all, we lost our clothing.
His hands moved over me with growing certainty. My back arched as he made a low sound against my skin that sent a sharp pulse through me.
I wanted all of him.
His mouth found my neck again, my breasts.
When he flicked his tongue over my nipple, I gasped. He groaned softly against my skin and moved over me, as desperate as I was. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer.
“Please.”
The word came out softer than I intended, but he heard everything in it—the want, the need, the love.
He pressed his forehead against mine again, like he needed one last second to steady himself before giving me what I was asking for. His hand slid into my hair as his other gripped my waist.
Every touch said he was paying attention. Every second said he knew exactly what this meant to me.
I had never felt safer wanting someone this much.
His hand came up to my face. “Tell me.”
I swallowed. “I’m here. I want this. I want you.”
The look that crossed his face nearly wrecked me.
Then he kissed me again, and this time there was no distance left in it. Only hunger. Only love. Only the hard, steady certainty of being wanted by someone who knew exactly how much I mattered.
I let myself have it.
I let myself pull him closer.
I let myself stop thinking.
By the time he thrust into me, I was shaking with need, shaking with the force of wanting and being wanted back with equal intensity.
I arched my back and moaned in sheer relief. He felt so damn good inside me.
Liam kept murmuring my name against my skin like it meant something sacred. I kept answering him because I had nothing left to hide.
His hips moved in a slow, steady rhythm. Every thrust made me gasp as pleasure washed over me in waves. He took my hand, lacing our fingers together as my orgasm crashed over me.
Trembling from the force of it, I cried out and clenched around him. He stayed with me through it, his mouth at my throat, my shoulder, my cheek, saying my name over and over with an aching reverence that made everything feel bigger.
I touched his face. “Come here,” I said softly.
I let go of his hand and pushed gently at his shoulder until he understood. He went without resistance, rolling onto his back and bringing me with him in one smooth movement, his hands sliding to my waist to steady me as I rose over him.
His face changed when I settled there, a possessive streak flaring in his eyes.
I sat up slowly, giving him time to look at me, letting myself look at him. His hands stayed on my hips, firm and warm, but he didn’t move. He was letting me choose the pace now. Letting me take what I wanted from him the way he had just given me everything.
I put my hands on his chest and moved, keeping my eyes locked on his.
The sound he made was low and immediate. His head tipped back against the pillow, his throat working hard.
His hands roamed up my stomach and to my breasts, squeezing lightly before they made their way back down and gripped my ass.
His gaze came back to me, heavy and direct, and I felt it everywhere. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Zoey,” he said, his voice rough and wrecked.
I leaned down and kissed him.
He answered with the same hungry devotion. The care with which he attended made me feel almost unbearably tender.
It also made me want to ruin what was left of his control.
I kissed his jaw, his mouth, his temples. My fingers slid into his hair and held there while I moved over him again, slower this time, watching what it did to him.
He opened his eyes fully then.
The look on his face nearly destroyed me.
Love. Want. Pride. Something possessive and helpless all at once.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said.
I shook my head once, already overwhelmed, and he gave a short, helpless laugh that was almost a groan when I rolled my hips again.
I grinned, loving that I could make him feel this way.
His hands slid up my back, then down again. Then, with a low sound that seemed to have been pulled out of him against his will, he pushed himself upright beneath me and braced his back against the headboard, bringing me with him so I was still wrapped around him.
The change in position brought us chest to chest, mouth to mouth. It let me feel the full strength of him while I moved in his lap.
His mouth found my chest when I leaned forward, his lips against my breast, his forehead pressing there briefly, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss me or just stay close enough to feel that I was real.
I cupped his face and made him look at me. “I love you,” I said as another orgasm built inside me.
His hands came up to hold me more fully, one spread wide at my back, the other at the side of my face, and for one suspended second we just looked at each other while my body kept moving with helpless urgency over his.
“Again,” he said quietly.
I swallowed. “I love you.”
He shut his eyes for a second. “Mine,” he said, not harsh, not demanding. Full of awe. Full of feeling. “My girl. My heart. All of you.”
The words hit me so hard I nearly folded over him.
I kissed him and kept moving, faster now, desperate and aching and completely past the point of pretending I was in control of any of this.
He met me there at last.
Not taking over.
Joining me.
His hips lifted to meet mine with the same care and hunger that had been building in him all night, and the change in pace tore another cry from me.
His name fell out of my mouth again and again.
His hands held me exactly where I needed them, his mouth moving over whatever part of me he could reach, kissing, praising, half losing his mind under me and trying to give me everything anyway.
The pressure built fast. I clutched at his shoulders, and he knew immediately.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
That was all it took.
The second orgasm hit harder than the first, dragging a helpless sound out of me as I came apart.
He held me through it, one hand spread over my back, the other gripping my hip, his own control finally giving way as he followed me over the edge with my name breaking from him in a way I would remember for the rest of my life.
His arm tightened around my back. His other hand slid into my hair, steadying me, and when he tipped his forehead to mine again, his whole body felt different. More focused. More intent. Like every instinct in him had narrowed to this one moment.
“Zoey,” he said, rough now. “Look at me.”
I did.
His chest rose hard under my hands.
“If I do this, it will be real. Permanent. You’ll feel it.”
My pulse jumped.
I knew what he meant.
He kept his gaze locked on mine, giving me all the space in the world to stop him.
“I want it,” I whispered.
His hand tightened once at the back of my neck. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
The word came out without hesitation.
Something in his face broke open completely after that. Love. Relief. Hunger. Devotion so intense it made my throat ache.
He kissed me deeply. Slowly. Like he wanted me to feel the choice in it.
Then his mouth moved to my throat.
He paused there, every part of him held taut.
And when he finally claimed me, the sensation tore through me so suddenly and so completely that I lost all sense of where my body ended and his began.
Pleasure hit first. Fierce and bright and impossible to contain. Then something warmer flooded in behind it, deeper and more complete than anything I had ever felt. It was him. Not just touch. Not just heat. Him, pouring through me in a way that made every nerve in my body light up at once.
My cry broke loose without warning.
The room vanished.
Everything vanished except the overwhelming rush of being wanted, chosen, held, known.
I came apart in his arms with a force that felt almost unreal, shaking so hard I could barely hold onto him. He did it for me, both arms around me now, keeping me close, mouth still at my throat, his body braced around mine as wave after wave moved through me.
“That’s it,” he said against my skin, wrecked and reverent at once. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
I could barely breathe.
Barely think.
All I could do was cling to him and feel.
His control finally gave way completely, and he came with my name breaking from him like a confession, like a prayer, like something he had been holding in his body for far too long.
I stayed wrapped around him, trembling, my face against his neck, his arms locked around me so tightly it felt like he was afraid to let even an inch of space return between us.
His mouth found my forehead, then my temple, then the place just beside my mouth.
“You okay?” he asked softly, though he sounded half gone himself.
I laughed shakily, stunned, and happier than I knew what to do with. “No. I think you just rewired my entire body.”
His laugh was muffled against my skin. “Good,” he said, pulling me even closer.