Chapter 18
EMMA
Liam and I are standing so close I can feel his heartbeat against mine, fast, uneven, wild with adrenaline.
He told me about his situation and the danger, but hearing about it and seeing it are two very different things.
Watching him face down not one but three armed men made my stomach twist. It took me right back to being sixteen again, watching him step between his mom and whichever drunk loser she was dating that week—Roger, Dan, Kevin, take your pick.
Back then, he’d come to school bruised and bloodied, and I’d patch him up behind the bleachers.
But these were not drunk losers. They were real-life mafia goons. They were armed, and the threat was more than a busted lip or bloody nose.
I saw what they did to him that night when he ended up back in my path, under my care in the emergency room.
I should be scared. I should think of Laddie and walk away at least until he clears things up.
But I want this. I want him so badly.
This kiss is slow, deep, and dizzying, and it burns all the way to my toes. We sway to the quiet rhythm of the music, bodies brushing, breaths tangling.
My hands start on his firm, solid biceps, then explore up his arms, around his shoulders, down the hard lines of his back, until they reach his waist.
His muscles flex under my touch, warm and solid, and it’s suddenly not enough to feel him through fabric.
I need to see him.
I reach for the first button of his shirt and begin working my way down slowly. With each one undone, more of him appears.
He’s broader now than when we were eighteen. There’s more hair on his chest, more strength in every line of him. When I slide the shirt off his shoulders, I actually gasp, and he gives me that crooked little smirk, eyes dark with desire.
I can’t help touching his chest, his shoulders, the ridges of his abs.
He’s perfect.
Completely unfair. Even the faint trail of hair leading down beneath his jeans makes my mouth watery.
“I need more,” I whisper, my voice rough with want as I fumble with his belt, the button, then the zipper.
He kicks off his shoes, steps out of his pants, and for a heartbeat we’re both still, the air between us buzzing. My cheeks burn as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
In this moment, he is both a new man I barely know and a young man I knew better than anyone.
I nod, and he slides the last of his clothes down those long, muscular legs.
My breath catches, my mouth goes parched.
He’s hard, thick, smooth… somehow even bigger than I remember.
“Your turn,” he murmurs, stroking himself slowly, just like I’ve seen him do on the phone. The sight alone makes my pulse trip over itself.
I bite my lip, trying to calm my nerves.
I’ve shown him everything before, but this feels different.
More raw.
More real.
My hands tremble as I start to move, but he steps in, close enough that I can feel his warmth. His free hand slides up, pulling the pins from my hair, letting my curls tumble loose. He cups my cheek, leans in, and his teeth graze the edge of my jaw.
“I want to see you naked for me,” he breathes in my ear, and it causes a full-body shiver.
I peel away my denim jacket, my shoes. I slip the straps of my dress over my shoulders, then slip the soft fabric over my breasts, belly, and hips. It falls to the floor without a sound.
I’m in a nude, lace bra and thong; these slips of lace are the only armor I have left.
When I pop the front clasp of my bra, my breasts spring free, heavy and large. Liam groans.
“God, Emma...”
Emboldened by the darkness in his eyes, the pure desire on his face, I drop the bra and pull my thong over my hips.
I’m so wet again just from the kissing, the dancing, the sight of his chiseled body. The insides of my thighs glisten with my desire, and when he moves his hand from his cock to the space between my legs, we both gasp.
“Oh, Emma,” he moans. “So wet for me.”
“Only for you,” I say. “Keep touching me.”
He slips his fingers into my slick heat, sliding them through the wetness, pressing my clit, playing at my entrance. I push against his touch, wanting more.
The length of him is insistent against my waist, begging for me to stroke it. Just touching each other for the first time.
Or for the hundredth time...it’s everything.
This is how it’s supposed to feel—desire and warmth and the need for more, and more. Liam and I are the only two people on the planet right now, and it always felt like that with him, even when we were young.
I’ve missed this, missed the way we fit, missed the connection between us.
“Christ,” he hisses through his teeth as I grip his cock tighter, my hand moving along his length in long, tight strokes, thumb playing at the tip, spreading a dot of precum across the silky skin.
Liam feels impossibly big—everywhere. His hands span my waist like they were made to fit there, and suddenly I feel small in a way I haven’t in a long time.
Protected. Claimed. Wanted.
When his hand leaves the place where I ache for him, a quiet sound slips from me, half protest, half plea. But then it’s on me again, sliding higher, leaving trails of heat that make my pulse race.
He brushes against my breast, teasing, his thumb drawing slow circles that steal my breath. My body arches into his touch, craving more before I even realize it.
“I’ve always loved these,” he murmurs, his voice a dark rasp against my skin. Then his mouth replaces his hand—soft lips, warm breath, each kiss a spark that shoots straight through me.
A sigh escapes me as my back arches, offering him more. He takes his time, tasting, teasing, and worshiping, while I stroke his cock with one hand.
He trails kisses up my chest, along my collarbone, across my shoulder. Each touch feels slow, deliberate, endless, suspended in time. Every brush of his lips pulls me deeper under, until the world doesn’t exist.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the logic whispers. I should be checking on Laddie.
I should slow down.
There’s still so much I haven’t told him, and the truths could change everything.
But right now, with his breath warm against my skin and his hands grounding me to the present, all I can do is let myself feel.
When Liam leads me to the couch, he’s gentle as he sits me down, spreading my legs wide as his palms slide down my thighs, before he lowers himself in front of me.
He looks up to meet my hooded gaze and says, “I need to taste you, Emma. Is that okay?”
My pulse is wild, my breath shaky. I can’t find words, so I just nod.
He moves his hands to my ass, pulling me forward to get better access. And then his face is between my legs, and his tongue is flicking against my clit, and my whole body is jolting, nerves sparking to life.
A sound tears out of me. It fills the quiet room, raw and unrestrained, as Liam devours me like a man who’s been starving.
I can’t look away. The sight of this handsome man between my legs, desperate to taste me, is almost as intoxicating as the way it feels. His hair falls forward, catching the light, and I see the flush in his cheeks, the focus in his eyes.
One of his hands grips my thigh, firm and grounding, while the other moves with the same relentless rhythm as his mouth, two fingers thrusting in and out of my hungry pussy.
“Oh, Liam,” I say. Over and over. “That feels so good, Liam. More, please.”
When I come, it hits harder than I expect. My head falls back, a long, low moan tearing from my throat as my eyes flutter shut and the world disappears. There's only this blinding wave of ecstasy, sharper and deeper than anything I’ve ever felt.
Liam doesn’t stop. He holds me there, lets me ride it out against his mouth until it finally passes. Only then does he pull away, his boyish face smeared with proof of my climax.
I cup his face, breathless and still trembling.
“Oh, Liam,” I whisper, pulling him in. “You made me come so hard.”
Then I kiss him deeply and hungrily.
A kiss that says thank you.
That says don’t stop.
That says I’ve missed this so much it hurts.
“Emma,” he says, and picking me up, carrying me up a set of stairs, around a corner, into what I assume is his bedroom. He sets me on the bed and crawls between my legs, that dark look still on his face. “I want you. I want to be inside of you. I want to fuck you until you see stars.”
He pauses, holding himself at my entrance, “But I need to hear you say you want it, too.”
I swallow hard, the words catching before they tumble out.
“I’m on birth control,” I blurt, suddenly shy.
And there is his grin. That crooked, boyish grin I haven’t seen in years.
“Okay,” he says. “Does that mean yes?”
I meet his eyes and smile back. “Oh, Liam. I want to.”
His gaze holds mine as he slowly pushes inside, and my breath catches. He’s stretching and filling me so fully I can barely think.
For a moment, we’re sixteen again.
I remember his trembling hands at first time, the way he kissed me like I might shatter, whispering that I was beautiful, that I was safe.
He told me to breathe through it, and I did. He was gentle then, so careful, so full of love. And when his cock was sliding in and out of my tight pussy, then I figured out what all the fuss was about.
Years have changed him into a stronger, harder, and rougher person in the best ways. His rhythm is deep and controlled, each thrust a reminder of our growth since those teenage days.
He pushes my knees back, going deeper as his mouth finds mine, his tongue seeking entrance. His strokes are long and unhurried, yet I crave more. I reach between us and push my fingers against my swollen clit, feeling the early build of another orgasm.
“Emma,” he breathes into my mouth. “I won’t last if you do that.”
“We have all night,” I say, biting his lower lip. “You said you were going to fuck me until I see stars, didn’t you?”
He huffs a sound of amusement and surprise. “Challenge accepted.”
Suddenly, my legs are over his shoulders, and we’re barely two people anymore as we wrap around each other, his thrusting picking up pace as he rams into me.
The friction is so delicious, so good, and I cry out as the orgasm threatens to wreck me once again.
“Yes, Emma,” he says. “Fuck. Yes. Come for me.”
And I do, wave after wave, a blissful surge that seems endless, and then he’s growling, and I feel the spasms of his cock as he comes inside of me.
Eventually, we settle into stillness, entwined with each other. Our bodies are warm and spent, the room’s quiet except for the soft sound of our breathing and the distant hum of the world outside.
I stay there for a long time, curled against him, feeling his heartbeat under my cheek, the weight of what just happened, the truth pressing against my chest like it’s trying to escape.
His release is already slipping from me, a quiet, messy reminder of how close we just were. And somehow, it hits me deeper than I expect. My eyes sting with unshed tears.
I want to tell him about the little boy we made.
About how amazing he is.
About how much I dream of us as a family.
But not now. This moment isn’t big enough to hold something that heavy.
I gently pull away, head to the bathroom to clean up. Liam follows, turns on the shower, takes my hands, and draws me into the warm spray.
He holds me there for a while, our bodies pressed together, hearts still racing.
Then his hands start to stroke down my back, kneading out the tension I didn’t even realize I was holding. I let out a soft, unfiltered sigh.
“Feel good?” he murmurs.
“You have no idea.”
“Good.”
Liam kisses me, slow and deep, the water pouring over us like a curtain. Then he turns me gently, pressing me to the cool tile.
His hands grip my hips, firm and possessive.
“You feel too damn good,” he growls against my ear.
I gasp as he slides into me from behind—thick and brutal. The stretch steals my breath, the angle makes my legs tremble.
He moves slowly at first, savoring it. Then faster. Deeper. Relentless.
The sound of water, the slap of skin, the breathy moans—it’s all tangled in steam and sensation.
I brace against the wall, lost in the rhythm of his demanding, addictive thrusts.
Tonight is us.
I’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.