46. LIAM
46
LIAM
Now
Cal was kind when he invited me to Emerson’s birthday. It stung that she didn’t invite me herself, and I tried my best not to read into it.
I shouldn’t have assumed that confessing to her that Natalie and I were off, would put her and me on. It didn’t. She went upstairs, claiming she needed to think.
What is there to think about?
In the past two weeks, we’ve texted, chatted after work meetings, and taken a couple of strolls during her lunch break, but that’s it.
She doesn’t want us. She wants me.
I saw that tonight.
It’d be easy to give in. To quench my thirst for her. A night together would do precisely that, but it wouldn’t solve my problem of wanting her forever. I don’t want to only be inside her for a night, but inside her life forever. I wish she wanted the same.
I had to leave before I gave in, and I would have been disappointed in myself if I hadn’t.
Cal could see it all over my face when I grabbed my jacket. He asked if I wanted him to leave with me, but I shook my head no.
There’s a pounding on my door. The knock is eerily like the one I heard every morning in Paris from Emerson, but with more force, almost frantic.
The knocks don’t stop as I walk to the door.
I open the door while her fist is mid-pull back to knock again.
Emerson barges past me. “Cal gave me your address.”
She’s pacing back and forth in the living room .
“You are going to burn a hole in the floor,” I tease her.
“What do you mean only if I actually want an us? You. . . you. . . you don’t know what I want.”
I walk toward her slowly, using the cautious steps you’d use to approach a wild animal. Her eyes are wild, and her chest moves up and down wildly.
“You’re right, I don’t.” I take another cautious step toward her. “But I know what I want.”
“And that warrants your ability to make decisions about us? That what you want is more important.”
“No.” I shake my head at her.
I take another cautious step. Emerson backs up a step.
“Why did you say that?”
I take a deep breath.
How she looks at me makes it evident that I could call my departure a lapse of judgment and take her any way I’d like—get my fix and figure it out later. But there’s something inside of me—in my brain and heart—that feels like they are teaming up against me and forcing me to do the right thing. What even is the right thing?
“I want you, trust me, that’s not a problem. I want you so much that it makes me mad, but I want us more.” I cover 80 percent of the remaining space between us. Leaving enough distance for me to look at her without the ability for either of us to reach out and touch each other. I want to touch her, but that wouldn’t be logical at the moment. At least, that’s what I tell myself. “That’s why I found you two weeks ago on your run and kissed you.”
She blinks a million times. She does this sometimes when she’s thinking and wants to get rid of whatever those thoughts are.
“Don’t bury your thoughts. Tell me. What do you want, Emerson?” I say to her.
“You,” she whispers.
“That’s not enough. What do you want, Emerson?”
“Us.” She stands taller and rolls her shoulders back. Emerson stares straight at me. “I want us. I want to be together. ”
A sweet symphony to my ears.
The remaining distance between us is gone.
My hands are in her hair, kissing her.
“I like this dress,” I say, gazing down at her. My hands move up and down her body.
“It looks better off,” Emerson says without skipping a beat.
“Good, take it off,” I command. Dropping my hands from her body.
Holding my eyes, she reaches to the center of her chest where the zipper is, pulling the small metal tab down the dress. The dress opens and drops to the ground.
There’s nothing underneath it. No bra. No panties. Only silky skin.
I release a cool exhale as my eyes roam her body. It breezes over her breasts, causing her nipples to harden.
Emerson is gorgeous. And she’s mine. I’m hers. We’re each others.
Emerson bends down to take off her heels.
“No. Leave them on.”
I take her hand, walking her toward the stairs that lead up to my bedroom.
On the platform next to the stairs, I stop us. I’m the impatient one now. Spinning toward her, I pick her up and sit Emerson on the stairs. I kiss her lips, working my way to the spot below her ear. The skin is sensitive around the small scar she has here.
Her breathy moans are kindling to a fire, and that fire is me.
My hands are on either side of her waist on the step. I trail kisses lower and lower and lower.
Hovering over her, my hands grip the inside of her thighs. I spread her legs apart.
“You’re so wet, States,” I tell her as I lift my chin to look up at her. A finger slipping into her. “Have you been thinking about this for three years, too?”
Emerson swallows. She’s watching my mouth and nods .
EMERSON
His mouth is on me. I know the feeling I can expect, but the immediate gratification of what he’s doing is unexpected.
I think my muscles, bones, heart, brain, and lungs missed this. I missed him.
Having Liam back is a relief in every capacity.
His tongue drives every one of my senses wild. Circling, sweeping inside of me and back to my most sensitive spot. Pulling it in his mouth, biting down, and sucking on it at the same time.
He slides his right hand up my body, palming my breast in his hand, kneading it.
I keep trying to buck off the step, the pleasure already becoming too much. Liam’s other hand comes to my waist, holding me still.
I wanted this.
I want his mouth on me. I want him inside of me.
I wanted this, but I want an us. I want us more.
This entire time, I’ve always wanted us.
Wherever he’s been, wherever I’ve been, I’ve wanted it to be the same place. Whoever he’s been with, whoever I’ve been with, I’ve wanted it to be us. Whatever his future holds, whatever my future holds, I’ve wanted it to be our future.
I’ve wanted us. And now I finally have it.
“I want us,” I repeat to him.
He sucks harder. “Liam,” I cry out.
He keeps going, not letting up.
Running my hands through his hair, I do the unthinkable and pull his mouth off me. Angling his head up toward my face, I can see myself glistening on his lips, and somehow, I become even more turned on.
“I’ve always wanted us.” I lock our eyes and tell him. I want him to know that as much as I want this right now, we are more than any sexual attraction. More than our pasts. We are forever .
“I know,” he says confidently.
He returns his mouth to me, and my orgasm hits me. A tsunami of pleasure and relief.
Liam stands up, pulling me with him.
“You said you had three years of things you wanted to do to me. Show me. Right now.”
His eyes flick toward the kitchen and then me. He smirks and pulls me to the counter, turning me to where my stomach rests on the edge. The entire place is silent except for the sounds of a belt unbuckling, a zipper, and my ragged breath.
“What if Callum comes home?”
“Good, then he’ll know you’re mine, and I’m yours.”
His hands come to my back, lowering me over the counter. My butt juts out in front of him. Liam leans down, placing his lips gently on my ass, then bites it.
I gasp, and he snickers. “I’ve thought about this, but over my desk overlooking Michigan Ave.”
Liam holds me on either side, rubbing the tip of him between me before finding my entrance. Slowly, he pushes into me. Inch by inch until I’m full of him.
Liam pauses.
We both sigh. “You feel so good, Emerson. Exactly the way I remember. So perfect and begging for me.”
He pulls out of me to where only the tip of him is there before thrusting back in all the way. Each time, it feels like he reaches a new place inside me. It’s slow and deep. Liam continues like this for several strokes.
“Tell me what you want,” he commands.
“So demanding of my wants tonight.”
He snarls. “Tell me.” Liam slaps my ass.
“All of you.” He growls. Pushing inside of me hard. My breathing is unsteady. “More.”
Liam listens and gives me what I want .
One of his hands comes to my neck, circling and squeezing it lightly.
“Liam,” I whimper.
“Did you enjoy that?”
I turn my head. My cheek resting on the marble. “Yes.”
I watch as he thrusts into me. His hand is still on my neck. Liam squeezes it again.
“Damn it, States. Keep watching me. Watch what you do to me and how you make me feel.”
Nothing about this is sweet or romantic. It’s feral. Everything about this is a reminder of the lost three years. Our frustration with ourselves and each other is poured out in heated movements and desperate touch.
I know that we’ll find something sweet later, but right now, this is what we both want—we both need.
I’m like a dam that’s about to burst, barely held together by the levy. Everything in me is being filled by him—the pleasure, the heat, the opportunity of a future together.
“Liam. I’m,” I stutter. “I’m there.”
“Let go. Let go for me,” he requests. Despite his movements, his words are a gentle caress with double meaning.
He’s telling me to let go of the guard I’ve had up, the fears I use as shields, the irrational what-ifs, and the words that tore us apart. He’s asking me to let it all go for him.
And I do.
We let it all go together.