Chapter 20 Liam
Liam
My legs are on fire after the final whistle blows, but I can’t wipe the grin off my face.
The match is over. I can still hear the crowd’s roar echoing in my ears as electricity courses through my veins.
There’s nothing quite like the taste of victory.
Sweat, mud, and the burn in my lungs. It’s what I thrive on.
By the time Coach gives us his post-match speech and we’ve all showered and changed, nearly two hours have passed. The lads are still buzzing, riding the high as they cheer and clink glasses in celebration. I don’t hesitate to join in, because tonight isn’t the only win I’ve had today.
Finn had his first session of therapy this afternoon. The psychologist kept the details of the appointment private, but she told me he did really well and things are looking up now that Josh is out of the picture.
Finally, for the first time in months, I caught a proper glimpse of my son again. Not the sad, withdrawn Finn, who gutted me, but the real Finn—cheeky, bright, and full of life. Emotion shot through me like adrenaline, seeing the light return to his eyes. I’m so bloody proud of him I could combust.
Finn’s staying at Roman and Zoey’s again tonight. So I’ve joined the team at the Mayfair Lounge. And, as expected, a crowd of frenzied fans has joined us to celebrate the win. I’ve peeled far too many wandering hands off my arms tonight.
Still, as incredible as the victory feels, there’s one thing—one person—that could make this night even better.
To say I was relieved when Anna messaged me after the game would be an understatement. It was a surprise, though. She doesn’t strike me as the type who’d be into sport. I feel a kind of smugness in thinking that maybe she was watching the game for me.
When she cut the phone call after we came last night, I worried I’d pushed things too far. She might’ve thought she hid it well, this morning at drop-off, but I saw the rosy flush in her cheeks when she read my texts.
“Well done, mate,” Jack says, sidling up to me with two pints of Guinness. He hands me one and I raise it in cheers.
“Havin’ a Guinness?” I ask, cocking a brow.
“Figure we’d celebrate. Split the G?” he asks.
To split the G, you take one long, clean sip so that the stout drops to the dead center of the G on the Guinness logo. I happen to be a seasoned pro at it.
“You’re on,” I reply, patting him on the back.
We both take a long pull then lower our glasses. A thin layer of foam lies perfectly across the middle of the G.
Jack shakes his head. “Bloody show-off.”
I fight a grin, shrugging my shoulders. “I’m Irish. It’s a gift.”
“Ah, piss off,” he jokes, pinching his thumb and index finger. “I was this close.”
“Close isn’t a win, mate,” I smile.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, taking another sip. “First game of the season. How does it feel?”
“I feel bloody grand,” I point to him with the glass. “You did pretty damn well yourself.”
He nods. “That was a solid start, for sure.”
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I slide it out and open the message, unable to stop a smile.
“Ah, I know that look,” Jack says, eyeing my phone with amusement. “Someone special?”
“You ever mind your business?” I ask with a crooked grin.
He holds a hand up in defense, laughing. “Guess I was right.”
Omar and Ravi push through the crowd to join us, pints in hand. “All right, boys,” they say, nodding.
“You lads kicking on after this?” Ravi asks, practically jogging on the spot.
I laugh. “Nah, mate. Home for me. I’ve gotta pick up Finn early tomorrow.”
“What about you, Jack?” Omar asks.
“You lot will be the death of me,” Jack replies, shaking his head.
Ravi smirks. “That’s a yes, innit?”
Jack rolls his eyes. “Yeah, all right, I’ll come.” He looks at me. “You sure you don’t want to join us, big boy?”
Ravi pumps his eyebrows. “There’ll be some fit birds.”
I couldn’t care less about other women. I know exactly who I want.
“They’re all yours,” I say, winking at him.
Jack shoots me a knowing grin. “Have a good night, mate.”
After calling it early, I follow the guys out of the bar, pulling out my phone to order an Uber when I stop short. My eyes widen, completely taken aback.
A new message from Anna, sent just two minutes ago.
And what I’m staring at has me rooted to the spot.
Anna: Wish I could celebrate with you properly.
A photo is attached to her message, and all my blood rushes south.
She’s naked. Totally, utterly naked. One hand holds the phone while the other rests on the curve of her hip as she stands in front of a full-length mirror.
Her shoulders are back, pushing out those perfect tits, and her chin is tilted slightly, her face awash in the warm glow of her bedroom.
Her legs are parted slightly, just enough to give me a frontal view of her pretty little pussy.
“Fuck,” I breathe, heat slamming through me as I glance around to make sure no one else can see my screen.
My fingers fly across my screen as I type back.
Me: Where are you?
She responds immediately.
Anna: Home. Alone. Thinking about last night.
I need her. Now.
Me: Send me your address. I’m coming over.
Her next messages come a few minutes later, as if she’s considering whether this is something she wants to do.
Anna: What about Finn?
Me: At my cousin’s for the night.
Anna: Flat 2B, 44 Bendemeer Rd, Putney.
I punch the address into the app and a car pulls up a moment later. The ride to her flat feels like the longest fifteen minutes ever.
My cock is stiff enough to shatter glass by the time I arrive, strangled in the waistband of my trousers.
I didn’t take much notice of where she lived the night she brought me home, but seeing it now, it suits her.
Her flat is in a modest building with a neat garden out front.
The street is clean and seems safe, which brings me comfort.
I like knowing she lives in a decent area.
I find her flat number and press the buzzer. My pulse thrums wildly as I wait for her to answer.
“Hello?” Her voice comes through the intercom.
“It’s me.”
There’s a pause before the door clicks open. I take the stairs two at a time to find Anna standing in her doorway waiting for me. She’s wearing a soft baby pink robe, and her glossy dark hair is down in loose waves, tumbling around her shoulders. My fingers ache for a handful.
“Hi,” she says quietly, dropping her gaze to her feet. She looks nervous, in a sweet way.
“Hi yourself,” I say, stepping up to her.
She tips her head back to look at me, and I snag her chin between my thumb and forefinger, crushing my mouth to hers. She gasps, lips parting for me. The first swipe of her tongue against mine wrecks me. It’s hot and slick, just like her cunt was the other night.
Her back arches as she runs her fingers through my hair, tugging roughly on the ends to deepen the angle.
A deep rumble rattles from my chest. Every wet stroke of her tongue sends sparks through me.
My fingers gently trail from her jaw, down the delicate line of her throat to the loose knot of fabric holding the robe together between her breasts.
“Are you going to invite me in?” I ask, smirking against her mouth.
She steps back, opening the door wider. “Come in.”