Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
LIAM
I swallow hard. This is where she finds out that I’m a piece of shit.
And even though she’s being vulnerable in front of me I just can’t reciprocate.
So I give her the sanitized version. “Because I don’t want to hurt anybody.
Or be hurt. And no relationship lasts. Watching my dad go through life like a bulldozer taught me that. ”
She pulls her lip between her teeth. “So you’d rather be alone? Isn’t that sad?”
The sauce is almost boiling. I switch it to low and grab another pan to heat up the water. It’s good to have something to do while we have this conversation because I’m so tempted to walk over to her. To pull her against me and shut out this feeling.
The painful emotions I’ve spent most of my adult life avoiding.
“I don’t mind being alone. I have a good life,” I say lightly, taking the fresh pasta I bought from the farmer’s market today from the pack.
“Of course you mind being alone. We all mind being alone. We’re social creatures. We were built to fall in love, to have families, to build relationships.”
“But if you know you’re shit at something, sometimes it’s better to avoid it altogether.”
“You’re not shit at sex,” she tells me.
“How would you know?” I ask, my voice low.
“Because you do it a lot.”
I laugh. “Not as much as you might think.” The water has begun boiling and I slide the pasta inside, then grab some plates and silverware. “Can you lay those out?” I ask her, passing her the fork and spoon. “We’ll eat in here if that’s okay with you.”
“That works.”
The oven beeps and I pull out the bread, slicing it on a board before sliding it over. I test a piece of pasta and it’s perfect, so I drain the pot and add it to the sauce, stirring it lightly to make sure it’s all coated.
And when I plate it up, I’m satisfied. The sauce is made of roasted peppers and tomatoes, with some nduja sausage cooked and chopped into tiny pieces. It has a zing to eat, but it’s also hugely aromatic. When I pass Sophie her plate, her eyes widen and I like the way she looks surprised.
“You made this from scratch?” she asks me.
“Yep.”
She forks a piece of pasta and lifts it to her lips, sliding it inside. Her eyes widen as she swallows, then forks up a second then a third.
“This is so good,” she tells me between bites. Within five minutes the whole thing is gone. And I think I might have found the perfect woman.
After dinner I pour her another glass of wine – drinking water for myself because I’ll need to drive her home – and we slump on the overstuffed sofa in the living room.
I pick up the remote and cue up the next episode of Grey’s, and Sophie kind of nestles against me.
I find myself putting my arm around her so we can both feel comfortable.
Her head rests against my shoulder and I smell the shampoo she uses. It’s flowery and sweet. There’s a tendril falling against my hand and I rub it between my fingers.
“This is nice,” she murmurs, as Derek tiptoes out of Meredith’s house.
Yeah it is. Real nice. And then a memory hits me. Of the morning after I didn’t sleep with Sophie. The one that kind of changed everything between us. I’d been standing naked in front of her, she was wrapped in a towel. And she’d said something that hit me to the core.
“Hey,” I say. “If we didn’t sleep together why did you tell me I didn’t make you come?” I ask her.
She lifts her head to look up at me surprised. “Well you didn’t,” she says. “That bit wasn’t a lie.”
“But I would’ve. If I’d have had sex with you.”
She shakes her head but says nothing.
“What?” I ask, a little offended. “I would have. A gentleman always makes sure a lady comes first.”
“Yeah, well sisters do it for themselves these days. A guy has never made me orgasm, not without me helping him.”
“What?” I frown. “That can’t be true.” Can it? How the hell didn’t her previous boyfriends knock themselves out to make her happy? Jesus, I’d be burying my face between her legs until she was screaming my name.
“Of course it is,” she says, looking almost prim except for the dirty words coming out of her mouth. “Men seem to think that women should be multi orgasmic. But the fact is it takes a lot of work.”
“I know that,” I say. “But it’s the kind of work a guy should love. Nothing’s better than seeing a woman lose herself to pleasure.”
“Maybe they’re faking,” she says, smirking.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “It’s easy to tell if they are.”
She shifts in my arms, but I don’t release her. I like the contact too much. “Have you seen When Harry Met Sally?” she asks me. “That’s how easy it is for a woman to fake it.”
“Nah,” I say. “A man can feel when a woman comes. There are tells. Not just the clenching, though that’s fucking delicious. You guys get all blushed and breathless. And then sleepy.”
She pulls her lip between her teeth. She’s looking a little flushed right now. “I’ve never met a guy I haven’t had to help along with my own fingers.”
“You’ve met me,” I say. I look into her eyes and see how interested she is. With one arm still around her, I use the other to caress her face, cupping it softly as I tip her head until we’re so close I can feel her breath.
“Never let a man treat you as anything but a princess,” I tell her, my voice rough. “You deserve so much more than what you’ve been given.”
Her lips part but she doesn’t say anything. Just sighs softly. She’s all soft and pliant in my arms. The television flickers in the background but this woman has all my attention.
Her lips part as she stares at me. “What do you do to make sure a woman’s always satisfied?”
My lip quirks. “It’s not exactly rocket science. Kiss them. Touch them. Work out what parts of their bodies react when I give them my attention.”
“Like her breasts?” Her eyes are a little glassy. Her breath is faster. She’s turned on and so am I.
“Sometimes,” I say. “But not always. Every woman has different erogenous zones.”
“What if you can’t find their zones?” Her brows knit.
“I always find them,” I tell her. “They’re always there.”
“Show me,” she whispers.
I blink. “What?”
“Show me how you find them.”
I’m stupidly hard. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anything sexier in my life. “You want me to touch you?” I whisper.
She nods.
“What if I end up making you come?” I ask, my dick twitching at the thought.
Her face flushes.
Christ, I want her.
“I’d be okay with that,” she whispers.
My lip quirks. “Yeah. I would, too.” I run my thumb along her bottom lip then push it inside. Her eyes widen but she sucks and damn if her tongue doesn’t flutter against me.
It doesn’t take much imagination to picture her doing that to my cock. My heart slams against my chest.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask, because kissing is so underrated when it comes to arousal. That’s why most porn is crap. Too much anatomy and not enough sensuality. The way to a woman’s pleasure begins at the mouth.
“Yes,” she whispers, and a thrill rushes through me. I want nothing more than to taste this woman.
To show her exactly how easily she can come with the right guy.
Still cupping her jaw, I move her in my arms until she’s almost sitting on my lap.
I spread my legs so she can fit between them, then press my lips against her ear.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” I whisper, truth shining in every word.
“Every inch of you is perfect.” I slide my hand down her neck, over her shoulder, trailing my fingers down her side.
She squirms against my cock and it feels amazing.
I kiss her ear, then her throat, before turning her head so my lips are a breath away from hers.
Her back is against my chest, her head angled perfectly, her chest rising and falling rapidly as I slide my arm around her waist.
“Such pretty lips,” I whisper, because orgasms need communication, too. “I want them around my cock sometime.”
Her breath hitches. “I want that, too.”
“But not tonight,” I tell her. “Tonight’s all about you.” I glance down at her mouth. Her bottom lip is trembling. She’s ready for me. Like a peach about to fall from the tree. I slide my hand inside her shirt, my rough fingers touching her smooth, warm skin, and she gasps softly.
And then I kiss her. Softly at first, my thumb caressing her jaw, my other hand stroking her stomach.
Her mouth is warm and welcoming, opening up to let me in, and I slide my tongue against hers until she lets out a moan.
Her breath is coming in gasps, and I haven’t even touched her where it counts.
Oh the things I want to do to her. They’re messing with my brain. I slide my hand up further, my fingers feathering the curve of her breasts and she gasps into my mouth.
Christ she’s responsive. What kind of idiots haven’t wanted her pleasure? Haven’t taken the time to learn exactly what gets her off? I tighten my grip on her jaw and she kisses me back enthusiastically.
“This okay?” I ask her, because consent is everything.
“More than okay,” she says, lifting her arm behind her to slide her fingers into my hair. Her nails scratch my scalp and pleasure suffuses me.
My girl likes a little power play? Okay then, bring it on.
I lift her off my lap and lay her back onto the sofa, my eyes feasting on her perfect body as I pull back from her. She’s still wearing her shoes – uncomfortable looking heels with a strap that circles her ankles. Hot as fuck, especially if they were wrapped around my hips, but I want her to relax.
So I unfasten them and slide them off. Her feet flex and I rub my thumbs against them, smoothing away the tension in her muscles. Then I move my hands up, savoring the feel of her legs, taking my time to smooth my thumbs against every inch of her, until I reach the back of her knees.
And she starts to laugh. “That tickles.”
I grin because I love her laugh. “It does?” I ask her. “How ticklish are you?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Pretty ticklish. But don’t go there, I hate being tickled.”
“Noted.” I nod, filing that information away for another day. Because there’s nothing I want more than to hear her scream with laughter.
The same way I want to make her scream my name in pleasure tonight.
I push the hem of her skirt up until it’s wrinkled over her thighs, and massage my way up her legs. I want her to get used to my touch. To relax under it.
To not be afraid of me.
I want her to welcome me. To beg me. I want her to need this the way I do. And from the way she’s looking at me, her eyes hooded, her lips swollen, I think she does.
Fuck I hope she does.
“Can I take off your blouse?” I ask her. She nods, her gaze never leaving mine. There’s something more than desire there. Something deeper.
It’s trust. She trusts me to make her feel good. And it makes my heart do a weird clenching thing.
Releasing her thighs, I lean over her, kissing her softly. “You’re doing so well,” I tell her, and she practically beams at me.
She likes being praised? That’s hot as hell. “Such a good girl,” I tell her and she moans. I kiss her hard because I can’t not kiss her.
I need to.
Like I need oxygen.
Her hands wrap around my neck as she kisses me back, her mouth demanding and needy. I slowly edge her top up her body a little at a time as we kiss, then gently tug it off to reveal her smooth stomach and perfect breasts behind a lacy half cup bra.
I kiss her throat and her chest, then the swell of her breasts. She watches me silently as I move my mouth to her nipple, sucking at it through the lace.
“Oh!”
I suck harder and she arches her back. I slide my hand behind her but don’t stop my ministrations to her perfect tits.
Nudging her bra cup down, I make contact with her bare nipple, scraping my teeth across it before lashing it with my tongue. Her fingers tangle in my hair as I do the same to her other nipple. I’m an equal opportunities kind of guy. And I’m quickly becoming addicted to the taste of her skin.
I reach around her back with my other hand, releasing her bra and sliding it down her shoulders. She has to lift her body up from the sofa to help me, her stomach tense and her back arched. I throw it to the side and kiss my way down her stomach.
Her legs part before I can even reach the waistband, her skirt hitching up until it’s covering nothing. Her panties are lace, too, matching the bra I discarded.
“Do you wear lingerie every time you present the weather?” I ask her.
“Yes. I like pretty underwear.”
I file that little piece of information away in my head, too. “I’m going to get a hard on every time I watch you talk about cumulostratus or whatever it is,” I tell her, sliding my hand up her thigh. My fingers graze her panties and damn, they’re wet.
“That for me?” I say, sliding my fingers along them.
“Yes,” she breathes.
And I can’t help it. I need to inhale her in. So I push her skirt up over her hips and slide my cheeks along her thighs until my nose hits her.
She smells perfect. I’m so hard it hurts. And because I’m an impatient motherfucker I don’t bother pulling them off, I just push them to the side and slide my tongue along the neediest part of her.
“Liam!” she squeaks. I smile against her and lick again. She almost bucks off the sofa. I lift one hand up to steady her stomach as I carry on worshipping her core.
I slide two fingers from my other hand inside her, capturing her clit between my teeth, sucking and licking this perfect woman until I feel her tightening around me.
Her breath is escaping in huffs, her fingers coiled into my hair, her hips moving as much as she can to the rhythm of my sucking while my hand holds her down.
“Oh, OH!”
I lift my head up and she blinks at the sudden lack of contact.
“You pretending now?” I ask her hoarsely.
“No.” She shakes her head rapidly. “Please don’t stop. I’m so close.”
Yeah, I know she is. Her flushed face and wide eyes make me feel like some kind of God.
Then I dip my head back down, revelling in the essence of this perfect woman, and twist my fingers until I know she’s at the edge.
Her thighs tighten around my head, her nails scrape my scalp, her aching cries fill the room.
And then she lifts her back off the sofa and lets out a long, high-pitched cry. “Liam…”
And fuck if I’m not almost coming, too. I try to commit this moment to memory because I’ll need to jerk off furiously to it later.
I need to remember how she smells, how she tastes. How she feels when she abandons herself to pleasure. I need to commit everything to memory because my life has never felt more perfect than it does right now, buried in this woman.
But I, more than most, should know that something this perfect never lasts.