Chapter 26 #2
“Which proves I can do it again.” He cups my neck, and this time, his mouth devours mine.
My head spins from his hesitant introduction to his sanctuary, from his apology, from his ministration.
The kiss deepens. He’s claiming me, in the most desperate and equally confident way. He devours me like I’m his oxygen, his next breath, and his last exhale.
Essential. Critical. Vital.
His.
“Thank you,” he says when we come up for air.
“For what?” I wrap my legs around his waist to keep him close.
“For considering the car.” The reverence in his eyes is breath-stealing. If I didn’t grow up in my grandpa’s garage, I would not understand what he sees in my gesture.
“Maybe we can fuck on the workbench?” I bite my lip.
“Will you accept the partnership?”
I sigh, my palms feeling the metal beneath me, but the chaos in my chest remains strong. “You know how to kill the mood.”
He steps closer, his knees nudging between mine. He pinches my chin, tilting my face up, leaving me no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Okay, let me put it this way”—his voice is low and steady—“you will accept the partnership. You would have three months ago, and nothing has changed.”
Except everything has.
“I’m pissed at Corm for making me compete,” I say, sounding like a petulant child even to myself.
“So get over it.”
There is no cruelty in his words. He’s just naming things as they are. Not giving me special treatment. Pushing me, like I’m his equal.
“You’re not giving up your dream on my account,” he adds.
The force behind his words lands somewhere deep, disarming.
He isn’t posturing. He isn’t trying to steer me. He’s standing behind me.
Solid.
Unyielding.
My throat tightens. God help me, I love how fiercely he believes in me.
I wish things were this easy.
“Liam,” I say, softer now, my fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt. Finally, I understand the hint of gas in his scent. “I need to consider the baby. Becoming a partner is a responsibility, and I don’t think they’d even go for it once they find out I’m pregnant.”
“Bullshit.” His hands slide to my shoulders as if he wants to shake me, but he just squeezes. “That has nothing to do with what you deserve.”
“I don’t think Corm will see it that way.”
A corner of his mouth lifts, slow and knowing. “I’m sure my girl has some information that would help her explain to him what actually matters.”
My girl.
The words hit harder than the kiss did. My pulse stutters, heat pooling low in my belly despite my better judgment. Jesus.
I narrow my eyes, trying to look unimpressed. “Liam Stone, are you trying to seduce me with blackmail talk?”
He tilts his head, somehow closer to me than before. “Is it working?”
I want to lie and resist. But who am I kidding?
“I won’t let you ruin this car. Take me to that workbench behind us.” I bite my lip.
“Fuck. I’ve never wanted you more,” he growls, and I squeal as he lifts me and eats the short distance.
Depositing me on the edge, he swipes everything from the wooden surface.
“I will respect the shit out of your car if that gets you this willing.” I laugh.
He squeezes the back of my neck and pulls me closer, resting his forehead on mine. “My willingness to own this pussy”—he cups me roughly between my legs—“has never been in question.”
Maybe the betrayal was needed, so we both understand the real value of this thing between us.
Or the baby rewrote part of our story despite ourselves. But right now, at this moment, I believe this man is the right man for me.
Believing it doesn’t mean I’m less scared to take the leap. I thought I was strong and independent. It turns out that, in this particular case, I would rather take the safe way out.
But safe doesn’t mean less painful.
“Own my pussy? I thought I was the worst possession ever.” I wrap my legs around his waist, clawing at his T-shirt, desperate to finally feel him under my fingertips.
Again, things between us are less than resolved, but our bodies communicate like they were born for each other.
“And yet…” He squeezes the back of my neck. “The only one worth having.”
He captures my lips, and thank God for that, because I don’t have time to analyze the depth of his declaration.
The kiss is searing. It’s the explosion I’m used to with him, but it also has a new level of worship.
Reverence.
Commitment.
And I succumb to it. I might fight it with all my might, but this man is my ruin. Any other scenario is a ridiculous delusion.
“Then fuck me, finally,” I challenge, ignoring the fact that this relationship has gone past the physical, and I don’t even know when.
“Take off my shirt,” Liam groans into my mouth, and yanks at my bra. My breasts spill out, and he immediately wraps his lips around one nipple.
I arch, and whimper, and giggle, and lose my mind. “I don’t think you know how undressing works. Lift your arms, for fuck’s sake.”
He obeys, but his mouth stays on my breast. “I think they are already bigger.” He weighs my left tit in his palm. “I love it.”
His actions and words are lewd, but the awe behind them is undeniable. This is the father of my child. And he seems to marvel at the fact.
I wish we could just be that couple. That things were that simple.
“I need to feel you,” I complain, and he finally steps back a little so I can tug his shirt off.
My hands immediately roam his chest, his abs, his shoulders. The man is a work of art. He undoes his jeans and lifts my skirt before he rips off my underwear.
I don’t even protest; the sooner I feel him inside me, the better. Who cares about a scrap of cotton?
“Be a good girl and guide me in, Thunder. Take my cock and slide it inside your greedy pussy. Show me how much you need it.”
I pull at the waistband of his briefs. His erection springs free, already coated with precum. I wrap my hand around it, and we both moan.
“You need it as much as I do,” I pant.
Liam scoops me under my ass and pulls me to the edge, practically holding me in the air. “Yes. But I’m done pretending it’s not true.”
Oh. My. Poor. Heart.
I line him up at my entrance and dig my heals into his ass to pull him closer. He thrusts forward, and we both still, watching where we are connected.
When our gazes meet I almost look away, because I swear he is communicating with my soul.
“Hold on, Thunder,” he growls. “And eyes on me. The. Whole. Fucking. Time.”