Chapter 20
POV: Liam?
“Maeve, wait!” I broke out into a jog as I scurried towards her.
Yes, I said scurry.
That’s how much I wanted to catch up to her. I couldn’t leave things as is, not again.
Maeve instead kept walking down the sidewalk, then around the corner.
I followed a few feet behind her, wondering if I should grab her hand and stop her or if I should just wait until she was ready to speak to me.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that then I’d be waiting forever. Maeve was stubborn.
I caught up to her and tugged her hand, causing her to face me. “What, Liam? I just—”
I cut her off. “I’m sorry about what Caitlin said.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?”
I let out a heavy breath.
She was right. It was.
I nodded.
Maeve looked as if she expected it but instead she shook her head, forcing her gaze away from mine. “All of the women, even your own sister says the same thing, I was just hoping…I don’t know what I was hoping,” she laughed but there was no humor to it. She looked just as conflicted as I was.
“Your hopes are right. I care about you,” I said softly.
“Do you?” she looked at me as if she was searching for the truth in my eyes.
We stood there, staring at each other and people walked by us, but the only thing I saw there was her. And it fucking terrified me.
“I do. And I’ve been fucked up for some time, ever since Cara…” I trailed off, looking down at the cement. I drew my gaze back up to hers. “Since Cara died in the car crash. My fiancee.”
Maeve’s gaze softened. “I didn’t know…”
“You wouldn’t have, I refrain from talking about it as much as I possibly can.”
“I can see why,” Maeve said softly.
“Caitlin thinks I’m broken, so she’s trying to warn you.”
“We all are broken, Liam.”
I smiled as I looked at her with her hand still in mine.
“I just don’t do commitment. I haven’t in some time.”
The admission was true. Though a part of me wanted to, for her.
“I’m confused, Liam.”
My brow furrowed. “So am I.”
“It seems that neither of us know what we want,” I smiled, though it wasn’t a serious one, my smile was just as confused as I was.
She nodded. “Well, I am halfway to my cottage.”
Just as I thought she would walk away, leaving me with my confused thoughts, and the want and need to smooth things over with her, something I hadn’t wanted since Cara, she surprised me.
“Care to join me?”
I thought about the pub, leaving it in the hands of Caitlin but eventually nodded.
Caitlin could comp the bar a few rounds for all I care, I knew that going back home with Maeve was exactly where I needed to be right now.
We walked in silence, the tension between us not easily put into words.
When the cottage door finally closed between us, Maeve was inches away from my face, tugging me by the collar of my shirt and pulling my neck towards her.
“Maeve,” I breathed, half exhilarated and half startled by her sudden embrace.
“Liam,” she countered. “Don’t ruin this. Please god, don’t.”
I didn’t deny her request.
Instead I agreed to it, pressing my lips into hers, and slipping my tongue into her mouth.
I didn’t come back here to fuck her, but I couldn’t stop myself once it started.
Clothing fell to the floor and suddenly her bare ass was on the handmade wooden table from an old Irish cottage, her legs straddling my waist, and my cock deep inside her.
My strokes weren’t slow, they weren’t torturing, they were fast and feverish.
I fucked her like I meant it—with a passion so intense, and a need so evident, that our moans tangled together with each thrust.
And the best part was that I looked at her while I did. Each thrust brought about passion, and the perfect position to see her eyes roll.
“You’re so—-” I thrusted, letting out a breath.
“Confusing,” she finished in between a loud moan. “And—” she whimpered. “You are too.”
I grunted as I pounded into her again, this time causing her to groan instead of whimper.
My thumb found its way to her clit, as I massaged her clit as I thrusted again inside her. Her legs coiled tighter around my waist and within minutes, I slipped inside her, pushing further into her and stilling as I slumped my chin over her shoulder.
“Feral,” I whispered into her ear. “We’re both like feral dogs.”
“Feral dogs,” she laughed quietly. “That’ll be a great description for a scene in my book.”
“You’re writing about me in your book, aren’t you?” I nipped at her ear, still inside her, going limp.
“An author never gives away her secrets,” she giggled.
I slipped outside of her, and for a moment both of us just stared into one another’s eyes. Neither of us knew what the other wanted. We were both confused. We didn’t know if we wanted commitment—we didn’t know if we could handle it—but we both knew we wanted each other.
“Oh the secrets in your head,” I whispered.
She jumped to her feet and brushed past me. “You should be getting back to your pub, shouldn’t you?” she called out from a distance.
I didn’t want to.
But neither of us wanted to define what we were doing here, though both of us were certain of one thing—we were addicted to each other and in turn, we belonged to each other, though we’d never admit it out loud.