23. Liam
23
LIAM
I wake up to the feeling of my dick buried in something wet, warm, and delicious. My eyes pop open. I’m in my room, in my bed, and… Fuck, that feels so good. I groan loudly and quickly raise my body on my elbows.
It’s Emma. Her beautiful mop of hair frames her face as her mouth moves between my legs. She looks up to see I’m awake, then she smiles and pops off her mouth.
“Good morning.” She smiles sultrily.
“I think the morning just surpassed good, Emma.”
Emma laughs, the sound sending a vibration across my cock and straight through me. “I couldn’t resist when I saw that morning wood,” she whispers, crawling up on top of me. “It’s quite impressive.”
“Not as impressive as you.”
“So, what’s impressive about me?”
Everything. I watch her eyes narrow at me as she stops crawling, setting herself on my hips as she leans forward, each hand by the side of me. I can feel my dick perfectly nestled between her ass crack.
We’ve been at this all night—after she made me orgasm with her mouth in the kitchen, I took her on the table, and then we gathered our clothes and the food and ate naked in bed, then we’d gone about bringing each other pleasure again and again throughout the night.
She matched me every time, just knowing what to do, where to touch, just the right perch or arch to send my mind reeling. At times I wondered if it was just a dream my mind conjured, but it seemed so real, felt so real.
“Say it, Liam.” Her soft, throaty voice cracks through my consciousness, and I look up into her eyes to see a little humorous light. She’s teasing me, and she’s enjoying it. “What’s impressive about me?” She asks.
“Everything.”
I give the thought word this time and sit up to plant a kiss on her lips. She snuggles further into my lap, wrapping her legs around my hips. Her full round breasts press against my naked chest, and I can feel her breath hitch as I stare into her eyes.
“That is the best waking up ever in my life.”
She giggles, then bites on her lower lip. “It’s about to get better. I’m not done yet.”
Her hand reaches down between us, and she positions my cock at her wet vagina lips, lifts her waist slightly, then impales herself on me.
“Oh, my fucking God.”
I’m buried deep inside her. She smiles at me once before wrapping her arms around my neck, rocking her hips in a circular motion that pushes me further inside. I close my eyes, feeling her nibble and kiss along my neck.
“You’re never going to wake up in this bed without remembering me…” Her words are punctuated with slow rotations of her hips that send me near the edge. “...being on top of you,” she moans. “And you deep inside me. Feel that?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
I grit my teeth, trying to keep any sense of control that I can feel slipping out of my fingers. She’s got me. She’s got me bad. She’s in control, and she knows it. I’m absolutely lost in the sensations she’s making me feel, and I know I don’t even want to be found this time. Damn common sense Damn the whole wide world. All I want right now is right here—Emma Cole, doing crazy things to me.
She keeps circling her hips, her teeth nibbling pleasure bites up and down my neck. And then suddenly, she starts to go faster, murmuring words about how she loves me inside her, how I feel so great, and her need for me. She pumps fast, telling me about how hard and big I am and how wet she gets thinking about me.
I try to hold on, to manage the pleasure rippling under my skin, sparking every cell in my body toward exploding with pleasure. But then she shifts closer, bites my earlobe, and whispers, “I’m coming, Liam.”
That was the last straw. I grab one ass cheek with one hand, clenching so hard I know it might leave a bruise on her skin. My other hand pinches a nipple, then grabs her breast, squeezing hard to match each swivel of her hips.
I start to move, pushing my hips up hard and fast to thrust her again and again. She squirms, throws back her head, and calls my name so loudly it would wake my dad if he was home. I immediately follow up by thrusting deep into her again, and her inner walls spasm around me. Her orgasm is so hard and intense that it triggers mine. I bury my face in her neck and groan loudly as I come inside her. She collapses into my arms, sweating and panting and totally exhausted.
I hold her against my chest as she mumbles some words, but when I open my mouth to ask, her breath has evened out and she’s drifted off to sleep. I gently place her on the bed, her hair scattered across the pillow, her naked body eagle-spread as she sleeps. She looks so damn perfect. I plant a kiss on her forehead and gently slip out of bed. I might as well get coffee ready and some breakfast before she wakes up again.
I catch myself in the mirror as I walk across the room, and there’s a wide smile on my face. Something has shifted. I don’t fully know what yet or what would be the effect of this, but there’s no doubt that something has changed.
As I descend to the house’s first floor, I head straight for the kitchen. The morning light streams through the window, casting a warm glow on the countertop. I’m trying to decide what to make for Emma’s breakfast. Glancing around, I take stock of the meager supplies in the cabinets.
There’s not much. Dad must have forgotten to get groceries again. Scrambled eggs are tempting, but Emma deserves something a little more substantial after the emotional and physical rollercoaster she's been on since last night.
My hand lands on a box. Protein pancakes. Perfect. Easy enough, packed with nutritional punch, and most importantly, I won't leave the kitchen a greasy mess. As I start pulling out ingredients, a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. There's something strangely comforting about being here, in this familiar space, making breakfast for her. It feels…domestic.
Humming along to a tune playing in my head, I set out the ingredients, the rhythmic clinking of the bowls a calming counterpoint to the earlier chaos. Just as I'm about to pour the batter, I hear soft footsteps approaching.
Without turning around, I ask, “Is that you, Emma?”
A playful hiss followed by the sound of louder footsteps patterning across the floor confirms my suspicion. “It’s impossible to sneak up on you,” Emma says, wrapping her arms around me from behind. “You must have eyes in the back of your head or something.”
I chuckle, the warmth of her body pressing against mine sending a familiar tingle down my spine. “Nope, just super perceptive hearing…standard military requirement.”
Turning in her embrace, I look down at her. Her hair is a mess of loose curls, and she wears one of my old t-shirts, the oversized fabric hanging loosely on her frame. This is definitely not the Emma I met at her house weeks ago. This Emma is relaxed, funny, and utterly disarming.
“Making breakfast, are we?” she asks, peering over my shoulder at the jumbled mess of ingredients.
“Figured you might be a little ravenous after last night…and this morning,” I reply, a hint of amusement in my voice.
As if on cue, her stomach rumbles loudly, drawing a laugh from both of us. “There it is,” I tease, grabbing a mug and pouring her a cup of coffee.
She pulls out a chair and settles at the counter, the oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder momentarily, offering a glimpse of smooth, sun-kissed skin. I quickly look away, cursing myself for getting flustered. It’s becoming crystal clear to me that no matter how much of this woman I have, I will never have enough.
“Protein pancakes?” she asks, reading the label on the box mix.
“Guilty,” I admit. “They're one of the few things I know how to make quickly that doesn't involve burning something.” I flash her a mock-sheepish grin.
“Well, now I miss your dad. At least with him, I’m guaranteed a well-rounded diet,” she says with a playful jab.
I scoff playfully. “Hey, protein pancakes are not that bad, right? Besides, you can't tell me you wouldn't demolish a plate of these after everything that’s happened since last night.”
She takes a sip of her coffee, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Thank you,” she says softly, her eyes meeting mine. “For standing up for me last night. I… I needed that.”
My heart skips a beat. Seeing her vulnerable like this is both disarming and strangely endearing. “Hey,” I reach out to take her hand, “don't even sweat it. No one messes with the people I care about.”
The words tumble out before I can stop them, and a flicker of surprise crosses her features.
She squeezes my hand back, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “Well, thank you for caring,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
For a moment, we’re both in comfortable silence, the only sound the rhythmic sizzle of the batter hitting the hot pan. She looks up at me, her eyes shining with gratitude. Seeing her wearing my shirt again today fills me with a rush of emotion. I notice how comfortable she seems in it. The sight of it hanging loosely on her frame and the hem just skimming her thighs does something strange to my pulse.
Her relaxed and happy demeanor makes me realize I could get used to this—waking up in the morning to make her breakfast, joking with her in the kitchen…
“Get a grip,” I mutter to myself more than her, the sudden realization making me break eye contact.
The clink of the spatula against the pan brings me back to the present. I flip the pancakes, the delicious aroma filling the air.
Setting the table quickly, I ask, “So, what are your plans for the day?”
“Just errands and maybe catching up on some work,” she replies, taking a bite of the pancake I offer her. “You?”
“Stuck at the hospital until the dress rehearsal for June and Damon's wedding later,” I reply, my voice laced with a hint of boredom.
“That’s true.” Emma nods. “I'll be glad to see you then.”
The unspoken promise in her voice sends a wave of warmth through me. We eat breakfast in comfortable silence. There’s now a sense of easy companionship whenever we’re together. Midway through breakfast, Emma's phone buzzes on the counter. She picks it up, a frown creasing her forehead as she reads the message.
“Everything alright?” I ask, dropping my fork.
“Oh,” she says, her voice a touch flustered. “It's June. I completely forgot I'm supposed to meet her for dress fittings.”
She glances at the clock on the wall. “Shoot, I'm already running late.” She dashes upstairs to change. I stay in the kitchen, realizing how much I’ll miss her.
She comes back down, fully dressed and ready to go. She grabs a half-eaten pancake, taking a quick bite. “I gotta get going. Thanks again for breakfast, Liam. It was…delicious.”
“Do you need a lift?” I ask, hoping she’ll say yes.
She shakes her head, already halfway out the door. “No, I don't want to hold you up. Besides, June might need me to pick something up on the way.”
Before I can protest, she dashes past me, grabbing her purse and keys on the way. “Maybe I'll see you tonight?” she calls over her shoulder.
“Absolutely,” I reply, the disappointment at her sudden departure settling in my stomach. “I'll be at the rehearsal dinner.”
“Alright,” I concede, wanting to argue but knowing better. “Be safe.”
She blows me a kiss and disappears out the door, leaving me with the lingering scent of her perfume and the echo of her laughter.
A wave of unexpected loneliness washes over me. It’s ridiculous, I think, feeling this way after just one night. But something about Emma has gotten under my skin. Her vulnerability, her strength, her humor—it all combines to create a package that is completely captivating.
The silence in the now-empty kitchen feels deafening. I busy myself with clearing the table, the mundane task a welcome distraction from the jumbled emotions churning inside me.
Later that morning, as I scrub my hands in the hospital's sterile sink, Grace, one of the nurses, chirps a greeting.
“Looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today, Dr. Miller,” she remarks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Must be a good day.”
I glance up, surprised at how easily a smile finds its way onto my face. “Just feels good to be here, Grace,” I admit, the words surprisingly true. “Anything particularly interesting happen overnight?”
She launches into her usual morning update, reading from her notes in a staccato rhythm. But as she speaks, my mind drifts back to Emma. There’s no denying it—something has shifted between us. The question is, what does it all mean? To me, to her?
The day stretches on in a blur of patients, charts, and consultations. But all the while, a tiny part of me keeps waiting for another text, another call, anything that might bridge the physical distance between us.
Throughout the day, I catch myself thinking about her—how she laughed this morning, the way she looked at me, the warmth of her embrace. Every little detail brings a smile to my face. I realize that whatever happens, I’m in too deep to turn back now. This is something I need to figure out, not just for myself, but for Emma too.