Chapter 14
Sophie
We tumble back into the apartment, all laughter and hands everywhere. I would have stayed on the roof, but Liam couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else seeing me naked when I tried to shimmy out of my shorts on his lap.
“Besides, I’m thirty-one, Soph,” he’d said, still breathless after coming down from his orgasm. “Give an old man a refractory period.”
I’d thrown my paints back into the art box, and when I looked up, Liam was just staring at my painting.
“I can’t believe you turned all those scattered tubes into this,” he said, staring at the messy, abstract skyline I’d painted almost involuntarily. It had felt like a trance—like the art was channeling through me, not something I was consciously producing.
Finally.
Now, back in the apartment, Liam comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and trails his mouth down the column of my throat.
My whole life has felt calculated—every move part of someone else’s long-term vision. Professors, art critics, Marshall—they all had ideas of what I should become. I needed something I was completely in control of.
I need to get out of my head and just feel. This thing with Liam—it’s the perfect distraction. No stakes, no strings.
“Your body is unreal,” he murmurs into my neck, hands wandering under my hastily buttoned shirt before spinning me in his arms to face him.
“Are you ready, old man?” I laugh.
He huffs. “I was ready the moment I got your perfect tits in my hands.”
“Hey, I know we talked about not sleeping with anyone else, but I’ve been tested and I’m clear,” I say, and Liam pulls back from kissing my neck to look at me.
“The team doctors test us every month,” he explains, tucking a curl behind my ear. “But I haven’t slept with anyone in months, anyway.”
“I still want to use condoms,” I tell him.
“Of course,” he says. “My mom had me at fifteen. Safe sex has been drilled into me since I could talk.”
“Okay, then,” I say.
“Hey,” he wraps a hand around the nape of my neck, but uses his thumb on my jaw to still me. “We don’t have to do this. Consent is a continuous conversation. You can change your mind.”
“Oh, I want to.” That isn’t the problem. It’s that I can’t believe how much I want to, and I worry that might be the problem.
I close the distance between us and press my lips to his.
He tastes like mint, and I can still smell the citrusy body wash from his shower.
I tug at the hem of his shirt, and he lets me pull it off.
I take in the slope of his broad chest, the long line of his shoulder, and each ridge of his abs—a body honed since childhood to perform at an elite level.
I kiss the hard slope of his chest muscle and let my tongue drag across his nipple.
“Fuck,” he lets out, reaching under my shirt to squeeze my breasts. “I need you naked.”
He walks me backwards to the bedroom, undoing the two shirt buttons I managed to close, pushing it off my shoulders. My breath catches, and my breasts feel heavy with want. He gazes down at me like he can’t believe I’m real.
“Wait here,” he says, like there is anywhere else I’d want to be right now.
He returns with a strip of condoms in a gold foil package, and suddenly the thought of him, of his cock, inside me both thrills and terrifies me.
I could barely get my lips around him on the rooftop.
Marshall had been nowhere near his size, and even my most impressive vibrator couldn’t prepare me for what was under Liam’s briefs.
He catches the look on my face, and a soft smile spreads across his lips. He tosses the condoms onto the bed. “We’ll take our time,” he assures. “Can I get you naked?”
I nod and unclasp my bra.
“Fuck, Soph.” Liam moans, almost whines, as my bra drops to the floor. His gaze travels across my body before he bends and pulls a taut nipple into his mouth, twirling his tongue around the stiff bud. He mumbles something that sounds like “uh-huh” before biting down just this side of painful.
“Oh!” I gasp, but arch my hips into him, looking for friction.
He licks the spot he just bit, soothing with his tongue.
His fingers trail down my body to the button of my shorts, and he slides his hands around to knead the curve of my ass, letting my shorts pool on the ground.
I begin to grind when he pulls me against his thigh, and the denim of his jeans rough and perfect against the thin cotton of my panties.
There are sensations everywhere. My skin sparks everywhere he touches me, and yet it’s still not enough.
“Please,” I beg, undoing the button of his jeans and shoving them off his hips. His erection strains against the fabric of his black boxers. I reach for him, but he stills my hand.
“Not yet, I want you to come in my mouth.” He pulls my face to his, kissing me thoroughly before nipping at my lower lip. “I need to taste you.”
He tugs me towards the bed, but lies back against the mattress first. He hooks a hand around my knee, and I realize the position he wants me in.
“Liam, I’ll smother you.” I laugh.
“I can bench press two-eighty as a warm-up, sweetheart, don’t insult me.” He says with a wicked laugh. “Now get over here and sit on my face.”
I can feel the color spread across my cheeks at his words, but I also know I’m already soaked, and he’s barely touched me.
He does this to me. He makes me feel brave and safe and daring, all with just a sly look or a subtle tip of his chin. He makes me want to try, and he makes me want to trust him—and maybe trust myself for the first time in a long time.
I shimmy out of my underwear before kneeling on the bed and swinging my knee over, mounting Liam like a motorcycle.
“That’s perfect, sweetheart,” he says from beneath the spread of my legs, his eyes flicking to the headboard. “Now, hold on.”
I do as I’m told, desperate to have his mouth on me again.
I lean forward to grip the headboard and settle my ass back, and I’m rewarded with his hot mouth on my slick center.
His tongue moves unhurriedly from my entrance to my clit and back down again.
I am so close, just from a few passes, that I have to grip the headboard, knuckles white, and breathe to keep from instantly orgasming.
He licks long and slow and exquisite. And when he slides in a finger, then two, my hips rock against his hand like someone else is pulling the strings, and yet somehow, I’m wildly in control of every sensation.
His long fingers arch inside, and his mouth sucks and flicks me in a way that is so perfect, it’s like he’s done it a million times. He knows exactly how to strum me.
I’m so wet that when he slips a third finger in, I hardly notice until I feel the delightful stretch. “Oh, fuck, yes.”
He huffs out a grunt, vibrating against my heat-slicked core, before thrusting deeper. He curls his fingers, twisting his wrist like he’s unlocking a key, and in so many ways, he is.
He’s teasing and worshiping and stretching me. When I realize he’s preparing my body to take him, I lose it.
“Liam!” I cry out as my orgasm crashes around me. His grip on my hip tightens, and he holds me to his mouth, drawing my orgasm out until my legs begin to shake.
I climb off of him, trying to catch my breath, and he pulls my mouth to his. I can taste myself on his lips, and I want more. My hand dips below the waistband of his boxers to pull out his length.
“I’m ready,” I say, giving him a long, firm stroke. “I want you inside me.”
I take the foil package and roll the condom on. His cock is almost obscene.
“You’re in control, sweetheart,” he says, guiding me back onto his lap. “Take as much or as little as you want. It’s already perfect.”
Nothing about him is little.
I slot his head at my entrance, and my body is thrumming with desire, and my heart is pounding so fast I’m sure he can hear it.
“That’s it, honey, nice and slow,” he praises as I sink inch by inch over his cock. The sweet sting of the stretch causes heat to bloom in my stomach. I know this will be devastating, and I want every second of it.
His hands cup under my ass. He’s letting me control the pace and depth, but he’s bearing all my weight.
“Touch yourself,” he says, and my hand finds my clit like a reflex.
It’s disorienting in the best way—how he takes charge while still making me feel completely in control.
He knows what he wants, but my pleasure is paramount.
I press quick, deliberate circles on the bundle of nerves, and as wet as I thought I was, I’m able to sink a little lower, take more of him, with this new stimulation.
“That’s it, sweetheart, look how well you’re taking me.”
His praise does something molten to my insides, and I pick up my pace.
We begin to climb together, and he alternates between little swears and admiration.
Sweat glistens on my forehead, and my thighs burn, even though Liam is doing most of the work.
He rocks into me. And everything about this is ruinous.
His body moving in mine, the stretch of him, the dig of his fingers into the flesh of my hip.
It’s pure pleasure, the kind you crave again the moment it ends. And I don’t want it to.
“Come for me, sweetheart.”
And I do. Over and over. I cry out, and every nerve ending is sparking like a downed live wire.
There is no way this can be classified as a single orgasm.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, not from pain or discomfort, but from pleasure and deep, satisfying contentment.
Like Liam somehow shattered me and made me whole at the same time.
My pleasure crashes over me again in waves, and soon, Liam is swearing and bucking his hips underneath me, before shuddering inside me.
“Fuck, Soph…Fuck…” he grits out, his fingers dig into my hips, gripping me to him as his desperation rolls through every ragged exhale.
I collapse against his chest, and he gathers me in his arms, our bodies sticky with sweat.
And this is exactly how I want to be undone.