Chapter 37
PEYTON
I squeal as Liam scoops me up from the floor.
The blanket slips from my shoulders, puddling beside the dying embers of the fire as he carries me toward the stairs.
I loop my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in the soft hair at his nape, and press my face against his throat to hide my giddy smile.
His skin has its usual deliciously spicy scent, with a hint of woodsmoke added in from the fireplace.
When we get to the bedroom, he doesn’t drop me on the bed like I expect. He carries me through to the bathroom, where he lowers me to my feet in front of the wide mirror above the double sinks.
I frown up at him. “What are we doing in the bathroom?”
Liam flips me around, keeping behind me as our eyes meet in the mirror. “I thought you would want help with your hair after we deal with the dress.”
The buttons on this one aren’t even fake; they don’t hide a convenient zipper underneath. The stylist had to button them up one by one, and now Liam is about to reverse that process.
“May I?” His hands slide from my upper arms to between my shoulder blades.
I nod.
Our gazes stay locked in the mirror as his fingers find the first pearl button along the ridge of my spine.
It comes free with a soft snap.
But I feel that understated pop like a whiplash across my back. I might finally get what the Fifty Shades hype was about.
Liam undoes the second button.
I can’t tear my gaze from his reflection. Having him stand behind me while still being able to look into his eyes is the most sensual position I’ve ever experienced.
“Am I about to discover all your tattoos?” he asks.
I smile. “How long have you been obsessing about it?”
He leans forward and bites my earlobe. “From the moment you mentioned having them.”
“I—I—” It’s hard to form words with him in full seduction mode. “I only have one, and you’re on the right side to see it.”
“Oh, yeah?” Another button gives way. Then another.
With each one that pops free, the bodice loosens its grip on my ribs. I can breathe deeper, fuller. But a different pressure builds low in my belly—a tightening, an ache, a need that makes my breath shallow despite the increased room to expand my lungs.
“You okay?” Liam asks, his fingers pausing halfway down my spine.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
His lips curve into a smug smirk, and he continues his methodical work, releasing each button with the same torturous patience. When he reaches the last one, the dress hangs from my shoulders, still supported by tulle straps, with the back gaping open.
Liam trails a knuckle down the exposed line of my spine.
I shiver despite the warmth building in my belly.
Then he eases the straps off my shoulders.
I watch in the mirror as his gaze lowers, and he sees the butterfly inked on the back of my hip.
He sinks to his knees behind me, hands on my waist, and drops a kiss on its wing, then the other.
“It is criminal that you haven’t let me see this until now.”
“You… err, like it?”
He trails kisses up the side of my back until he reaches my shoulder. “I love it.”
He leans forward.
“Better?” he asks against my neck.
I don’t even know how to answer. Yes, I can breathe better now, mostly, but my entire body is fizzing.
Liam hugs me from behind, closing his arms over that pulse in my core. I lean back into his embrace, my head falling against his chest, giving him better access to my neck.
He takes the invitation. His mouth traces a burning path up the side of my throat, leaving no inch of skin untouched. When he reaches my ear, he captures the lobe between his teeth, nipping again before soothing the sting with his tongue.
“Time for the hair,” he whispers.
His hands work with surprising gentleness, plucking the roses free, then the pins.
He runs his fingers through every freed lock.
I don’t know if I’m actually trembling, or if it is in my head as I watch him through the mirror.
He is undoing me piece by piece; it’s not just my hair that’s coming loose.
My entire body turns to jelly under his touch.
When he’s freed the back of my head, he gently spins me to face him and lifts me onto the bathroom counter.
The top of the dress collapses forward, but the skirt still hangs from my hips.
He nudges my knees apart with his thigh and drags my skirts up to step between my legs.
It’s just a shadow of a touch along my thighs, but whatever was left of my spine melts for good, and the internal pressure in my body mounts.
Unconcerned with the extremely sexual position, he works at the sides of my head, removing the remaining roses and pins. I can’t keep my hands to myself any longer. I slip them under his sweater, finding warm skin. I scrape my nails down his lower back, and he freezes.
“Are you trying to distract me?” His voice is rough around the edges.
“Is it working?” I tease, repeating the motion.
Liam abandons the remaining roses forming the crown on top of my head and crushes his mouth to mine. The kiss is less controlled than before, as if he can’t help himself. And I’m the one doing this to him, the one unraveling him. That I have this power over him makes me dizzy.
My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer until the hard ridges of him press against me. But too many layers of fabric are still in the way. I want to rip them off both of us.
“You have too many clothes on,” I whimper.
Liam steps back, grabs the hem of his sweater, and pulls it over his head along with the T-shirt underneath in one smooth motion.
My breath catches. I’ve seen Liam shirtless before—not nearly enough—but never breathing hard and looking at me like he’s waiting for permission to lose control.
I hop off the counter and shimmy the dress down my body, stepping out of it as it pools at my feet. Bold as never before, I stand before him in nothing but my underwear—the fancy, lacy set that came with the bridal attire.
Liam’s gaze travels over me, hot and heavy. A muscle jumps in his jaw as he takes me in, and the naked hunger in his eyes makes my toes curl against the cool tile floor.
“You’re stunning,” he says, his voice a reverent whisper.
The muscles in his shoulders and arms shift as he braces his hands against the countertop on either side of my hips, leaning in to capture my mouth again.
Mid-kiss, Liam scoops me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me into the bedroom, this time heading straight for the bed. He sits on the edge, keeping me in his lap as I straddle his thighs.
His hands slide up my back, tracing patterns on my skin that leave searing trails. When they reach my face, he cups my cheeks, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones with a tenderness that’s hard to bear.
He doesn’t kiss me again. Liam slows down. He stares at me with an expression so full, so intense, that it steals my breath. Desire laces his gaze, yes—a banked fire ready to roar to but also a deeper, more terrifying emotion.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.
He kisses me again, but gentler. His lips move against mine with a new reverence. When he lays me onto the bed, the motion is almost delicate, as if he’s afraid he might break me.
We kiss as he hovers over me, my legs still wrapped around his waist, his weight braced on his forearms beside my head. My hands roam his back, the smooth planes of muscle flexing beneath my touch.
I slide my palms down his sides, find his belt, and unbuckle it. Together, we push his jeans down his legs until he can kick them off, leaving him in just his boxer briefs.
Now that we’re both down to our underwear, he pauses above me. The playfulness from earlier is gone from his eyes, replaced by a naked vulnerability that knocks the air from my lungs.
“Be gentle with me,” he murmurs. “It’s my first time.”
I laugh, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. “What, your first time having sex? I don’t believe you.”
But Liam doesn’t join in my laughter. His expression remains solemn. “It’s my first time making love to someone.”
The words explode inside me, fracturing into a thousand glittering pieces that reassemble into a truth I can’t deny. I cup his cheek, cherishing the rough stubble against my palm.
“I love you, too,” I whisper.
His face lights up, breaking into a smile that’s blinding in its happiness.
“I love you,” Liam whispers before kissing me. Before showing me—with his eyes, his mouth, his hands, his entire body—that nothing about us is fake anymore. Not our marriage, not our connection, not this union of hearts and bodies and souls.
We draw together with sighs and whispers, learning each other’s rhythms, discovering the places that make us gasp and arch and tremble.
And when we finally join completely, it truly feels like coming home, like finding someone I didn’t know I was looking for until I stumbled into an unknown town on a dark and stormy night.