4. Liam #2
Suddenly, I could make sense of her. The sharp edges. The way she pushed first and softened later. The way she held control so tightly until she chose, very deliberately, to loosen it. It was management. A way of moving through the world without giving more than she could afford to lose.
“The only real friends I have right now are the women upstairs,” she went on. “This weekend is the first time we’re really spending any time together. In person, at least. We bonded remotely through mutual professional suffering.”
“That counts,” I said.
She shifted, water sloshing softly against the stone. Our legs brushed, sparks shooting over my skin at the small contact. I didn’t pull away.
“I don’t plan on coming back here any time soon,” she added. “So, you should be safe from having to be called.”
“I’m not worried about it,” I said.
She gave a measured look.
“I understand complicated families.” It was true, and for some reason, I needed her to know it.
Before I could think better of it, I reached out and brushed the hair out of her face. My fingers skimmed her temple as I tucked the strand behind her ear. She didn’t flinch. Our legs pressed together.
She swallowed, then her lips parted.
“You want to compare notes?” she asked.
“Only if you do.”
She nodded. “My father wasn’t in the picture. My mother is very much in it. Too much. I’m learning to manage.”
I nodded. “I learned to leave.”
She watched me, her gaze piercing. “That sounds like a story.”
“It is.” I rested my hands back on my knees and kept them there.
“My pack is small. Hierarchical. My parents married for reasons that had nothing to do with liking each other. When I came of age, it turned out I was an alpha. That meant lessons, training, preparation. I had to be serious and in control. Which meant no swimming, no playing. No joy. No love.”
She huffed. “That sounds terrible.”
“It was,” I said. “So, I ran.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
She fell quiet, drawing one knee to her chest and hugging it.
“That sounds like some impressive boundary setting,” she said at last.
“I guess you could put it that way.”
We sat there, close enough that I could feel the heat from her skin as the water warmed her body. I forced my attention to her face and nowhere else.
The humor had fallen away, revealing something deeper. Her mouth softened first, then her posture changed, slowly and deliberately, like she had made a decision and was giving me time to catch up.
She leaned in close enough that every instinct I had started lining up and asking permission. Yet I stayed where I was. I didn’t move to meet her. I needed to know this was her choice, not momentum.
Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then flicked back to my eyes. A strand of blue brushed my jaw.
The space between us shrank, becoming charged until it felt like one wrong move would either snap it or ignite it. Her knee pressed more firmly into my thigh. She didn’t apologize or pretend it was an accident.
My heart beat faster. I locked my jaw and kept still.
Our mouths hovered so close that I could count the seconds it would take to close the distance. One. Two. I waited for her to stop. She didn’t.
I lifted a hand between us and said, “Hold on.” The words landed with more weight than I intended.
Her brows shot up, her eyes flashing with annoyance and curiosity.
I kept my palm between us, not touching her, but needing to pause the moment without breaking it. “I need to make sure that this is you. Not the alcohol or the circumstances. Just you.”
She searched my face, then her mouth curved into a lazy smile. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I think you do,” I said. “I need to be sure.”
She leaned in another inch. “Ask me something,” she whispered. “Test me.”
I smiled despite myself, tension pulling tight through my shoulders. “Are you serious?”
“Painfully,” she said. “Go on.”
I didn’t drop my hand or move closer.
“Tell me the number,” I said. No way she would have memorized my phone number, but if she had, that would be one way of guaranteeing her capacity for consent.
Her lips curled in pleasure. “From the card?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t look away. She recited it cleanly. When she finished, she added, lightly, “And you used a font with open fours. Most people don’t. I approve.”
I gaped at her. “How did you do that?”
She shrugged, like it hadn’t been impressive enough to merit commentary. “Photographic memory. If I see something clearly, it sticks.” She let out a dry laugh. “When I’m drunk, everything looks blurred together. Right now, it doesn’t.”
Her focus stayed on me, present and unmistakable.
“You didn’t expect me to remember it.”
Something inside me loosened and tightened at the same time.
I lowered my hand and closed the distance between us.
Our mouths met in a slow, controlled movement, as if we were both still deciding.
Her blue hair tickled my cheek. She sighed against me, sliding her hand into the space between my shoulder and neck like it belonged there.
I pulled back just enough to look at her, and she smiled at me, small and certain in a way that settled one thing inside me and ruined something else.
“Still worried?” she asked.
“No,” I said, feeling a little undone. I leaned in again, slower this time, giving her every chance to change her mind, but she didn’t.
I kept the kiss light, a careful caress with just enough pause to feel her answer me.
Her lips moved against mine, testing, learning the shape of me the same way I was learning her.
When she tilted her head and deepened the contact, she did it with an unhurried certainty that nearly finished me.
Desire surged hard and fast, but I held myself steady. I refused to take more than she offered.
She made another quiet sound against my mouth, and my resolve slipped a fraction.
Her hand slid from my shoulder to the side of my neck, thumb resting just below my jaw. The touch was confident, claiming without being possessive. I answered by angling closer, letting the kiss turn fuller, slower, wanting to memorize the moment instead of rushing past it.
Her lips were soft but firm, and she kissed me with purpose. This woman knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it.
I shifted closer until our legs pressed together fully, the water rolling around us. I put my hand on her waist, not pulling her in, but anchoring myself to her. She leaned into my touch, and time stretched, each second weighted, like we were daring each other to be the first one to lose control.
And I wanted her to break me.
She broke the kiss to look at me, lips parted, a dazedly satisfied look on her face.
She didn’t give me time to think before her hand slid to my shoulder as she moved closer to me, the water rising and settling as she straddled me, knees braced on either side of my thighs.
Her blue hair fell in a curtain around us.
I went very still.
Not because I didn’t want it—didn’t want her—but because I wanted it enough to be careful.
Her weight settled fully on me, the contact sending a jolt straight through my body. I locked my hands on the stone at my sides, fingers spread, knuckles tight. I didn’t count the lanterns.
She watched my face, assessing. A satisfied amusement flashed through her eyes. She enjoyed seeing the effort it took for me to stay right where I was.
“Still with me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
She kissed me again, rolling her body against me. She was a fucking goddess.
I kept the kiss measured, even as everything in me pushed forward, wanted more, wanted permission I was not going to give myself yet.
Her hips shifted against me as she slid her hand up my neck, and my focus narrowed to the fact that she was sitting on me. It took a conscious effort to stay present instead of letting instinct take over.
I let one hand leave the stone and rest at her waist. I didn’t draw her closer, but I didn’t stop her either.
She smiled into the kiss, then murmured against my lips. “I like your restraint.”
Fuuuck.
She tilted her head, and I matched her, keeping the pressure steady. Her fingers curled into my shoulder, just enough to say she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
She drew away, pressing her forehead against mine, her gaze locked on my mouth.
“You’re thinking very hard,” she said.
“I always am.”
She grinned, and if I wasn’t sitting, it would have knocked my legs out from under me. It was fucking formidable. Then her lips were on mine again, rewarding me for staying exactly where I was.
I let myself have it.
“Take me back to your place,” she said.
I didn’t hesitate. “Okay.”
That sexy smile spread on her lips again, like she’d expected a protest and found something better instead. As I stood, her legs locked around my waist, and I settled my hands under her ass.
Something in my mind had eased. The usual background tension didn’t disappear, but it had stopped pressing forward. I noticed the path, the steps, the door ahead of us, and then I stopped tracking them. My body knew what to do.
The usual list of checks stopped rearranging itself. I noticed the lanterns once more on the way out of the spa, then didn’t need to again.
“That was fast,” she said.
“You were clear. And I’m good at following directions.”
“Good,” she said. “I like that.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She laughed, full and surprised, and the sound hit me low in the belly. Her hands slid to the nape of my neck, then up into my hair. She weighed nothing, and it felt like this—here, in my arms, with her legs locked around me—was exactly where she belonged.
Her mouth brushed my collarbone first, testing, teasing. She pressed a kiss there, then another, lingering this time. Her lips moved up the side of my neck, unhurried.
I stopped walking.
Everything in me narrowed to that single point of contact and stayed there. The pressure in my briefs was becoming hard to ignore.