Chapter 37 Liam #2
The fire was really strong now, and her skin shone under the glow.
“I’m not sure how,” she said, “but I always seem to end up completely wet when I’m with you.”
She froze and looked at me, then popped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh,” she said, “I didn’t mean—”
I raised a brow.
“What didn’t you mean?”
“Nothing.”
I chuckled and stroked a hand down over her wet hair, smoothing it back off her forehead.
“You know what we could really do with right now?” I asked.
“What?”
“A Flamin’ Hot Cheetos Snuggie.”
“Oh my God,” she said. “I’d kill for one. Two matching ones, his and hers. And a bottle of Harveys Bristol Cream.”
“And an eighties romance?”
“Definitely.”
She dropped her head onto my shoulder.
“Did you really mean it?” she said. “What you said before.”
“No,” I said. “I have to be honest.”
“Oh.” She sat up and turned to me.
“I hate sherry,” I said. “I was faking it to make you like me.”
“Liam!” She tapped me playfully on the knee and laughed. “I meant, did you mean what you said about how this … matters. Me and you.”
“More than anything,” I said.
She nodded and didn’t speak, just stared at the flames.
Our faces were only inches apart now, and I leaned in slightly so my forehead touched hers.
She lifted her chin and turned toward me, her eyes cast downward, then raised her gaze, her mouth opening.
Her tongue darted out, and she licked her lips, then she pulled back her head slightly and lifted her mouth to mine.
Fuck. This was what I’d been wanting—craving—for so long.
“Andrea,” I whispered, cradling the back of her head. “You want this?”
She murmured a yes against my lips, and I pushed a strand of hair off her neck, slipping my hand under the jacket.
“I want you so fucking much,” I said.
“I want you so fucking much too.”
My cock was already hard, pressing against the seam of my trousers, and she slid a hand around my back and up under my shirt, pulling my chest against her.
The kisses grew harder, deeper, her tongue pressing into my mouth, then she drew back and stood, dropping the jacket to the floor.
I leaned back against the rug to take in the sight of her. Jesus Christ, she was so beautiful, standing in front of the fire, the swell of her breasts pressing against the wet dress.
“Can you help me with this?” she said, turning and lifting her hair away from the zipper.
I stood so quickly I almost tripped, then came up behind her and dropped my mouth to her neck, while my hands reached for the clasp.
Fuck, I’d thought of this so many times when I’d been alone—her, naked in my arms, her breasts warm and soft in my hands, in my mouth.
The dress fell to the floor in a heap, and she stepped out of it, wearing nothing but black underwear and heels. She didn’t turn, just looked over her shoulder and smiled.
In a second, I was pressed against her, my hands circling her body, holding her tits, pulling the curve of her butt against me.
I groaned, and she pushed back into me, the buckle of my belt hard against her skin.
It must have been cold, but she didn’t flinch.
Her hand reached back and found me through the fabric, fingers wrapping around the length of my cock.
She gasped when she felt how hard I was already, and I felt her breathing quicken against my chest.
Fuck … Andrea.
I dragged my lips down below her ear. But I couldn’t hold back—I needed to feel her wet against my cock, to push myself into her like I’d imagined all these weeks since we’d been alone together in her room.
“I need you,” I managed, my mouth pressed to her neck. “I need to make love to you right now.”
She turned in my arms and kissed me, hard, her hands pulling at my shirt.
I got it over my head, and she was already working my belt, fingers urgent on the buckle.
I kicked off my trousers and pulled her down with me onto the rug, her legs straddling me as I lay back.
The fire cast her skin in gold and shadows.
And there they were. Her breasts, bare above me, the black bra gone—when had the bra come off?
I didn’t care. I’d been thinking about this, about her, for weeks.
The weight of them, the shape. The dark nipples I’d felt harden.
Now they’re right here, warm and soft and real.
I cupped them both in my hands, lifting them slightly, running my thumbs over the tips.
“Andrea.” My voice came out rough.
She reached into her purse—she must have grabbed it off the bench—and pulled out a condom.
“Thank fuck,” I breathed, and she laughed as she tore it open.
Her hands were sure and quick as she rolled it on.
And then—Christ—she just tugged her knickers to one side, reached for me and guided my cock to her entrance.
No hesitation; I felt the heat of her first, then the wetness, and she sank down slowly, taking me in, inch by inch, until I was completely inside her.
We both stopped breathing.
So wet. So warm. I could feel her pulse around me, a gentle squeeze, and I gripped her hips—not to slow her down, just to hold on to something while my brain caught up with what was happening.
I started to move, slowly at first, her hands braced on my chest. Her hips started rocking forward and back, finding a rhythm.
That small furrow between her brows—like she was concentrating on something she needed.
I could have watched that face for hours.
My hands slid from her hips to her waist, then higher, cupping her breasts again, lifting them gently as she rode me.
I pulled myself up toward her and took her nipple into my mouth. The noise she made when I sucked hard, circling with my tongue—fuck. She didn’t slow down. She sped up, grinding down onto me, her breathing turning sharp and ragged, hips almost frantic now.
“Oh God,” she said. “Oh God, Liam—”
I felt her thighs tighten against my sides, and I sucked harder, grazing her nipple with my teeth.
A gasp. She grabbed the back of my head and pressed me into her breast like she couldn’t get enough.
Her body tensed, and then I felt her clench around my cock, tight and rhythmic, and she was coming—hard—a low, shuddering moan that seemed to start somewhere deep inside her and tear its way out.
Her hips stuttered, nails digging into my chest, and I held her there, my mouth still on her, feeling every pulse of it.
She slowed, her breathing jagged. I lowered my head back onto the rug, and she stayed on top of me, leaning forward, eyes closed. I was still rock hard inside her, and every few seconds her body twitched with an aftershock I felt all the way through me.
Her hair had fallen across her face. I tucked it behind her ear.
“You okay?”
She opened her eyes and looked down at me. A slow, dazed smile.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
She didn’t move off me, and I could feel her heartbeat against my stomach, gradually slowing.
After a while, her hips shifted—barely anything, just a gentle rocking.
Testing. I was so hard it was almost painful, and the movement sent a jolt through me that made my stomach clench.
She felt it too. I saw her eyes widen, then darken.
She rocked again, slowly, forward and back, barely lifting—just enough to feel me move inside her.
My hands settled on her thighs, and her fingers traced the old scars on my abdomen, her lips kissing the marks on my chest. After a few seconds, she picked up the pace, her palms flat on my chest, and the slow rocking became something more deliberate.
I watched her face change—the dreamy post-orgasm haze sharpening into something more focused, more awake.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Oh my God, oh my God.”
I moved with her, matching her rhythm, then pushing faster. I planted my feet on the rug and thrust up into her, and she cried out, bracing herself against my chest. The fire crackling beside us, the room too warm, her skin damp against mine. I didn’t want to be anywhere else, ever.
I was getting close. That tightening heat low in my stomach, spreading outward, building.
I reached between us and found her clit with my index finger, brushing lightly at first, then circling it.
I felt it swell and harden under my touch, and she made a sound I’d never heard from her before—halfway between a gasp and a sob.
“Liam—oh—”
I kept circling, the small, tight bud pulsing beneath my fingertip, and I thrust harder, faster. The pressure was unbearable now, building and building, and I couldn’t hold it—
I came with a groan that felt like it was ripped out of me, my hips jerking up into her, my cock pulsing deep inside her.
And she felt it—felt me coming—my finger still circling her clit, and it tipped her over with me.
Her whole body shook as she clenched down hard.
The sound she made was quiet this time, breathless, almost surprised, like it had caught her off guard.
We stayed like that for a long time. Her on top of me, my hand resting on her thigh, both of us trying to remember how to breathe. The fire had burned down to a deep orange glow, and the rain still hammered the roof.
She dropped her forehead onto my chest.
“Christ, Andrea,” I said.
She laughed softly against my skin.
“Agreed,” she murmured.
*
“Andrea?” Her eyes were still closed, her chest rising and falling gently in my arms. “It’s stopped raining.”
The fire was almost out, and it was cool again in the cottage. I wanted to take her back, lay her on the hotel bed, and wrap her in blankets. It was late, and tomorrow we were flying home.
Could we take this home with us? What we’d had today, the connection, this sort of intimacy I’d never felt with anyone before?
I knew what I wanted now, with her. Or at least … I knew the shape of it.
Mornings when she was simply there somewhere in the apartment, moving around, talking to herself, probably swearing softly at something that wouldn’t cooperate.