Twenty-Eight #3
With a burst of strength that shocks me, Sara wriggles free and scrambles to the other end of the couch. Before I can pounce, she grabs a throw pillow and hurls it at my face.
“Never!” She triumphs and smacks me, hard.
I blink in surprise, then grin slowly. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” I snatch the pillow and swing it.
Sara’s eyes widen is disbelief as we both burst into laughter. She scrambles up, clutching another pillow like a shield. I’ve never seen her so playful besides with Joe, so unguarded. It’s addictive. It’s rejuvenating.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she warns, backing away with a grin that contradicts her words.
“Try me,” I challenge, stalking forward.
When she turns to flee, I lunge at her and she squeals as we tumble back onto the couch, her body sliding beneath mine. The pillow forgets its mission and falls to the floor. We land face to face, breaths catching. My arms bracket her head as her curves presses against my body.
Time blurs. Her laughter fades as our faces draw inches apart. Her hair fans out beneath her head, those brown eyes wide and searching mine.
My heart hammers, hers racing too, and I swallow, the playfulness draining away replaced by something electric and dangerous.
I want to kiss her more than anything I’ve ever wanted.
Every cell strain toward her, but I force myself still.
It has to be her choice. When I kissed her earlier and the way she had us stop…
I want her to be certain this is what she wants.
I’ve poured my heart out more than I ever have with anyone else.
Uncertainty flits in her expression, we hover there, tension palpable, combustible, and then Sara reaches up, my hunger for her insatiable.
Her fingertips brush my jaw, tracing from cheekbone to my lips. A primal feeling is ignited in me by her touch, yet I remain frozen, barely breathing. Her eyes search mine for permission, for reassurance or for a reason to stop but I give her absolutely none.
With a fragile breath, she tilts her head and presses her lips to mine, and it’s air to my lungs. I let her lead, offering the safety she needs. She whimpers softly, her tongue seeking mine as the kiss deepens, each sweep sending shivers down my spine.
I can’t hold back. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her flush against me. She arches into my embrace, melting against me as the last of her resistance dissolves.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer.
My body responds and I press into her, my cock straining painfully against my zipper and the kiss intensifies, urgent and demanding.
Her nails dig into my back as her hips rise to meet mine.
I feel myself drowning in her taste, her scent, the little sounds at the back of her throat.
But before I lose control, before pure desire blinds me, I force myself to slow down.
Sara’s eyes flutter open, confusion replacing the passion. A flicker of pain crosses her face.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks with uncertainty on her face and she props herself on elbows.
I shake my head, running a hand through my hair. “No—nothing’s wrong, baby. I just…” My breath comes in ragged pants.
“I’m over it, Liam!” Her voice rises, hurt and anger blending. “You get me to that place of wanting you, and then you push me away.”
“You’re right,” I admit softly. “I have, Sara. But right now, I’m not pushing you away at all. I’m giving you a choice. Once you go there with me, there’s no going back. I don’t fuck for sport.” I stop. “I want to make sure you understand that?”
Her mouth drops wide open and she stands, yanking the blanket off her legs.
“Good to know, I don’t fuck for sport either!”
And damn, she’s so delicious when she’s pissed.
“I want to go to bed and sleep. Good night, Liam.”
Her back turns as she determinedly walks away, her hips sway even in anger as she stomps down the hall in her dress. The door slams behind her with a bang that echoes through the house.
I don’t chase. Instead, I laugh at us, at my fumbling attempts to do right by her instead of behaving like an asshole.
Go figure.
I run my hands through my hair and count, softly…
No doubt that what’s about to come next will certainly bite me in the ass.
“One. Two. Three.”
I pause, but nothing comes.
Strange.
I sink onto the couch. Her warmth still lingers on the cushions. The blanket lies crumpled where she tossed it, Fiasco snoring under it, unbothered as can be.
Lucky him.
I pick it up, press it to my face, inhale her scent of jasmine and something uniquely Sara. Then I hear a thud.
Ah ha! There it is.
Her angry voice cuts through the hallway to the very spot where I’m sitting.
“What the fuck, Liam?”
I wince, then grin. Just like the Grinch. I lean back, arms spread behind my head, waiting for the storm.
Her bedroom door flies open, slamming against the wall. Sara stands in the doorway, hair wild, eyes blazing.
“Where. Is. My. Bed?”
Each word punctuates, dripping with... rage, perhaps? I can remedy that if she lets me.
She’s too goddamn beautiful.
I shrug, feigning innocence. “Maybe your stalker took it?”