Liam
Everyone laughs, and Noel starts in about how his “little swimmers” are ready to go for the gold.
I don’t know exactly what I expect from Stormy. Maybe just to look back and roll her eyes. Stiffen up a bit. Cross her fingers like she’s warding off me and my “little swimmers.” Or offer a totally legit excuse about work being her priority for a while.
What I don’t expect is her to snuggle even closer into my side or the soft brush of her thumb over mine. I don’t expect her to seem so totally unaffected. I don’t expect it, but that hard thump of my heart as I pull her closer still says I like it.
I like how relaxed this feels. How right.
I like that she holds my hand for the ride home, while we talk about the places we haven’t been and the things we want to do.
I like walking into the apartment as Stormy hooks her finger between the buttons on my shirt and draws me into an unhurried kiss.
She tastes like wine and the sweetness that is all her. We make out against the wall in the front hall, taking our time like we have all night. We leave our shoes and, fingers tangled in a loose hold, pad back to our room, turning off lights as we go.
I undress her slowly, between soft words and lazy kisses.
Let her do the same for me.
We fall into bed, and her fingers go to my hair as my mouth finds her breast. Wanting her soft sounds, I play with the turgid peak against my tongue until she’s arching beneath me.
This woman is everything.
And her being in my life like this feels like a miracle.
I move over her, our bodies aligned, aching to join. For a beat, I don’t want to look in her eyes, because that’s when this little fairy tale I’ve been living ends. It’s that moment when all the breathless please, yes, now comes to a halt, and she says it.
“Same page?”
And fuck, tonight, I don’t want the reminder that this thing between us has a hard stop ahead. But that’s how it works. It’s the only way I get to have her at all.
So, I do it. I look into her eyes, and Christ, they’re so pretty. So soft and tender, and the way they search mine feels fucking real.
Her knee slides up my side, her heel tracing the back of my thigh. I’m right there, my cock notched at her opening, waiting. She says it every time. I’m ready.
Her lips part, and I brace.
But instead…
“Liam, please,” she whispers, her hands framing my face. “I need you.”
Stormy
A little voice in the back of my mind wants to know what the heck I’m doing because there’s more I’m supposed to say. There’s a wall I’m supposed to be reinforcing. There are words with the power to erase this vulnerability I swore I wouldn’t expose again.
All I have to do is say them.
But as Liam holds himself above me, his eyes searching mine with a concentrated intensity that ensures the significance of this suspended beat isn’t lost on him… I can’t do it. I can’t pretend that I’m still on the same page we started from.
I don’t want to tell him that this thing between us is meaningless to me when it’s become the most meaningful thing in my life. I don’t want to lie to him, and I can’t lie to myself anymore, either.
And so, I don’t. I let my silence sink in and those words he’s waiting for fall away… and I hope.
His brows slam together as recognition strikes. With a feral groan, he thrusts, filling me completely as his mouth lands on mine in a crushing, brutal kiss that tastes like the purest relief. Like emotion beyond anything I’ve known.
He moves inside me like a man possessed, one hard full-length stroke after another, each demanding more of me than the next. My pleasure, my heart, my trust.
And I give them to him.
With every sigh, moan, and panting plea, I beg him to take more. Take all of me. To give me all the parts of him he’s been holding back.
And he does.
Liam is relentless. His body hammers into mine like he’s been leashed for a hundred years, and finally, he’s slipped free.
Oh God.
Yes.
This.
It’s everything, and suddenly, I’m there, over the edge.
My body clamps hard with each pounding thrust as wave after wave of pleasure washes through me. And then Liam is there too. Another deep thrust and he’s following me with a shout. His fist bunches in my hair as he buries his head in the crook of my neck, shudders once more, and utters my name.
Liam
Slayers are at home tonight, and we’ve already met with the coaches, watched tape, and had a team lunch. I’m parked at a foldout table beside O’Brien, a mug of Sharpies and an abandoned stack of Slayers merch between us and a handful of guys circled around.
O’Brien’s got his phone out, playing a clip from the recreational league game his wife, George, tended goal in last weekend.
“This is it coming up.”
I watch as one of the opposing players comes in hard. The guy’s at least twice her size, but she’s a badass who played in college and doesn’t even blink. Only then he pulls this bullshit move taking him straight into the net.
Me and the five guys behind me gasp, watching her go down in a tangle of blades, sticks, and pads.
“What the fuck, man?” someone mutters, because there’s nothing accidental about that shove-down or how his knee and elbow land.
“I know, right?” O’Brien says, a dark edge to his usual chill tone. “Apparently, this douche has been mouthing off at her most of the game, talking trash. Full disclosure, she probably started it.” And that’s pride. “But I guess while he’s sort of on her here, he gives this kind of ‘oops, my bad. Maybe you should stick to playing with the girls,’ comment and—” And she springs off the ice like a freaking spider monkey, jumping on this guy’s back and raining down holy hell on him.
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.” He’s grinning now. “Watch for it.”
Suddenly, some lanky guy in sneakers is sliding all over the ice, prying her off the player. And he’s not alone.
From above my shoulder, Vassar coughs. “Are those—”
“Her brothers.” O’Brien’s grin cranks up like he’s watching his kid’s first steps, only he’s watching the fucker who pushed his wife around in a very unsportsmanlike way trying to crawl free of the barrage of fists her brothers are delivering on the ice.
Damn.
Her family’s got her back.
I don’t realize I’ve said it aloud until O’Brien nods, rubbing a finger along the break in his nose with a sort of nostalgic smile. “Yeah, they do.”
The video cuts off, and the guys start joking about Static picking up some pointers. The big guy laughs, flipping them off over his shoulder, before getting back to his own stack of shit to sign.
It’s entertaining as hell. The kind of back-and-forth I’ve intentionally isolated myself from in the past. But somehow this thing with Stormy has changed more than just who I go home to at night.
My phone goes off, and distracted, I don’t even look before answering.
Mistake.
“Liam.” It’s a voice all too familiar, but the last one I want to hear. I jerk to my feet, the chair screeching as it shoves back. “I’m glad you picked up.”
The guys stop talking, wondering what my malfunction is. Shooting varying looks of concern, and that fast, I’m wishing for that wall of isolation again.
Taking a breath, I wave them off and walk over to the far corner by the fruit, snacks, and drinks. As far away as I can get from everyone else.
“Jess, why are you calling?” I’ve told her not to. I’m not the guy who’s going to save her from this mess.
“I— I just wanted someone to talk to.” Her voice is small. Fragile. Manipulative. “You’re the only one who understands what he’s like.”
I close my eyes. Refusing to remind her that she’s the one who married him, and she knew plenty about what kind of asshole he was before she did. Or that she’s every bit as bad if not worse.
“I told you before. I’m not the guy to talk to.”
“But Liam,” she pleads, and I can practically see the tears welling in her eyes. “I really need a friend right now.”
“It can’t be me.” I can’t be her anything. After what happened, I feel sick just hearing her voice.
I look around to the guys shooting the shit together while they sign swag and the staff who keep us running, the building that encompasses the only dream I ever let myself have, the fucking band on my finger—
Every second I engage with this woman puts that at risk.
I can’t block her or tell her she deserves whatever bed she’s made for herself.
Because I know exactly how vindictive she is, and I can’t risk the slight.
“I’m sorry, Jess. I’m married. I can’t be the one you call anymore.” I never should have been.
It’s not what she wants to hear, and I can almost feel her simmering hostility through the line. I pinch the bridge of my nose and hold my breath, waiting to find out how she’s going to take my words.
If she’ll yell or make threats. If maybe this time she’ll agree and leave me alone for good.
Instead, she hangs up without a word.