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Chapter Sixty-Three

“You love me?”I hear myself ask.

Part of me knows this. Part of me hopes Liam loves me, but I’ve been afraid to trust myself. Part of me believes I’m tainted goods, not deserving of someone as beautiful inside and out as Liam.

That’s the damage rape causes. It’s not just the physical. The physical damage is easier to get over. The body heals, cells regenerate, scars fade, but the anguish, the thoughts, the self-recrimination, the what-ifs—those stay far longer than anyone can guess or predict.

I may forget about it for hours and even days, but then something happens, and it comes right back, fresh and intrusive like a paper cut. Invisible to most, but you know it’s there, and it hurts.

“I do, I love you,” Liam says. “I’ve been in love with you for a while now. But I’ve been waiting and biding my time. I don’t want to put any pressure on you. I don’t want you to feel obligated to say the words back to m—”

“I love you too,” I’m quick to reply. I can see the hope in his eyes and also a little bit of fear. Fear that I won’t love him back.

His hand goes to my chest and my heart responds by picking up speed. I mimic his gesture and press my palm to his chest too. His heart responds to mine. We stay like this, looking into each other’s eyes, feeling each other’s hearts under the palms of our hands.

Our hearts have a conversation of their own. Our lips follow their example and communicate without words. The kiss starts slow, teasing, just a touch, a light caress, a taste. Then a nibble, a lick, and the intensity grows. Liam is on the move now. He comes to the couch and settles on top of me, but he holds most of his weight on his hands and knees. He can’t touch me, but my hands are free and I make good use of them, tracing every muscle, every dip and ridge I can reach. I start with his biceps, travel up to his shoulders and back, cop a feel of his backside, then trace my fingers alongside the edges of the shorts low on his hips.

Liam moans into my mouth. His arms tremble on either side of my shoulders. Muscles flex when his hands claw at the couch with the effort of holding himself up when I know all he wants to do is to drop his weight. I give him a nudge by wrapping my legs around his thighs and pulling him into me.

I love the feel of his body on top of mine. Love the weight of him and how he fits so perfectly in the space between my open legs. I push my hips up into him, nibble his bottom lip, and break the kiss.

“Liam?”

“Yeah?” His eyes are dark with lust and alight with love.

“You have too many clothes on.”

His chuckle reverberates through my entire body.

“What are you going to do about it?”

I show him.

My hands grab at the waistband of his shorts and I push them down his hips as far as I can and use my feet and legs to do the rest. It’s awkward and funny and we’re both laughing. Next, I pull his T-shirt up. He shifts his weight, and I pull one arm out at a time. He’s naked on top of me. The heat of his skin spreads fire on mine.

“Now, who has too many clothes on?”

I shift under him in response and tug my—err . . . his T-shirt off. My bare chest meets his when he lowers his body onto mine again. My nipples press into his hard chest. My stomach clenches in anticipation.

He lifts his body a little and looks into the small space between us. I look too and I’m gifted with a vision I want burned into my mind forever. Ripples of taught muscles and a proud and erect cock rests millimeters above my belly.

Liam leans against the back of the couch. His free hands trace the contours of my waist and hip and hooks on the side of my panties. He works his magic and takes them off me with one hand. I help by lifting my hips and I’m rewarded with the feel of his hardness against me.

We’re both naked now. Skin on skin. Heat building between us and we haven’t done much more than kiss. The couch doesn’t give us much room to move, but our bodies press and push into each other, wanting, seeking, needy.

“Fuck!” he says, frustration clear in his voice.

“What?”

“Condom. It’s all the way back in the bedroom.”

The bedroom may as well be miles away instead of a few yards. Neither one of us wants to stop.

“Liam?”

“Yeah?” God, he’s beautiful.

I hesitate. Look away from him, buying an extra second before I speak.