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She makes a sleepy noise, doesn’t answer, and I keep going.

“I know he hates my guts. To be honest, if I had a sister and some asshole knocked her up in a fake relationship-fuckstorm, I’d want to rearrange his face too.”

She laughs into my chest, muffled. “You’re not an asshole.”

I snort. “Katarina, you’ve known me long enough to know that’s not exactly true.”

She lifts her head a little, eyes half-lidded. “You’re my asshole, though.”

Fuck.

I grip her tighter, like she’ll vanish if I don’t.

“You don’t have to go grovel to Griffin,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say, jaw tight. “I kinda do. Doesn’t mean I like it, but he’s your family. And if I’m gonna be in your life, he’s gonna be in mine. Even if it kills me not to fuck him up him again.”

She smiles a little. “Good luck with that.”

I roll her under me, slow and easy, letting my weight settle on her just enough to make her squirm. “Wanna know what else I’m done with?”

She raises a brow. “What?”

“This pretend dating shit. The PR crap. All of it. I’m over it.”

She stills beneath me. I don’t miss it. Her walls inch up like they always do when things get too real. But I’m not backing down.

“I want the real thing, Kat. You. All of it. Complicated, messy, probably disastrous—but real.”

Her eyes soften. “Disastrous, really?”

I kiss her—lazy, slow, filthy.

And just like that, we’re on fire again.

I slide her panties off like I’ve got all morning. Because I do. I plan to spend the whole fucking day memorizing every inch of her. I trail my hand up her thigh, drag my knuckles across the slick heat between her legs, and watch her body tense like a live wire.

“Jesus, Liam,” she breathes, voice still heavy with sleep.

I smirk. “I’m just getting started.”

She moans when I duck my head and lick a slow, deliberate stripe through her folds, tasting her like I’ve been starving for her. Because I have. Because nothing else has ever tasted like this—like her. She’s panting now, hands in my hair, hips lifting to meet every swipe of my tongue.

There were nights I’d fuck just to feel something—bathroom hookups after away games, nameless bodies in too-small hotel beds. But nothing ever stuck. No scent, no sound, no fucking name. But her? Her voice is carved into me. Every moan’s a goddamn brand.

I tease her clit, circle it with the tip of my tongue until she’s grinding against my face, chasing her pleasure. And when she finally starts to tremble, I pull back, ignoring her desperate whimper.

“Liam, don’t you fucking stop—”

“I’m not done with you yet.”

I slide up her body, kissing a trail from her stomach to her tits. She arches into my mouth when I pull a nipple between my teeth. Gasping Her thighs spread wider, impatient.

“You want it that bad, princess?”

“Geesuz, Liam yes.”

“Then say it.”