Page 77

He does it again, like he likes the way I shiver against him, like he's memorizing every little sound I make.

And then his hands—his big, rough, dangerous hands—are skimming beneath the hem of my dress, gripping my thighs, pulling me against him so I can feel how wrecked he is.

A strangled gasp escapes me, my fingers tightening in his hair.

Jesus Christ.

The kiss turns frantic, messy, our bodies tangling together in a frenzy of heat and need.

Liam grips my waist and lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing, stepping between my legs, fitting himself against me in a way that makes me ache.

My dress rides up, the cool air kissing my bare skin, but I don't care. Not when his hands are trailing fire along my thighs, not when his mouth is moving lower, lower, his breath hot against my collarbone.

I tilt my head back, giving him more access, and he takes it, dragging his lips down my chest, his fingers gripping my hips, his thumbs pressing into my skin like he's trying to brand me.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against my skin, his voice strained.

I grab his face and pull him back up, crashing my mouth against his.

"Don't you dare."

He groans, his hands tightening on me, his control hanging by a thread.

And God, I want to unravel it.

I want him undone. Desperate. Gone.

For me.

His fingers skim up my thighs, teasing, exploring, slipping under the lace of my panties, and I gasp into his mouth, arching against him.

"Liam."

He curses, his breath shuddering against my lips, his fingers pressing, circling, ruining me.

"You feel this?" he rasps, his forehead pressing against mine. "How fucking wet you are for me?"

A broken moan slips out of me, my fingers clutching his shirt, holding on for dear life.

And then he moves his fingers in slow, teasing strokes, drawing me higher, unraveling me with every deliberate touch.

My head falls back against the cabinet, my breaths coming in sharp, desperate gasps.

"Look at you," Liam murmurs, his voice dark, reverent. "Falling apart for me."

I am.

God, I am.

And I don't care.

I don't care about Vanessa. About the threats. About the mess we've made.

All I care about is this.

The way he touches me like he's never wanted anything more.

The way he kisses me like he's trying to drown in me.