Page 16 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)

TWELVE

LIA

Then—Eighteen Months Ago

T he last note of Brea's song lingers in the air like a heartbeat that refuses to stop.

The room erupts in applause, drinks raised, voices shouting her name.

She gives a small wave from her makeshift stage in the corner of my living room and flashes the kind of smile that used to make my brother unravel.

Well, he still does. He's just crushed and heartbroken, not that he's ever told me the reason behind her leaving him, other than her choosing her music over their relationship.

Honestly, I find that hard to believe. There's always been something deeper there, something neither of them wants to admit.

I spot my brother standing near the door to the kitchen, stiff-backed and silent, beer dangling from his fingers.

The amber liquid barely moves despite how tightly he's gripping the bottle.

His eyes never leave Brea, tracking her every movement like he's memorizing her all over again.

Brea's new ‘manager’, I think his name is Dean, seems like a glorified plus-one who treats her like a trophy.

He hovers too close to her mic stand, all smug grins and possessiveness, one hand constantly finding its way to the small of her back.

By the way she's whispering to him, lips tight and eyes narrowed, I don't think she likes his behavior at all.

She subtly shifts away each time he leans in, creating space that he immediately closes again.

The vibe is off, tension crackling between them like static electricity, but it's not my night to fix it.

It's mine to enjoy. I'm the birthday girl after all.

Twenty-five years on this planet, and maybe it is time to change everything.

I sip my drink slowly, just one of the three Devan's handed me tonight, always checking that I'm not overdoing it.

It's sweet and fizzy, something fruity and pink with a sugared rim that sticks to my lips.

The music thrums through my chest, vibrating beneath my skin in a pleasant way that makes me feel alive.

When I glance over my shoulder, he's there, a pleasant warmth at my back and a devastating smile that makes my stomach flip in ways I'm not ready to acknowledge.

"You good, Li-Li?" He asks, pressing his large warm palm to the base of my back. His fingers span almost my entire lower back, a reminder of just how much bigger than me he is. Safe. Solid.

"It's my birthday! I'm so good!" I shout over the music, the words coming out more breathless than intended.

Devan winks and pulls my body against his protectively, his chest a wall of heat against my back.

He leans down, his breath tickling my ear as he scans the room, always alert, always making sure I'm okay.

He is always looking out for me. Caring for me.

He always has, hasn't he? Through everything, he's been my constant, besides Ridley. When Devan came to Seattle we just clicked.

Brea wraps up her mini-set with a flourish, fingers dancing across guitar strings one last time before she bows to the cheering crowd.

The room starts to shift, as my party playlist blasts through the speakers once more.

People clumping together for selfies, red cups raised high, laughter bouncing off the walls of my Victorian home.

Someone starts a very uncoordinated game of beer pong in the back hallway, plastic cups arranged haphazardly on my antique console table that would normally make me cringe, but tonight I can't bring myself to care.

Tor walks around with Jaz beside him, my new bestie and neighbor, their fingers intertwined like they're afraid to let go.

Can't believe I live next door to a famous author.

Tor can't keep his hands off her though, constantly pulling her close, whispering things that make her blush and laugh.

It's so cute it makes my heart swoon with joy. If anyone deserves love, it's him.

So much is going on tonight, but my pleasant buzz has me floating through it all, dancing and singing with happiness.

My vintage-inspired dress swirls around my thighs as I move, the fabric cool against my flushed skin.

Devan is at my side for all of it and I don't mind it, I crave him.

Need him near me. I catch myself watching his hands as he talks, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, how he always seems to know exactly when to refill my now water glass.

I don't know what's happening between us.

Because it's happening. This shift between Devan and me.

It's been happening slowly for months, quiet touches, long looks, late-night texts that have nothing to do with Ridley or team business.

Moments where I catch him watching me when he thinks I'm not looking, his eyes soft with something I'm not brave enough to name.

Tonight? It's louder. It's real. The electricity between us is impossible to ignore, crackling in the narrow spaces we keep creating and closing.

When I finally come up for air, Ridley's already gone.

All I remember is a stiff hug and a tight "Happy birthday, little sis.

" I didn't miss the way his gaze lingered on Brea and Dean, something dark and wounded in his eyes.

I also didn't miss the way he didn't say goodbye to her, but he followed her out the door all the same, keeping a careful distance like he was tethered to her by some invisible string he couldn't break.

The house starts to clear out, guests trickling away with hugs and birthday wishes, leaving behind empty bottles and the lingering scent of perfume and spilled drinks.

In the quiet after the storm, Devan's still there.

Helping pick up cups, stacking plates, moving with easy familiarity through my kitchen, like he belongs in the bones of this place. In the bones of me.

"You don't have to stay," I say, even though I mean the opposite. My fingers fidget with the hem of my dress, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands.

He shrugs like it's easy, his broad shoulders rising and falling beneath his dark blue henley. "I want to." Three simple words that somehow hold the weight of years.

There it is. He wants to.

I fold the last blanket over the back of the couch, smoothing my hands over the soft fabric, buying time before I have to turn around and face what's been building all night.

When I do, he's right there, close enough that I feel the heat from his chest, smell the faint lingering of beer and clean skin and something deeply, stupidly Devan that makes my head swim.

My heartbeat trips, stumbling over itself like it's forgotten how to function properly.

"This was a good night," he says, his voice lower than before, intimate in the sudden quiet of my living room.

"It was." I nod, lips parted, breathing suddenly complicated. The dim lamplight catches the angles of his face, highlighting cheekbones and casting shadows that make him look like something out of a dream.

His gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there with unmistakable intent. "You looked happy."

"I am." I take a breath, one that feels like it might be the last before everything changes, before we cross a line we can't uncross. "But I don't want it to end."

There's a beat where all I see is his face.

Beautiful brown eyes stare back at me, warm and questioning and hopeful, smooth pink lips slightly parted, and his gorgeous face so open I could read every thought if I tried.

We linger in that moment of in-between where we both just exist, full of what-ifs and long-held tension and years of dancing around each other.

He licks his bottom lip, and my eyes follow the movement like a magnet. "Lia. . ." My name in his mouth sounds like a prayer and a question all at once.

"Don't," I whisper, stepping closer until we're chest to chest, my heart hammering against his. "Don't say my name like that unless you're gonna kiss me."

He exhales sharply, like I've just shattered whatever control he had left. His hands hover at my waist, not quite touching. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not drunk," I say, reaching up to touch his face, feeling the slight scratch of his stubble against my palm. "I'm not confused. I know exactly what I'm doing."

Another pause. Another question he doesn't ask but I answer anyway, because I know what he wants, what he's always wanted.

"We don't have to tell anyone. This stays between us. We're adults, we can handle casual." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue even as I say it.

His jaw clenches like the word physically hurts.

I see it, see the crack in his heart form before the kiss even lands, but he doesn't argue.

He doesn't push back or demand more or walk away like maybe he should.

He nods once. A small, defeated thing that breaks something in me even as I pretend not to notice.

"If casual's all you'll give me," he murmurs, his fingers finally finding my hips, "I'll take it."

Then his mouth is on mine, hungry and soft, fierce and slow, like he's memorizing every breath. I let him. Because tonight, I need this. I need him. His lips are softer than I imagined, but his kiss is not, it's desperate and deep, years of wanting poured into a single moment.

We stumble to the couch, kissing like we're starving, like we've been denied this feast for too long.

His hands grip my hips, pulling me into his lap, and I wrap my arms around his neck, anchoring myself there.

There's nothing between us but the sheer fabric of my thong against the hard bulge in his jeans, a barrier that feels both too much and not enough.

"Devan. I need you." I pant against his mouth as I grind down on him, the friction sending sparks through my veins.

We both moan, but I'm desperate for more.

Breaking the kiss, I lean back on his thighs, his hungry gaze taking in my body like it's a landscape he's been waiting to explore.

I pull my dress over my head and toss it to the floor, leaving me in a red lace bra and matching thong, garters and stockings completing the look of a pin-up girl.

Devan sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes roving over me with an intensity that makes my skin flush. "Beautiful, Li-Li," he says reverently, like he's unwrapping a precious gift. Tonight, he is mine, and I am his, a silent pact sealed in the dim light of my living room.

"I'm going to take this off, baby. I want to see all of you.

" His voice is a low rumble as he unclips my garter, then the other, his fingers brushing against my thighs, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

I nod, letting his endearment wash over me, pushing away any thoughts that might complicate this moment.

Our clothes disappear in slow pieces, every layer peeled away revealing more vulnerability than skin.

Warm lips encase my nipple, then the other, drawing out a gasp from deep within me.

My head falls back as I let him worship me, his tongue and teeth leaving marks behind, a map of our desire etched onto my skin.

Each touch, each kiss, is a promise of more, a testament to the line we've crossed together.

"Devan." His name is a plea on my lips, a whispered need for more.

"I know baby, I know," he murmurs, his fingers find me wet and dripping on his now naked thighs.

He plunges them into me, pumping in and out, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through me.

His lips claim mine once more, swallowing my moans as he crooks his finger, hitting that spot inside me that makes me see stars.

I cry out, coming undone around his fingers, my body convulsing with the force of my release.

I'm far from done. This night is just beginning, and I'm ready to dive deeper into this abyss of desire, consequences be damned.

"Fuck me," I say, my voice a hoarse whisper, still trembling with the aftershocks of my climax. My fingers dig into the firm muscles of his shoulders, seeking an anchor in the storm of sensation.

Devan shifts beneath me, his arms tightening around my waist as he leans down to retrieve a condom from his discarded jeans. The movement is smooth, confident, and it sends a thrill down my spine.

"You came prepared?" I ask, my eyebrows lifting in a teasing arch. My voice is breathy, still laced with the remnants of pleasure.

"I'm always prepared where you're concerned," his reply is low and husky, a promise that sets my heart racing. There's a darkness in his eyes, a hunger that matches my own.

He maneuvers us back into a sitting position, his gaze never leaving mine as he tears open the foil packet.

I watch, mesmerized, as he rolls the condom down his thick length.

My mouth waters at the sight, and I make a mental note to taste him, to take him deep into my mouth before this night is over.

The thought sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through me.

Lifting up on my knees, I hover over him, the heat of his body radiates against mine.

Slowly, I sink down, taking him inch by excruciating inch.

Devan's eyes are locked onto mine, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

His pupils are blown wide with lust, all for me.

The knowledge is intoxicating and empowering.

I roll my hips, riding him with a rhythm that feels as natural as breathing. It's like we've been doing this dance forever, our bodies moving in perfect sync. I guess, in a way, we have. This night has been a long time coming, a culmination of years of wanting and waiting.

"Li-Li," he whispers against my shoulder, his voice raw with emotion.

He thrusts up into me, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.

The feeling of completeness is almost overwhelming, a connection that goes beyond the physical.

"God, I love you," his words are a reverent murmur, a secret whispered into my skin.

I freeze for a second, the words hanging between us like delicate glass.

I don't stop him. I don't say it back. I kiss him harder, swallowing the words before they can take root.

I ride the wave of pleasure that builds between us, losing myself in the feeling of his hands, his mouth, his body against mine.

Because I can't give him what he wants.

Tonight? I'll let him pretend I already have.