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Chapter thirty-three

Katarina

“ W hatever happens, I’m in this with you.”

His voice doesn’t waver. Doesn’t soften. He just says it like it’s fact—unchangeable, immovable.

I don’t cry. I don’t fall apart. But something inside me steadies. Like I’ve been bracing for impact—and instead, he catches me.

Because I didn’t know what he’d say. I didn’t know if I’d lose him before I ever really had him. But here he is. Staying. Choosing me.

Something tight and wild twists in my chest.

There’s no space, no air, no decision left to make—just the feel of his breath and the ache to be closer.

I kiss him like it’s the only way to stay above water.

There’s no hesitation, no overthinking, just raw need. My fingers skim along his jaw, rough with stubble, and I pull his mouth to mine like it’s the only thing that can stop me from coming apart.

And he kisses me back like he’s been holding it in this whole time. His mouth is hungry, relentless. His tongue brushes mine with purpose, his hands sliding into my hair like he wants to bury himself in me.

Liam kisses like he plays—hard, focused, no mercy. Like every movement is a message:

I’m here.

I’m staying.

I want this.

His thumbs stroke along my jaw like I’m delicate, even as his lips devour me. It’s rough and tender, fast and full of fire, and it’s the first time I’ve felt like I belong somewhere in weeks.

I swing a leg over and straddle him. His breath stutters. The air between us grows thick and hot, vibrating with everything we haven’t said.

But I don’t want to talk right now. Not about the baby. Not about Griffin. Not about the mess waiting for us outside these four walls.

I just want him. Want the way he makes everything else go quiet.

But I stop—just for a second. Just long enough to ground myself. I pull back, forehead against his, my heart banging in my chest like it’s trying to outrun my fear.

“When you say you’re in this... you mean it?”

His hands still on my hips, steady and warm. “Whatever you decide—I’m here.”

My throat tightens. I swallow it down, my voice barely a breath. “What if I want to keep her?”

His mouth twitches into a crooked smile, and something unspoken passes between us.

“You already calling her a her?” he says, amused and something else—fond.

“Call it a hunch,” I murmur. “Or maybe wishful thinking.”

He leans in until our foreheads touch again, his voice low and quiet like a promise.

“Boy, girl—it’s you I want.”

My lungs seize with how badly I want to believe that. To let it be enough. To trust it. Him. Us.

I kiss him again, desperate. Claiming. Like I’m trying to write us into each other’s skin. Like maybe if I hold him hard enough, the fear won’t win.

Shirts come off in awkward, hungry tugs. I don’t even remember pulling mine over my head. I just know I’m suddenly bare, flushed, shaking slightly with adrenaline— I sit up and swing a leg over him, straddling him with a slow grind of my hips. His breath stutters. His hands tighten.

“Jesus, Katarina,” he groans. “You trying to kill me?”

“Not yet.” I bite my bottom lip. “But I wouldn’t mind watching you come close.”

The air between us thickens, all heat and tension. Every unsaid word, every buried feeling, hovers like kindling waiting for a spark.

His hands roam my ribs, my waist, gripping like he needs to convince himself I’m real. I can feel him—hard, hot, throbbing beneath me—and it only makes the ache worse.

His fingers trace the edge of my panties, slow, teasing, and I lose whatever composure I was faking.

“Fuck me,” I whisper. My voice cracks around the words.

He stops. “Are you sure?”

That moment—him asking, holding back when I’m trembling for him—it breaks something open in me. Some wall I didn’t realize I was still holding up.

“Yes,” I breathe. “I need to feel you. All of you.”

He groans, pushing his boxer's down just enough for his cock to spring free.

God. Impressive doesn't even cover it. He's built like he was designed specifically to drive me insane. I thought maybe I exaggerated it in my head.

I didn't.

My mouth goes dry, even knowing what's coming.

That same rush hits me—I should be used to this by now.

I'm absolutely not. Still unfairly perfect, still making my pulse skip.

My body remembers exactly how he fills me, stretches me, ruins me for anyone else.

“You want me to take you gently?” he asks, eyes gleaming.

I shake my head, “I want it real, filthy.”

“Say it, then. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Hard and filthy like you mean it.”

His eyes go molten.

“We need a condom,” he mutters, but I shake my head, mouth grazing his ear. I bite his lobe. “I want to feel you. Come inside me.”

He growls—a low, primal sound that vibrates through his chest. “That’s my little filthy princess.”

Then he grabs my panties and rips them in two—no hesitation, no care for the scraps. Then just tosses them aside.

“You’ll get new ones,” he mutters. “Not from you,” I tease.

“Baby, I’ll buy you a fucking drawer full.”

He lines himself up, popping his thick head in and out of my pussy till I’m unraveling, begging for more. I toss my head back, rolling my hips to meet him— juices sliding down his shaft. And in one long, wrecking thrust, he pounds into me, thrusting till I squeal for more.

“Liam—fuck.”

He groans like he’s unraveling. Then he starts to move—slow at first, then faster, harder, dragging me into every deep stroke.

His grip on my waist is possessive, his voice a rasp in my ear. “You feel that? That’s mine now.”

“Then take it,” I pant. “Take all of me.”

“Say my name.”

“Liam,” I moan. “Liam, don’t stop.”

“You think I could?” He grabs my chin, forcing our eyes to lock. “You think I’m letting anyone else have this pussy? Not a fucking chance.”

My orgasm crashes over me in waves, curling me forward, nails in his back, breath gone. I cry out, lost to it.

But he doesn't slow instead he fucks me through it, hot, wet, messy, chasing his own release, hips jerking, jaw clenched, then finally letting go. He groans my name as he spills inside me.

I collapse against him, both of us shaking, breathless, undone.

His hands on my back soothe and steady. I let myself sink into the warmth, the safety.

But the calm is temporary. Reality sneaks in like a thief.

I collapse against him, both of us breathing like we just ran headfirst through a war.

His hands roam my back, calming, anchoring.

And for a second, everything feels still. Like the outside world can’t touch us here.

But the high fades too fast.

And reality rushes back in.

I remember waking up alone that morning. The cold sheets. The panic.

I remember Griffin’s voice. His hands. His threats. His rules.

I remember all the times I’ve been told I’m too much. Too loud. Too emotional. Too inconvenient.

I remember shrinking to survive.

I bury my face in Liam’s neck, breathing him in—salt and sweat and safety.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit quietly.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t offer false promises.

He just strokes my back and says, “We'll figure it out.”

It should make me feel safe.

But the truth is, I’m not just afraid of Griffin anymore.

I’m afraid of what I want. Of daring to hope. Of putting my heart in someone’s hands and praying they don’t drop it.

Still, one thing is crystal clear.

No one makes this decision for me.

Not Griffin. Not the team. Not Liam.

But as I stare down at the man holding me like I’m already his—

One thing settles in my bones.

Whatever comes next... I’m not facing it alone.

Not this time.