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Chapter thirty-four

Liam

S he’s passed out cold on my chest like she belongs there.

One leg hooked over mine, her hand splayed across my ribs, breathing soft and steady like I didn’t just turn her world inside out.

Like I didn’t nearly fuck everything up before I had the balls to admit what she meant to me.

She smells like sweat, sex—citrusy, dark.

Amber maybe? There’s this warm, spicy note too, or whatever the hell makes her smell like trouble and comfort at the same time.

It's not perfume-y. It’s lived-in. Like her.

The kind of scent that’d get stuck in my sheets, my hoodie, the back of my damn throat. The kind that makes you forget everything else exists.

Her skin’s warm like silk, and that soft little snore? It kills me.

She’s fucking perfect. Not in a polished, untouchable way—but in the way that wrecks you. In the way that makes you want to ruin your own rules just to keep her smiling.

I tighten my arm around her waist, breathing her in. This is the part I usually run from. The part where it gets too quiet, too real. But I don’t move.

I just lay here, heart thumping, mind spinning, scared shitless and stupidly content .

How the hell did I end up here—waking up in the middle of a fucking PR stunt gone wrong with the same girl I couldn’t stop thinking about since that night I thought I’d never see her again?

She stirs, doesn’t open her eyes, just nuzzles closer.

I brush her hair out of her face and mutter, "Mornin'."

Christ. She’s beautiful.

I kiss the top of her head and it hits me harder than any hit I’ve taken on the ice— I don’t want this fake bullshit anymore.

The baby, the media, the mess—that’s all background noise. The thing I can’t walk away from? It’s her. It's this.

The second I’m not around her, I’m crawling out of my own damn skin. Like something’s missing and I can’t think straight until I’m back in her space. Food tastes off. Music’s just noise. Locker room talk makes me want to punch something. And the worst part? I don’t even try to fight it.

It’s pathetic. I check my phone like a junkie— drive by her place like a man with no self-respect. And the worst part, I don’t even care. Because being near her, It’s the only time I feel like I’m not two seconds from losing my shit.

“I’m gonna talk to your brother,” I say, low, more to myself than her.

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.”

“I want your cock, Liam. Now.”

And that’s all I need.

I grab hold of her ass, pulling her thighs against me, one hand right against my throbbing cock. I slide the head up and down her pussy—tap her clit with my dick just to make her beg.

“Fill me with your cock,” she whines.

I drop lower, pressing the thick head of my dick against her creamy, slick entrance and watch her eyes go wide.

When I finally give in, it’s like coming home. Tight. Wet. Fucking perfect. Her back arches, a broken moan falling from her lips. I grip her hips and drive deep, groaning at the way she clamps around me.

“Christ, Kat. You feel like heaven.”

She digs her nails into my back. “Harder.”

I give it to her. I take her. Long, deep strokes that make the headboard knock against the wall, the slap of skin on skin filling the room with something primal. She’s loud and wild beneath me, chanting my name like a prayer.

“You take me so fucking good.”

Her pussy clenches, climax hitting fast, sharp, as she shakes around me. And that’s fucking it. I bury myself as deep as I can go, spilling into her with a groan .

I should be panicking. Running through exit strategies. Making excuses.

Instead, all I can think about is what we’ll eat for breakfast. If she likes eggs. If she’d let me cook for her in nothing but boxers. I’m so screwed.

After, we lie there. Our sweat cooling. Our bodies still tangled. I stroke her hair and say what I should’ve said a long time ago.

“I never forgot the way you sounded that night.” I press my lips to her throat, feel her pulse race. “I fucking jerked off to the memory of you gasping on my fingers. Didn’t even know for sure it was you, but I knew I’d never find better...”

“You wrecked me”

She flicks her lashes at me , tilts her head. Her expression is raw.

“I never forgot you either”

I’ve woken up in beds where I couldn’t tell you how I got there. Just skin and regret and the kind of silence that makes your ears ring.

This...This is fucking different.

“I didn’t say anything that night I knew it was you. To be fucking honest, I was to scared to admit it. Shit, I’m still scared.” I kiss her forehead.

“But I’d rather be scared with you than empty without you.”

There was a night—group home outside Tampa. I was thirteen. Sheets smelled like mildew. Some guy was screaming in the next room, and all I could think was no one’s coming for me. That pit in my gut never left. I swore I’d never let anyone get close enough to prove I wasn’t worth staying for.

But now, waking up with her wrapped around me— I don’t feel hollow. I don’t feel disposable. I feel like I fucking belong.

And for the first time in years—I mean that shit.