“Oh, Zoey,” he breathed, his lips grazing the soft skin of my stomach. His lips left a hot searing trail of kisses from my stomach up to my neck and back onto my lips. He moved against me and I felt the pleasure crash through me.
“Liam,” I whispered, my hands reaching for his pants. His hands met mine and together, we pulled his pants off, revealing a plain pair of boxer briefs, tented up. He reached for my own pants, and they joined his on the floor. He came back on top of me, moving himself against me. We were both panting, and I yanked his face back to mine, my kisses desperate and hurried.
His fingers were at the clasp of my bra, and he easily twisted it off. It fell slightly, revealing the top moons of my breasts. He lowered his lips to them, leaving hot kisses on the skin. I felt a moan escape my lips, and my hands went to his hair, my fingers weaved in the strands, as I pulled his head tighter against me.
“Oh, Liam,” I breathed, arching myself closer to him. My eyes fluttered open and closed and fell on the black globe that was affixed to the ceiling above us. My eyes widened. It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on me. Liam’s lips were still on me, trailing down my stomach, lower and lower, toward my underwear. I felt a wave of panic shoot through me.
“Stop,” I said, pulling my fingers away from his hair and pushing his shoulders. “Stop.”
Liam looked surprised, and he stumbled back a bit. His face was flushed, his lips full from kissing. I looked down and saw that he was still definitely aroused. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his hand against my bare hip.
I felt tears threatening to spill again, and I hated that I was in this situation, that I was practically naked and that they could see this, all of this. I hated that I was feeling this way, and with the wrong boy. “Just, stop. I don’t want to do this,” I said, my voice coming out breathless and rushed.
He pulled back, his face clouded. He crawled off of me, reaching for his discarded pants, and pulled them up over his hips. I could see that he was still hard and there was a part of me that was turned on by it and wanted to pull him back on the bed with me. He turned away from me, his eyes on everything else in the room, everything but me.
I reached for the blanket, pulling it over me, embarrassed at how little I wore. Without the pressure of his body against mine, the coolness of the room was more apparent and goose bumps rippled across my skin. I shivered. “Liam, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I said softly, my voice thick with tears.
He sighed, and I realized how exasperated and hurt he really was. “Zoey,” his voice coming out like a bark, a warning.
“You’re great, Liam, and I like you…I like you a lot,” I said, feeling like it was not coming out right. It was coming out all wrong. “But, you’re not… you’re not him.” My body was still tingling but it wasn’t the same. What I had felt with Liam was the flame of a candle, warm and comforting. When I had kissed Ash on my kitchen counter, it had been a forest fire, threatening to burn down everything in its wake.
Liam’s eyes met mine and my bottom lip trembled. He sighed again, but it wasn’t angry anymore. It was more resigned. The door opened and Patrick reappeared, looking both amused and frustrated. I wondered who was behind the cameras and how much anyone had seen of what had just taken place between Liam and I. “Let’s go,” he snapped at Liam.
I pulled the covers up higher, trying to cover everything. “Liam…”
He was halfway out the door but he stopped and looked over at me. My words failed, getting stuck in my throat. I wasn’t even sure what to say to him anymore. How many times could one person apologize?
Instead he spoke up. “It’s going to be okay, Zoey. I promise.” The door shut heavily behind him, and I was left alone once more.
AS SOON AS THEY HAD left, I crawled out of my bed, refusing to look toward the ceiling. I took a long cold shower, shivering under the biting water, washing away the feel of his lips on my body. I stayed in there for at least an hour before climbing out and wrapping myself in a towel.
I lay on the floor, wrapped in my towel. I wasn’t sure how long I stayed there but long enough that my hair was starting to dry, the ends curling. I picked myself off the floor and slid into some clean clothes. I spared the camera one last loathing look before crawling into bed and falling asleep.
I woke with a start in the morning, with a hand pressed tightly against my mouth. My eyes flew open in panic, and I reached for the hand, trying to pry it off. My legs kicked, and I heard a low “oof” as I made contact. The hand on my mouth loosened, and I opened my mouth to scream.
“Jesus, Zoey, shut up for a second.” The voice was low, rough and full of pain. I was satisfied to know I had caused actual pain. “I’m trying to help you, okay?”
My body grew still, and I blinked in the relative darkness. I could just barely make out the features of the person perched on the bed, and for a moment, I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Tommy?” I whispered.