I brace myself on his shoulders as I increase my tempo. When my thigh muscles give out, he takes over from below. He thrusts, filling me, over and over again. My orgasm builds quickly, coiling and stretching so tight, I can barely breathe.
I grip his hair as his movements become faster, more intense. He clenches his jaw and groans, as if holding off his own orgasm is painful.
God, the pleasure. The debilitating, breath-stealing pleasure.
When he comes, the noise that pours out of him is beyond passionate. It speaks of a man who’s forgotten the extent to which he can feel. Of someone rediscovering how to be real after so many years of pretending.
I make a similar sound when my climax explodes a few seconds later. It’s not delicate or pretty, but neither are my feelings about Liam. They’re giant, messy, and inconvenient, but I wouldn’t give them up for anything.
As our final shudders fade, I collapse onto him, and he wraps his arms around me to bury his head in my neck. Our frantic breathing echoes in the quiet apartment, and we don’t move for a long time. When we do stir, it’s only because he’s hard again, and our second wind ends up turning into a hurricane. Chairs are knocked over. The bathroom door is dented. By the time we retreat into my bedroom, books are all over the floor, plates and bowls have been shoved off kitchen counters, and cushions and clothes litter every inch of the floor. The entire apartment is trashed.
Usually, we both despise mess, but right now, we’re too high on each other to care.
After Liam gives me the second orgasm in my bed and the fourth for the night, he collapses onto his back and pulls me onto his chest. He releases a huge satisfied sigh, then closes his eyes. I know we need to talk more about our bumpy road to being together, but all that can wait until tomorrow. Right now, I just want to enjoy being wrapped in the arms of my soul mate.
“Liam?” I whisper, as his breathing evens out.
“Hmmmm?” He’s barely conscious.
I can’t help but smile as I listen to the hypnotic rhythm of his heart beneath my ear. “Thank you for being my lobster.”
SEVENTEEN
COMING CLEAN
The next morning I wake to find Liam wrapped around me like a boa constrictor. I try to ease myself away from him, but his arms tighten.
“No,” he says, his voice dark with sleep.
“No, what?”
“Wherever you think you’re going that doesn’t involve staying in bed with me—no.”
“What if I need to go to the bathroom?”
“Hold it.”
He throws his leg over me for good measure.
“What if there’s a fire?”
“I’m sure New York’s Bravest will get here in time to save us.”
“Liam—” I squirm, and before I’ve even registered he’s moved, I’m slammed onto my back with my wrists pinned aside my head. When he settles between my legs I’m very aware of how extremely naked we both are. And how impressively hard he is.
“Elissa,” he says in a dangerous tone. “This is not up for discussion. I haven’t woken up with you in my arms for nearly six years. I’m not letting go anytime soon. You can either get on board with that, or I’m going to have to subdue you. Understand?”
“Define ‘subdue.’ ”
“Kiss you until you submit to my will.” He lowers his face so that his lips are almost brushing mine. “Make you come until you can’t move.”
“And this is supposed to deter me? Psychology—you’re doing it wrong.”
His face turns dark. “Doing it wrong?” He tightens his grip on my wrists. “Right. That’s it, woman. Prepare to be mauled.”
He growls and shoves his face into my neck, and I squirm and giggle as he nips and bites. When my struggling gets extreme, he lays his full weight against me to keep me still.
“Concede,” he orders.
“Never!” I try to buck him off, but it’s impossible. All those muscles weigh a ton. I huff in defeat and go still. “Okay, fine. You win.”
“Right answer.” He gives me a smug smile before rolling off and pulling me back into the cage of his arms. “On a related note, how suspicious would everyone be if we both called in sick to rehearsal today?”
“Very. But it might be worth it.”
He closes his eyes and holds me tighter. “Yeah, it would.”
With his right arm wrapped across my chest, I can finally get a good look at his tattoo. It looks like a coat of arms, but instead of animals, it’s made up of names. I lightly run my finger across the dark ink.
In the middle, “Jamie” is written in the shape of a heart. On either side, his parents’ names, “Angus” and “Eileen,” scroll around, and they’re surrounded by vines and flowers, just like the pergola Liam built for them. And beneath it all is a banner with . . .
“Oh, my God.”
Liam cracks one eye open. “I was wondering when you’d notice that.”
“When did you get this?”
“After the first Rageheart movie. Hollywood was getting me down, and I . . .” He strokes my back. “I wanted a permanent reminder of all the people I loved who I couldn’t be with.”
I run my finger over the letters etched into the scroll. At first I thought it was a generic compliment about his parents and brother: “My Bliss.” But then I noticed the capital L.