Cracking up, I answer, “So very much.”
Later that day, the five of us squeeze into her truck—Steve Trout on Ethan’s lap, an inseparable pair already—return to the same shelter, and find an adorable black-and-white tuxedo cat.
January strokes the cat’s chin and says, “You’re Ripley.”
I look at the cutie and say, “Looks more like a Five O’clock.”
Ethan suggests Dolphin.
Wednesday shakes her head. “You’re all wrong. She’s The Hacker.”
It’s a perfect name. And I think I might have a life that’s pretty damn close to perfect too.
30
January
What’s better than realizing the guy next door is the love of your life?
What’s better than him feeling the same way about you?
One thing. One thing only.
Sex with that guy that night.
I sneak over, because it’s fun to sneak over.
After opening the door slowly and ever so quietly, he tugs me inside, then brings his finger to his lips.
Is Ethan awake? I mouth, surprised at the secrecy routine, since his kid is the king of sleeping like a log.
“Steve Trout does not sleep as soundly as Ethan.”
“Ah,” I whisper, nodding, and we both tiptoe across the living room to Liam’s bedroom. He shuts the door and jerks me against him.
He’s not soft and gentle.
He’s ravenous and demanding. His hands rope into my hair, and he tugs hard on my strands, dropping his fantastic lips to my neck. Kissing me greedily. Kissing me like he’s starving. In seconds, his lips are on my mouth, and he devours me.
I am liquid in his arms.
Bliss flows through me.
Desire surges over my skin, drowns my bones, my cells.
My hands travel up his chest, grabbing at him just as he grabs at me. And soon, we are two frenzied, fevered creatures.
Driven mad with longing.
With lust.
And now, with love.
He lifts me up, hooks my legs around his waist, and carries me to the bed. “It’s been too long.”
“I know. It was a miserable week. I climbed the walls,” I whisper as I tear at his T-shirt, jerking it over his head.
“That should never happen again,” he says, stripping me in seconds flat.
“Yes. Don’t ever do that again,” I say, shuddering as his hands roam down my naked body, gliding over my breasts, my belly, my thighs.
He steps back, undoes his jeans, then returns to me, parting my legs.
“You have my word. I will always be here to fuck you,” he growls as he moves between my thighs, settling there, then notching the head of his cock against me.
I arch up, eager, hungry. My hand darts out, grabbing his length, guiding him home.
“So greedy.”
“I know what I want,” I say.
“You do, and I love that about you,” he says, sliding into me, then groaning as he fills me.
Pleasure tears mercilessly across my entire body as Liam thrusts into me. His right hand slides down my leg, grips my knee, and pushes it up high against my chest.
“Yes,” I moan, grabbing his ass, holding on tight. “I love this,” I whisper, words falling from my lips, sensations spreading wildly through every molecule. But those words don’t feel like enough. And even though I never thought I’d be one of those heat-of-the-moment people, I also never thought I’d feel so much for one person, and I need to say what’s in my heart.
I lift my hands, hold his stubbled face, and meet his gaze.
He slows down. “You okay, love?”
There it is again.
Love.
“I love this. I love you,” I say, and it comes out needy, breathy, and full of passion.
“Love you so much,” he answers.
And that’s all. That’s all I needed to say. But saying it makes the most amazing sex somehow even better.
Because it’s fucking, and it’s making love, and it’s forever.
It’s all of those things I didn’t think I wanted.
And it’s everything I love having.
When we come together, lost in each other, we pant, moan, and collapse.
I murmur, lazily stroking his back, “You’re kind of a sex machine.”
“And this is a problem?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I like machines.”
He eases out of me. “Good. Because this machine is always ready to do the job,” he says, then heads to the bathroom and returns seconds later with a warm, wet washcloth to clean me up.
After he tosses it in the hamper, he returns to my side, drawing me close. “Was that makeup sex?”
“Kind of,” I whisper.
“Should we break up again to have it?”
I swat his chest. “Take that back.”
He laughs, then presses a soft kiss to my shoulder as something scratches at the door.
Or rather, someone.
With four legs.
He rises and opens the door slightly. Steve Trout bounds in, leaps onto the bed, and sniffs my shoulder. I’m glad that’s where her snout goes.
I laugh. “Your dog likes the way I smell.”
“The dog has excellent taste.”
Liam returns to the bed again, looping an arm around me and the dog too, who is tucking herself into my armpit. “You should sometime, you know, spend the night,” he says.
