Page 90 of Best Kind of Trouble
He pulls back, his eyes glimmering, his jaw a hard, severe line. “I want to make you forget that asshole’s name for good.”
“You’re jealous?” I ask.
The possibility had never occurred to me. Hannah made it clear that Liam doesn’t date. He hooks up with women. He gets them hooked onhim.
I feel a pulse of anxiety, worried that that’s exactly where I’m headed, but then he looks me over with hooded eyes and says, “I don’t like to think about him being within fifty feet of you. So, yes, I guess you could say I’m fucking jealous.”
“You’re the only person who does this to me,” I admit. “I’ve never asked anyone else to touch me in a public place.”
“Good.”
This time I kiss him, pushing down with my hips so I can feel him right where I need him. Oh God. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me like this, and I’m feverish for him. I want all of him. I need to feelaliveafter being trapped in that mausoleum tonight, and I know he’s the man who can give me that. The only man who can make me feel good right now.
“You didn’t answer me,” I whisper against his lips, hovering less than an inch from him.
“I’ve forgotten every question anyone’s ever asked me,” he says, his lips curving into a grin.
“Will anyone show up?”
“No. I’m the only one who has a key other than the owner and the cleaning service. And the cleaning service only comes in the afternoon, just after closing.”
My answer is to get up and pull the dress up over my head. Igo for the clasp of my bra, but he stops me, his eyes shining with admiration. “I’d like to do that myself in a minute.”
My mouth goes dry as he gets to his feet, every action fluid, because even though he’s a big man, he’s an athlete. Then he tugs his shirt over his head, and it feels like all the blood in my body is suddenly pounding between my legs.
His body is a sculpted work of art, and he has a Celtic tattoo that weaves around his right bicep. I’ve never noticed it before now. I’ve only really spent time with him in winter, and long-sleeved shirts have hidden it from view.
He also has a few scars, including one that’s a few inches wide on his upper chest.
“Liam…” I trace his tattoo with my fingers, wanting to learn every dip and swirl, and the hot, hard muscle under my fingers fills me with longing.
Usually with men, I’m concerned about where sex might lead. I already know it’s a dead-end road for the two of us, which is surprisingly freeing. I’m analyzing myself less, and feel completely in the moment.
He shoves my stockings and underwear down one-handed, then reaches for me, his hand finding my wetness. His pupils consume his eyes as he works me with his fingers, the sound of it making me blush even as I’m consumed with the pleasure from what he’s doing to me.
“This is for me,” he says in a commanding tone.
I find myself nodding.
His lips skate across my collarbone, dropping kisses as he moves his fingers, and then he leans in and softly bites my neck. That sensation, paired with what he’s doing with his fingers, makes my knees weak.
“Liam…”
“Wait here for asecond.”
He pushes the bench we were on up against a wall made of old white concrete blocks. There’s some kind of schedule taped to it, but Liam wrenches it off the wall and tosses it aside before turning toward me, hand outstretched.
“I want you to take your stockings off and stand on this.”
I’m so mesmerized that I don’t even ask why. I pull them off the rest of the way, and then I let him give me a boost I don’t need. Peering at me with an intense gaze, he gets down on his knees in front of me. “Wrap your leg around my shoulder.”
“I usually can’t come that way,” I tell him, my knees practically buckling at the thought of him burying his head there while I’m so exposed. “It’s okay. You can?—”
“Any man who doesn’t work for it doesn’t deserve it. Wrap your leg around my shoulder.” He runs his hands down my calf as he says so, the feeling surprisingly sensual.
So I do as he said, my whole body quivering with how much I want him to touch me, but also now with worry. He’s going to think it takes too long. That it’s too much to ask, and I’ll feel like I have to pretend…
His mouth moves up my slick inner thigh, and soon every worry leaves my head as he kisses my leg, inching up slowly. He’s acting as if he’d happily sacrifice everything for the opportunity to lick and suck and taste me until morning.
