Page 85 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

He kissed me again, swallowing my protests. I moaned into his mouth, my hands clenching in his hair.

Fuck appropriate.

I needed him. Now. Here, under the shadows of the vines, with music drifting like a dream through the vineyard and the taste of sweat and champagne on his tongue.

I needed him more than I needed my next breath.

Liam pressed into me, the rough wood digging into my back through the thin fabric. His hands were everywhere. One gripping my ass, the other sliding between our bodies to guide himself. My hair had come undone from its careful updo, strands sticking to my damp skin.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathed, pulling back just an inch, his eyes searching mine with a terrifying intensity.

“I want this,” I said, my voice coming out desperate, my body trembling with need. “I want everything, Liam. I want… you.”

He didn’t hesitate and guided the broad head of his cock to my opening and pushed. I was so wet I practically swallowed him whole. He slid inside in one deep, agonizingly perfect thrust that bottomed out and made my vision blur. I clamped my legs tighter around his back, my internal muscles pulsing around him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his forehead dropping to mine as he sucked in a ragged breath. His body was trembling with the effort of not losing it. And then, so softly I almost didn’t hear it over the rustle of the leaves, “I love you.”

I froze.

He froze.

The words felt heavier than the humid night air, hanging between us.

My lips parted, my heart pounding against his chest so hard I thought it might bruise. He started to pull away as if he wanted to bolt, his jaw tightening as he realized what he’d let slip.

But I grabbed the lapels of his shirt, my knuckles white as I anchored him to me. “What?” I demanded, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Liam didn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the bark of the tree beside my head. I could feel his heartbeat hammering a frantic, Olympic-sprint pace under my palm.

I swallowed and took a deep breath, the scent of him filling my lungs. “I think I love you too, you giant fish-idiot.”

Silence thickened in the air around us, so heavy it felt like it might crush me. I thought I might break out in hives, my skin prickling with the weight of it.

After a heartbeat, he scoffed, “You think?”

I scowled, pushing feebly at his chest. “I don’t know, okay?” My voice was defensive, but my hands still clung to him.

He grabbed my face in both hands, his palms hot and slightly damp, forcing me to look at him. “Neither do I,” he said, his voice rough and bordering on angry, though his touch was a caress.

In the evening’s darkness, his eyes looked like the sky before a storm, gray and wondrous and terrifying.

“But I want you,” he continued, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones. “I want this. Whatever the fuck this is. I want to argue with you for the next fifty years.”

“Me too.” I nodded, a stray tear escaping. “I... I want this. Whatever it is.”

He kissed me softly, a slow, lingering press of lips that felt more intimate than the sex. “I don’t want to pretend anymore, Sharma.”

I smiled against his lips. “Neither do I, Fish Boy.”

He laughed, a low, warm sound that vibrated through my entire core. And then he was kissing me again, his hands moving with purpose as he hiked my dress all the way to my waist.

“Someone’s going to see,” I gasped, feeling the thick, hard length of him begin to slide out and then slam back in.

“Let them watch.”

He started to move in earnest with hard, rhythmic thrusts that made the tree creak behind me. I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming his name as he hit my G-spot with every shove. The friction was a white-hot burn, the sensation of his skin slapping against mine sounding like thunder in the quiet vineyard.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his teeth grazing my shoulder. “You feel so fucking perfect.”