Page 84 of Seeking Stars
"It's a pity we won't get to go out much," he said. "I'll have to take your word for it."
She kept quiet, unsure whether he meant they had to stay inside because of his fame… or because of how busy they would be with each other.
"I can't believe I didn't ask, but… when are you flying back to LA?" she said instead. Much safer to discuss that while her attention divided between him and driving.
"Monday morning. I have meetings on Monday afternoon."
A brief silence filled her car, which he soon broke.
"You should have seen their faces," Liam told her with a chuckle. "They were so confused when we stopped here for fuel, only I actually went off the plane and said goodbye."
"I'm just glad we have the weekend together. We needed this."
They parked at her place and made their way up the three flights of stairs. She took her keys out of her pocket, nerves coming back to her stomach, but for altogether different reasons.
***
Liam didn't remember the last time he felt so eager to see someone. It was an old, unfamiliar, but welcomed feeling.
They made it to her place, an indistinct beige building; a wide structure no more than 5 stories high. Her apartment was on the third floor; she opened the door and went in, standing to the side to let him in. She closed the door behind him, toeing off her shoes. He copied her. Taking two steps into the middle of the room, he dropped the bag at his side and studied the small living room. He took off his baseball cap and sunglasses, dropping them on top of his bag.
He finally turned to face her. "So do I get a tour or—"
He didn't get to finish the sentence. She had taken two steps to him, hooked her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
He responded in an instant. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Letting himself drown in the moment, he lifted her off her feet.
"Okay?" she said, almost nonsensically, but he knew what she meant.
"Okay," he nodded, before kissing her again.
Her smile— striking— hit him right in the gut. She put her hands on his shoulders and got him to drop her on the floor. She took his hand and pulled to guide him, he was sure, to her bedroom. He wet his lips, slowly. She bit hers.
The darkness in the short hallway gave way to her bright room. His quick glance around picked only a few details: a big, colorful painting above the bed, some functional furniture, and not much more. His eyes sought hers again as she stopped a step away from her neatly made bed.
He stood in front of her. She pulled at his shirt to bring him to her lips and kiss him; her hands eager, they ran up his chest to his neck, then to his hair, then under his shirt. She dragged her fingers through the ridges of his abs and pecs, and he stopped the kissing only so that he could take off his shirt— he wanted more of her hands on him. As soon as he was free of it, she kissed the center of his chest, lips above his heart, which skipped a beat in response. She looked up at him again with a flame in her eyes, and raised up to the balls of her feet, wanting to find his lips with hers again. He obliged her, and saw her smile as they kissed, before he closed his eyes.
***
Liam's heart beat fast under her fingers and it made her breathless. She bit his bottom lip and pulled, needing to distract herself from the lack of air, to gain some leverage. He wrapped his arms around her again, before dropping his hands to take hold of her ass. He pulled her hips flush against him; she could feel his erection on her lower belly. Her lungs melted with the heat it sparked inside of her.
She let her hands drop to his pants and hooked her fingers around the waistband. She tugged and took a step back, until she felt the mattress against her knees.
"You're way overdressed," he complained in a rumbly voice, as his hands found the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up. She lifted her arms for him to get rid of it; from the corner of her eye, she saw him throw it somewhere, she didn't know or care where. He grabbed the naked flesh of her waist with strong hands but it didn't seem enough for him. He slid his hands under her jeans to take hold of her skin.
He turned them in place and sat on the bed, bringing her closer to him. Guiding her to stand in between his legs, he kissed the center of her chest, then her breasts over the thin fabric of her bra. Her hands continued to swim in his hair, messing it up, her eyes drawn to every one of his movements. Never stopping his kissing, he unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down her legs; she kicked them away, took away her socks, and came back to standing up in front of him.
He stared at her, eyes roaming all over her body. He grabbed her at the waist but held her slightly back— only enough distance for his lips to trail down the sensitive skin of her torso, down the center of chest, lower. He bit at the edge of her underwear and pulled, before letting go of it. It hit her with a soft slap. She gasped at the sensation.
"I've wanted to do this for weeks," he said, his hand following a path down the back of her thighs. "I'm glad you're wearing black. I can pretend I'm finally peeling off that damn bikini. It's haunted my dreams."
She would have laughed, had she had the capacity for it.
His hands came up to unhook her bra; she helped him get rid of it. He cupped her breasts and, with apparent reverence, flicked at a nipple with his tongue. Her breathing hitched, he closed his lips and sucked around the puckered tip. As he switched sides, his eyes sought hers. The jade of them seemed to be lit from within, a kind of power that reached for something deep within her and challenged her. She bit her lips in response, a feeble attempt to pace things and grab at control, to modulate the rising intensity of feeling. Arousal pooled at her core.
"Get on the bed," he asked in that deep, rumbly voice. With a shiver, she obliged.
He stood. She watched him unbutton and unzip his pants slowly, teasing her or prolonging the moment, she didn't know. He lowered them down, taking his underwear in the same movement, and getting rid of his socks.
