Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
His mouth moves back to mine, his kiss bruising, possessive. “I’m taking back what’s mine.”
He flips me around, spanking my ass hard. I grit my teeth, absorbing the sting of his hand on my flesh. The pain spreads into warmth, mingling with the pleasure. His palm squeezes my ass, fingers digging into my soft skin. His other hand stays between my legs, fingers pumping in and out, his thumb circling my clit.
I press my forehead against the cool wood, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Liam’s body is pressed against mine, his hard cock grinding against my hip—when did his jeans come off? His heat, his need, his desperation surrounds me, consumes me.
“Liam,” I moan, his name a plea on my lips. I need more. I need him. I need us, like we used to be. Before the cabin. Before Knox.
Not instead of Knox. Just . . . before.
He kicks my legs farther apart, his body covering mine. His cock presses at my entrance, hard and insistent. He pushes in, just an inch, just enough to make me cry out. His hand is still on my ass, fingers digging into my flesh. He thrusts into me, a brutal, claiming stroke that has me screaming his name.
His body covers mine, chest pressing against my back. He wraps a hand in my hair, pulling my head back, his mouth finding my ear. “Is this what you wanted?” he growls. “You wanted me to fuck you like this? Like we used to?”
I can only nod, my words stolen by the sensation of him filling me, stretching me, completing me. He thrusts again, hips slapping against my ass. His hand is still in my hair, pulling my head back, his mouth on my neck, my shoulder, his teeth nipping at my skin.
The table groans beneath us, wood protesting our weight. But Liam doesn’t stop. He fucks me like he’s possessed, like he’s trying to exorcise his demons. And maybe he is. Maybe we both are.
His pace is relentless, his body demanding more from mine. Sweat slicks my skin, the slickness between us, the primal need driving us both. His hand leaves my hair, sliding down to grip my shoulder, fingers digging into my flesh for leverage. Each thrust sends shockwaves through me, the pleasure so intense it burns.
I reach out, grasping the edge of the table, holding on as if it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. Liam’s breath is hot on my back, his chest heaving against me. Our heartbeats pound together, wild and desperate. His hand slides from my shoulder, down my spine, coming to rest on my hip. He grips me tight, his fingers bruising as he changes the angle, driving deeper. I cry out, the sound raw and guttural, torn from my throat. The pleasure is too much, too intense. The coil in my core tightens, pressure building. I’m close. So close.
Liam seems to sense it, his body moving faster, harder. His hand slides from my hip, fingers finding my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.
“Come for me,” he demands. “Let me feel you come apart.”
His words are my undoing. The coil snaps, pleasure exploding through me. I scream his name, my body convulsing around him. He lets out a low groan, his body tensing as he finds his own release. We stay like that for a moment, bodies still joined, breaths ragged. Then we collapse forward onto the tabletop, Liam’s body covering mine.
He pulls out slowly, then rolls us both off the table. We end up on the floor, lying side by side, our faces inches apart. The tile is cold against my overheated skin. I don’t care.
I can see the sweat on his brow, the flush in his cheeks, the satisfaction in his eyes.
“I never stopped loving you,” Liam says into my hair. “Even after you left. Even when I was sure you were gone for good.”
I close my eyes. Let the words wash over me.
“I know,” I whisper back. “That’s what made it hurt so much.”
We lie there until the axe falls silent. Until footsteps crunch through the cold outside, heading toward the door. Until reality comes knocking in the form of Knox Bishop, who’s about to walk in on us, naked on the kitchen floor.
I should probably move.
I don’t.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hailey
Days six and seven blur together in a haze of domesticity I’ve stopped questioning. We’ve found a rhythm, the three of us. Cooking together, bumping elbows in the tiny kitchen while Liam and Knox argue about whether pasta should be al dente. Talking for hours about nothing and everything. Touching constantly—hands finding hands, fingers tracing bare skin whenever we pass each other, like we need the physical confirmation that the others are still here, still real.
The physical intimacy has opened up something emotional. We tell stories, share secrets. Knox talks about his time in the Marines, the real version—what he saw, what he did, the friends he lost in Helmand. Liam talks about growing up in foster care, about learning to build things and take them apart in the one house that almost kept him. And I tell them about Mrs. Bilby, my neighbor who brings me soup every Sunday because she’s convinced I’m too skinny. I bring her lockpick tutorials on YouTube because she keeps locking herself out, and neither of us has ever questioned this arrangement. How she would have loved this—drinking wine in a cabin with two beautiful men, making the best of a bad situation with style.