“Liam.” I let out another groan and arch off the bed as my release shoots up to my chest. As I ride the waves of pleasure, Liam’s growls from his own orgasm fill my ears.
Panting, I grab my t-shirt and use it to wipe away some of my sweat and cum.
Liam falls into his shower routine. I continue watching silently, admiring the way his long black hair molds to his chiseled body under the water.
There’s no way I can ignore my feelings for this man. Not when they’re growing at an exponential rate.
“We should go on a date,” I blurt out. “All threeof us.”
Liam pauses. With a blank expression, he glances at me through the phone, and I brace for rejection. “When?”
It’s my turn to hesitate. Did I hear him right? Did Liam Beckner just agree to adate?
“Tomorrow?” I ask, suddenly nervous. “Aren’t Sundays the only day you allow for fun?”
He’s silent, and my heart sinks. “Never mind. It was a stupid request.”
“No. We can try it.”
Slowly, my smile finds its way back to me. “I need you to really commit, Liam.”
“Bossy after you come, aren’t you?”
“If I say yes, are you going to deprive me of orgasms? ‘Cause then it’s a no.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever glimpsed a gentle smile from Liam, but here it is to warm my bones.
Fuck. This is already starting to get heavy. I know I can’t stay here. I’m the type to fall headfirst into love. I’m affectionate and clingy and too fucking much.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to learn all the things that would make them smile.
“Get some sleep,” Liam says. “I’ll be home soon.”
When the line clicks, I find I’m in a much better mood as I make myself comfortable under his sheets.
eighteen
Liam
Fucking Sundays.
It’s the one day I wake up with nothing to look forward to. Most of the time, I end up at the studio because I don’t know what normal people do on rest days.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I let my arms drop out to the sides. Only for one of them to hit something solid under my comforter. My pulse spikes until I turn and see a familiar mop of brown hair streaked through with white.
Well, this is a first for us.
Easing onto my side, I test out how it feels to wake up next to Beau. I’d planned on letting him have my bed last night, but I must have been delirious in the late hour and laid down next to him.
Our entertaining phone call took the edge off my worry for him, but I can’t help thinking about what’s going to become of him when he returns to Phoenix. No bandmates or tour or next albums to keep him busy. Without social and emotional nourishment, I fear Beau will wilt.
Should I push him harder in the studio? Does he just need time to find his way back to music?
I brush the pad of my thumb lightly along his dark lashes. The curve of his mouth. The sharp line of his jaw. He’s a beautiful fucking menace. I don’t ever want his vibrance to fade. But I also know I can’t fix his problems for him.
Carding my fingers through his hair, I realize I didn’t have any nightmares last night. I also didn’t wake up covered in sweat or trapped in my closet, where I’m sometimes driven by the ghost of steel-toed boots on the stairs.
Is this what I’ve been missing out on?
