I laugh—a breathy, shocked kind of laugh—but it fades fast when he turns me around, one hand flat against my back, pressing me forward.
"You're breathtaking," he murmurs. "Every. Damn. Time."
I want to speak, say something clever or teasing, but I can't. I'm too busy watching the shimmer of ink on his chest and wondering just how many galaxies he's hiding on his skin.
And in that moment, I believe him.
Clark Kent in the light.
Superman in the dark
The room is thick with heat and breath and something unspoken that's slowly settling between us like dust in moonlight. Liam's hand is still wrapped around my waist, his chest rising and falling against my back as he catches his breath. I can feel the beat of his heart against my spine—steady, strong, like an anchor.
For a while, neither of us speaks. There's no need. The silence is full. Comfortable. Charged in a different way now. But then his lips brush my shoulder—soft, lingering—and he shifts slightly, guiding me to turn beneath him.
His fingers sweep gently across my cheek, down the curve of my jaw, then trace along the edge of my collarbone—slow, reverent, as if he's memorizing me all over again. Not with heat this time, but withwonder.
Then his mouth is on mine again—deeper this time, but slow, controlled. He kisses me like he's claiming new ground, like he'smarking the moment into memory. And beneath the softness, I feel it. That coiled tension in him again. He's not done.
His lips curve—not into a smile, but something darker. Hungrier.
"Keep your eyes on me. No looking away" he murmurs. I obey without hesitation, my body already aching for him.
In public, Liam was all quiet charm—glasses slipping down his nose, a thoughtful smile, the kind of man who let others speak first and lingered on the edge of a room like he was more comfortable watching the stars than standing in the spotlight.
But now, in private, something shifted. The softness peeled back, revealing something steel-edged and sure. His voice dropped lower, slower—less question, more command. His touch was no longer tentative, but deliberate, like he'd mapped every inch of me in his mind and was simply following constellations only he could see. He didn't hesitate. He took. He guided. And I followed—not because I was told to, but because I wanted to. Because in his arms, I was never unsure, never drifting.
He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he whispered, his tone a blend of reverence and desire. "Every moment with you is a discovery, a new theorem to solve."
His hands moved with purpose, tracing the lines of my body as if reading a beloved book. Each touch was a word, each caress a sentence, building a narrative only we understood.
"You're my favorite equation,"he murmured, his lips brushing against my neck."Complex, beautiful, and endlessly fascinating."
In that moment, I saw the perfect blend of his dominant confidence and his nerdy charm. He was a man who could command a room with his presence, yet lose himself in the intricacies of a complex problem. He was both the anchor and the storm, the question and the answer.
Liam in private was gravity. Not loud, not boastful—but inescapable. A force you didn't run from. A force you surrendered to.
And he was not just claiming. He was possessing me.
He moves with smooth, confident thrusts—slow, deep, unhurried. Like he's savoring me. Like he's watching the stars move behind his eyes and this is the only orbit that matters. His fingers dig into my hips as he drives into me with deliberate control, grunting softly each time I gasp his name.
Even with my legs trembling and my body aching in the best possible ways, Liam doesn't let me go. He stays inside me, buried to the hilt, like he belongs there—and at this point, I'm starting to believe he does. I feel every breath he takes. Every twitch of control trying not to unravel again. His eyes stay locked on mine, even as his hips begin to move again—slow, purposeful, impossibly deep.
"I know you're tired," he murmurs, voice all gravel and reverence. "But I'm not done claiming you yet."
A whimper slips from my lips, my body already shivering with fresh need.
"Turn over," he murmurs.
My breath catches, but I obey, rolling onto my stomach, hips lifted instinctively. I hear the soft rustle of him sheathing himself again, and then his hand slides over the small of my back, up to my shoulder blade, pressing me gently but firmly into the mattress.
"Good girl, Arch for me. Just like that, hold it." he whispers.
As the night deepened, so did our connection, each shared breath and whispered word weaving us closer together. In his embrace, I found a sanctuary, a place where passion met intellect and where dominance met tenderness.
"You were amazing," I whispered, still catching my breath.
