He looks away. We are both breathing too hard. “I don’t like sex.”
I look down. He is so hard. His cock is so heavy on my thigh. There is pre-come on my skin. “You seem to... um, you seem to like it fine.”
“Yeah. But I really don’t. It’s just...” He holds my eyes. His are a dark, beautiful brown. “I like you very much, Mara. I like talking to you. I like watching you do yoga. I like the way you always smell like sunscreen. I like how you manage to say pretty much whatever you want while still being unbelievably kind. I like being in this house with you, and everything we do in here.” His throat bobs. “I don’t think it’s a surprise that I really, really like the idea of fucking you.”
Oh my God. Oh my God oh my God oh my God—
“But I don’t need to... I’m enjoying this”—he grimaces, as if appalled by the understatement—“maybe too much, since I almost lost it... a number of times, just by being near you, so I’ll be more than fine if you just let me take care of you and—”
No.
I push at his shoulder, his chest, and then keep pushing through his first resigned, then confused, then shocked expression. Once his back is on the mattress, he lets me straddle his hips and groans. “What are you doing?”
I lean over and whisper in his ear, “Hard and fast, Liam.”
There is a long moment in which he just stares up at me, disoriented. Then he must realize: we are perfectly lined up. I’m working to take him inside, struggling a little, because he’s so big this way. But I’m moving now, balancing my palms on his chest, up and down and up again, and a few minutes later, on the downstroke, he’s completely wedged inside me.
The angle is so deep, my vision spots. Liam’s grip digs almost painfully around my waist.
“Mara.” He is panting. “I’m not going to be able to pull out.”
“It’s fine.” It’s perfect. “Just do what feels good.”
Everything does, anyway. The slide of flesh, the wet friction—even within the clumsy mess of our movements, as he slips out and has to nudge himself back in, this feels like perfection. The way he stares at my face, my breasts, the rise and fall of my hips, looking stunned; the wet, filthy sounds of us moving together; the things he says about how beautiful I am, how precious, about all the times he has imagined doing this—and there are so many.
I feel my pulse spike, and I smile at him as I lean forward. I love you, I think. And I suspect that you love me, too. And I cannot wait for us to admit it to each other. I cannot wait to see what happens next.
“I think,” he grunts against my throat. “Mara, I think I’m going to come now.”
I nod, too close to speak, and let him roll us over.
***
“Well. That was certainly fast.” Liam hasn’t caught his breath yet. His tone is mildly self-deprecating.
“Yup.” Delicious. It was delicious.
“I can do better,” he says. I’m pretty sure he has no clue that this was better. Best. Ever. “I think. Maybe with practice.”
I’m not even sure it’s over yet. My nerve endings are still twitching. My entire body is flooded with an electric sort of pleasure, wrenched out of me and then poured back in again. “It wasn’t that fast,” I say.
Liam buries his face in my neck and curls around me, dwarfing me. Yeah. It was fast.
“I mean,” I mumble against his chest, “that it wasn’t too fast. It was...” Extraordinary. Spectacular. Transcendent. “Good. Very good.” He presses a kiss to my throat, and I add, “But it wasn’t that hard, either.”
He tenses. “I’m sorry. Do you—”
“That is to say, we should do it again.” He pulls back to meet my eyes. He looks very, very serious. I’m feeling considerably less so. “And again. And again. Until we get it right. Perfectly hard, and perfectly fast. You know?”
His smile unfurls slowly. “Yeah?” Hopeful and happy, he looks younger than ever. I grin and pull him in for a kiss.
“Yeah, Liam.”
Epilogue
Six months later
“Who puts coffee creamer in their smoothies, anyway?”