“Keep your hands on your pussy, Ana,” he murmurs, his green eyes dark and full of heated desire. “Keep it open for me, so I can see, ah—” He moans, rubbing his thumb over the tip of his swollen cock, and I gasp, my fingers moving faster now over my clit. “That’s my good girl, Ana, rub your clit for me, fuck—fuck, I can’t wait to see you come—”
His other hand slips between his legs, cupping his balls as he starts to jerk faster, his hand sliding over his cock in fiercer, harder strokes than before. “I’m so fucking close,” he groans. “Slide your fingers in for me, Ana. I want to see you fuck that pussy for me. I want to imagine how fucking good it would feel around my cock—”
“Liam—” I half-moan, half-whisper his name as I obey, sliding the fingers down that were holding my folds open and thrusting two of them into my soaked entrance. The moment my fingers slip inside, I feel myself clench around them, my pussy desperate to be filled. I cry out with pleasure, my fingers rubbing my clit faster, harder, frantic for the orgasm I can feel building. “I’m going to come too, oh god—”
“Tell me how it feels.” His gaze is fixed on mine, and as I look up into his eyes, all I can think is that I’d give anything for him to be inside of me, to behis, forever. “Tell me, Ana, and we can fucking come together,fuck—”
“It feels so good,” I whisper. “So good. My pussy needs to be fucked so badly—I wish it was your cock in me, Ineedit, Liam, I need you in me—” I’m almost whimpering now, the sound of my fingers sliding in and out of my pussy loud and wet in the otherwise quiet room. I can feel myself flushing, but I don’t care anymore. My desire has reached a new level, one where I’ve forgotten to be embarrassed. “Please, Liam, please fuck me—”
“Not yet.” He bites out the words, his jaw clenched as he strokes faster, his hips thrusting now, forcing his cock into his fist again and again. “But you’re such a good girl, Ana, letting me see your pussy, rubbing it for me so I can come. I should give you something, don’t you think? Something to show you that you’re my good girl.”
“Yes! Oh god, please, Liam—” I gasp out the words, pushing my fingers into my pussy as deep as I can, feeling my arousal soak my hand as I arch my hips upwards, fucking myself onto my hand as I rub my clit as fast as I can, wanting so desperately to come. “I’m so close, Liam, tell me I can come, please—”
“Just a few seconds more.” He grunts, his eyes briefly closing with pleasure as he strokes his rigid, dripping cock down to the base and squeezes it hard. As he takes a step forward, I know what he’s going to do before he does it. “Tell me I can come on you, Ana. Tell me—”
“Yes. Yes, please,” I moan, leaning back slightly, spreading my legs as wide as I possibly can. Liam steps between them, his eyes wide and frantic with pleasure as his fist flies over his cock, the head visibly swelling as I see the muscles in his thighs go rigid, and a moment later, the sound that rips from him is something akin to pleasure and pain all at once.
“Fuck! Ana!” He nearly shouts my name, and I see his cockhead flare, the first jet of his cum shooting out over my breasts as he fucks his fist hard and fast, his cum flying from his cock over my stomach, my thighs, my breasts again as I feel my orgasm reach the breaking point. As I feel another hot splash of his cum against my skin, I scream out his name, too, as the pleasure crashes over me.
“Liam! Oh god, Liam, I’m coming, I’m coming—” My hips buck upwards, my head tipping back as my entire body starts to shake, and I can still feel his cum dripping onto my skin, hear him groaning as we come together, both of us shuddering with pleasure as our climaxes overcome us both.
When I open my eyes again, I see him still standing between my legs, panting, his fist loosely stroking his softening cock. “Oh god, Ana,” he whispers, and I see a dozen emotions flicker over his face.
“Wait there,” he says, reaching for his sweatpants and dragging them on. The way they hang on his hips, his muscled chest and abdomen still visible with the smattering of red hair across his chest and his tousled hair half-falling into his face, turns me on all over again.
He’s so handsome, maybe the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, and he could be mine—if we can just put the past behind us.
I lay there for a moment, his cum sticky on my skin as he goes to the bathroom, and to my surprise, when he comes back, he has a damp washcloth in his hand.
“Here.” He sits on the edge of the bed, something soft and tender in his face as he starts to clean me up, running the warm cloth over my breasts and belly and thighs, washing off every last trace of his cum. “I like seeing my cum on you, but I can’t imagine it’s comfortable for you.”
“I don’t mind,” I tell him truthfully. “I think it’s hot.”
I see a flicker of something in his eyes, and his hand lingers on my thigh, so close to my pussy that I can feel myself clenching all over again with want. “You could have just showered, I guess,” he says with a rueful smile. “But I wanted to do that for you. And besides—” he sets the cloth aside and slides onto the bed, reaching for me and pulling me into his arms as he lays back on the pillows. “I wanted to do this.”
My heart nearly stops as I feel his arms go around me, and he pulls me against his hard, solid, muscled chest. “I wanted to hold you,” he says quietly. “I was cruel earlier, and I’m sorry. There’s been a lot of hurt between us, Ana, more than I ever thought there could be before that night in Paris. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that, though, and I am truly sorry. I don’t—” he takes a breath, and I look up at his face, feeling as if my heart might beat out of my chest. I’ve never felt anything as good, as safe as Liam’s strong arms around me, holding me close, my naked body curled against him. He doesn’t try to grope me, but I can feel his hand sliding down my waist, touching me more intimately than he has before. He’s been inside of me, twice now, but he’s never held me after. We’ve never laid in bed like this in the aftermath, and even though we only masturbated together, it almost feels more intimate than if we’d had sex.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Liam confesses, looking down at me as he props himself up on one elbow, his other arm still across my stomach. “I’ve dated women before, but it’s been casual. Easy. Nothing complicated. A few relationships that could have been serious, but they never were. And this—it’s so much more complicated than even a normal relationship, more so than you know. I don’t know what we’re doing. I just know—”
“Do you want me?” The words slip out before I can stop myself, and I see Liam’s face soften, his hand tightening on my waist.
“Yes,” he murmurs. “I want you, Ana, in more ways than I can tell you right now.”
“Did you mean it when you said that you loved me?” I turn towards him, my pulse speeding up as I ask the question, but I suddenly, desperately want to know. He’d said it in the midst of an argument, blurted it out, and I need to know if it’s true. If now, in the aftermath, he still feels that way.
“Yes,” Liam says, and even as little time as we’ve known each other, even with everything that’s happened, the sincerity in his voice makes me believe him. “I do love you, Ana. I—” He swallows hard, his gaze searching mine. “I’ve never said that to anyone,” he says quietly. “I’ve never told any woman that I’ve been with that I loved her. Only you.” He reaches up, brushing his thumb over my cheekbone. “Only you, Ana.”
I feel tears spring to my eyes, trembling on my lashes. “I—”
“No,” he says quickly, reaching up to brush one away before it can fall. “Don’t say it yet, Ana. When you do, I want to know for certain that it’s only me. I want to know that you’re mine, forever, and that no one can take you from me.” He pauses. “Just like the next time we have sex, the next time I’m inside of you will be because I know that you want me, and only me.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, and then Liam lets out a sigh. “I hate to talk about him,” he says quietly. “But I think sometimes it’s worse not knowing than knowing.”
“What do you want to know?” I look up at him, afraid of what he’s going to say before he even asks the question.
“Did you do—this?” He gestures broadly to the edge of the bed, the piles of our clothes, and I know what he means.
“Kind of.” I lick my lips, and I force myself to meet his eyes, as hard as it is. “I watched him for several nights. He had these photos of girls who he’d had living with him before me. He’d spread them out on the bed and touch himself, looking at them. It was this odd kind of nightly ritual, the way he did it. And I would sneak up every night and watch him, and—touch myself, too.”