control myself around this girl.
8
April
L iam puts his hand to my cheek, and I think my heart has melted into molten glass, ready to be reformed, shaped.
This is like torture — he showed up here, yeah. Flirting. Brought me a gift, even, something thoughtful. But he’s such a mystery, and I, like an idiot , told him my real name. If my dad knew, he would be furious.
He cradles my face in his hands as he pulls me in for a searing kiss. His lips on mine are fire, agonizingly intense, as his fingers flutter across my ribcage, just grazing gently across me. He’s utterly in control of this kiss and it’s hot sweet honey. My hands roam across the broad planes of his back, the thick, corded muscles, the places under his tank top I know he must have more tattoos. Tattoos that I want to see.
His hands move to my ass as the kiss intensifies, and I find myself pressed against him. I can feel his cock, rock hard, straining through his jeans, pressing into my low belly. Heat begins to pool at that point of contact, and in my core, tightening and throbbing.
I’m insanely attracted to this man, even though I’m still not sure if he’s the bad boy, trouble with a “T” type of guy I thought he was at first.
I really don’t know anything about him. I don’t even know what he does for a living, how he has so much money, why his hands — now brushing up under my shirt and stroking my back, eliciting a fluttering in my nipples — are so rough and callused.
Liam Copperhead is a mystery, and maybe that, more than anything, is what’s turning me on.
It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous.
I shouldn’t be letting this happen.
And yet I can’t help but try to curl around him tighter, press my hips into his more tightly. I can feel his erection growing, twitching from beneath his zipper. I want to feel it, but I don’t know if we’re there. We’re just kissing, after all, even if it’s massively clear that we’re both aroused out of our minds.
I pull back for a moment. His face is flushed , and my heart is beating out of my chest.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I’m in no place, emotionally. God, in the middle of my shop, too? And I told him my real name. My father will be furious. I’m not even sure how much Liam likes me, and it’s clear I like him way too much. I’m not ready for another rejection, my heart just can’t take it. I’ve already started to latch onto the small details that make me feel possessive — his one dimple, the way his canine teeth are just a little too pointy, the jagged arcs of vascularity across his forearms. His scars. Little things that make me think mine.
I thought Alan was mine. At first, anyway.
This is dangerous.
“Liam…” But my voice fails me. I’m not even sure what I was going to say. We can’t do this, maybe? I want to fuck you , more like. I want to lick your tattoos. Too much.
“April,” he says back, his voice throaty and low, and then my lips are crashing back into his almost without my permission, my hands wrapping around his belt, his hands in my hair, and then down my shirt, then up under it .
Nodding, moaning, and kissing is all I can manage. The room is hot from the now-late-afternoon sunshine, the hot glass, the welding tools, but more than anything, the fire that’s been lit deep in my core.
My palm presses against his cock through his jeans and it feels unbelievably huge. My clit is tingling just thinking about his size and I can feel my pulse pounding between my legs. Hovering my fingers right at the zipper, stroking along it, I can feel him getting harder and harder. A sharp intake of breath hisses from his teeth, and the sound makes me suddenly even more aware of my own desire. I’m so wet and he hasn’t even touched me.
“Mmmm,” he rumbles, and for a split second I thought he was going to say mine.
I really am crazy.
So why not? I’m already in over my head, setting myself up for more heartbreak. Why not go for broke?
I unzip his pants
8
April
L iam puts his hand to my cheek, and I think my heart has melted into molten glass, ready to be reformed, shaped.
This is like torture — he showed up here, yeah. Flirting. Brought me a gift, even, something thoughtful. But he’s such a mystery, and I, like an idiot , told him my real name. If my dad knew, he would be furious.
He cradles my face in his hands as he pulls me in for a searing kiss. His lips on mine are fire, agonizingly intense, as his fingers flutter across my ribcage, just grazing gently across me. He’s utterly in control of this kiss and it’s hot sweet honey. My hands roam across the broad planes of his back, the thick, corded muscles, the places under his tank top I know he must have more tattoos. Tattoos that I want to see.
His hands move to my ass as the kiss intensifies, and I find myself pressed against him. I can feel his cock, rock hard, straining through his jeans, pressing into my low belly. Heat begins to pool at that point of contact, and in my core, tightening and throbbing.
I’m insanely attracted to this man, even though I’m still not sure if he’s the bad boy, trouble with a “T” type of guy I thought he was at first.
I really don’t know anything about him. I don’t even know what he does for a living, how he has so much money, why his hands — now brushing up under my shirt and stroking my back, eliciting a fluttering in my nipples — are so rough and callused.
Liam Copperhead is a mystery, and maybe that, more than anything, is what’s turning me on.
It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous.
I shouldn’t be letting this happen.
And yet I can’t help but try to curl around him tighter, press my hips into his more tightly. I can feel his erection growing, twitching from beneath his zipper. I want to feel it, but I don’t know if we’re there. We’re just kissing, after all, even if it’s massively clear that we’re both aroused out of our minds.
I pull back for a moment. His face is flushed , and my heart is beating out of my chest.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I’m in no place, emotionally. God, in the middle of my shop, too? And I told him my real name. My father will be furious. I’m not even sure how much Liam likes me, and it’s clear I like him way too much. I’m not ready for another rejection, my heart just can’t take it. I’ve already started to latch onto the small details that make me feel possessive — his one dimple, the way his canine teeth are just a little too pointy, the jagged arcs of vascularity across his forearms. His scars. Little things that make me think mine.
I thought Alan was mine. At first, anyway.
This is dangerous.
“Liam…” But my voice fails me. I’m not even sure what I was going to say. We can’t do this, maybe? I want to fuck you , more like. I want to lick your tattoos. Too much.
“April,” he says back, his voice throaty and low, and then my lips are crashing back into his almost without my permission, my hands wrapping around his belt, his hands in my hair, and then down my shirt, then up under it .
Nodding, moaning, and kissing is all I can manage. The room is hot from the now-late-afternoon sunshine, the hot glass, the welding tools, but more than anything, the fire that’s been lit deep in my core.
My palm presses against his cock through his jeans and it feels unbelievably huge. My clit is tingling just thinking about his size and I can feel my pulse pounding between my legs. Hovering my fingers right at the zipper, stroking along it, I can feel him getting harder and harder. A sharp intake of breath hisses from his teeth, and the sound makes me suddenly even more aware of my own desire. I’m so wet and he hasn’t even touched me.
“Mmmm,” he rumbles, and for a split second I thought he was going to say mine.
I really am crazy.
So why not? I’m already in over my head, setting myself up for more heartbreak. Why not go for broke?
I unzip his pants
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