34. Liam

Chapter thirty-four

Liam

The steering wheel is an icy anchor under my hands as I navigate the silent streets back to Beacon Hill. The rearview mirror shows nothing of interest, yet I can't help glancing at it, half expecting Chris and Darla's disapproving faces to materialize there.

"Should have been different," I mutter, more to myself than to Shiloh. She turns her head sharply, her expression clouding with surprise and a touch of hurt.

"Sorry, I just... I wanted to make sure you were okay," she replies softly.

I press my lips into a thin line, fighting against the frustration bubbling up inside me. "I know, Shiloh. But it was ours, you know? Just for us, my mom, and your parents. Not for him."

Her hand hovers near mine, uncertainty clear in her eyes. "Liam," she starts, but the words hang unfinished between us.

We pull up in front of my house, the grandeur of it doing nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. My dad might want back into my life, but does he deserve it? Can I trust him with our future—a future that now includes a child?

I exhale, a long breath that seems to carry the weight of the evening with it, and then I reach over to take Shiloh's hand. My grip is firm, my other hand still bracing myself on the steering wheel.

"My relationship with my dad... it's always been hard," I confess, staring down at our entwined fingers. “He was never faithful—not to my mom, not to anyone."

Shiloh's other hand comes up to cradle ours, her thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing rhythm.

"I get it, Liam," she says, her voice carrying a strength that steadies me. "But we're different. We're going to do things differently. Our family won't be built on the mistakes of the past."

I feel the surge within me, love and affection swelling like a wave crashing against the rocks. We pull up to the curb and I put the car in park.

Then I lean across the center console, my focus narrowing to her, to us. I press my lips to hers, pouring every ounce of emotion into the kiss—gratitude, desire, the solemn promise of a future we shape together.

As our lips part, Shiloh’s smile is radiant, touching something deep inside me. "We should make our first Thanksgiving together better than any other," she says.

"Absolutely," I agree.

My heart hammers in agreement as I pull the key from the ignition and step out of the car. Rounding the hood, I reach her door just as she's pushing it open. I offer my hand, pulling her gently from the seat and into my arms. Her body fits perfectly against mine.

"Let's start making new memories," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Her laughter is like music, the sound dancing on the crisp November air. It's a melody I want to hear every day for the rest of my life.

I open the door, ushering Shiloh into the warmth of my—our—Beacon Hill house. The moment we cross the threshold, a magnetic pull draws me to her.

I envelop her in my arms, and our mouths meet in a rush of need, a silent promise shared in the sanctuary of the entryway. The urgency is primal, an ache deep in my bones to have her, to be with her in every possible way.

"Let's forget everything else tonight," I murmur against her lips.

My mind races with plans—snacks scattered around the house for impromptu feasting, hot apple cider to warm us from the inside out, and the soft crackling of the fireplace to wrap us in its embrace as we create new traditions together.

She nods, her breath hitching slightly, eyes bright with the same fervor that fuels my actions. Her coat slips from her shoulders as I help her out of it, my hands lingering on the fabric before it falls away. Touching her feels like coming home; my fingers trace the outline of her form, the subtle changes.

"God, Shiloh," I breathe, my voice rough with emotion. Every curve, every swell speaks of the life we've created together—the future that awaits us. This love is transformative, reshaping us both inside and out.

I don't take her to the bedroom. Instead, I guide her to the kitchen, our clothing creating a breadcrumb trail down the corridor. Naked now, Shiloh lets out a surprised squeak followed by an infectious laugh as I lift her up and place her on the counter.

"It's cold," she says, a playful shiver in her voice.

"Not for long, sweetheart." My grin is wolfish as I lean into her space, my hands framing her thighs.

I kneel before her, feeling like a man wholly devoted to the worship of this incredible woman. As my fingers gently part her legs, I catch the faintest hint of her arousal mixed with that unique scent that’s all Shiloh.

The sound of her moan, rich and full of desire, courses through me, and it’s all I can do not to lose myself to the sheer beauty of it. My cock throbs with each pulse of my heart, aching to be inside her, but I hold back, focusing my attention solely on her pleasure.

"Shiloh," I whisper against her skin, just before my tongue meets the warmth of her. Her hips cant toward me instinctively, seeking more, and I oblige, tasting her intimately. Her hands find purchase in my hair, guiding me, grounding me in the moment.

It’s raw, it’s real—it’s us.

There's nowhere else in the world I'd rather be.

I relish the taste of her, savoring every whimper and sigh that spills from her lips. It's like I can taste our future right here, her thighs a gateway to everything we're about to become. Her fingers tighten in my hair, urging me on, and I'm only too happy to comply, licking and teasing until her whole body trembles with the impending rush of release.

"Please, Liam," she breathes, her voice laden with need, and I double down, determined to chase her over the edge. She comes apart with my name on her lips, her climax rolling through her in waves that crash and recede, leaving her panting and flushed.

As Shiloh's breathing begins to even out, I stand, pulling her gently down from the countertop. Our eyes lock, and for a heartbeat, we're suspended in the aftermath, the air around us thick with the remnants of her pleasure.

"Turn around," I murmur, kissing her deeply, trying to pour all the love I have into that one connection. "I want you just like this—just like our first time, but better. Right this time."

I guide her gently, turning her until she’s facing away. Heat courses through my veins as I position myself behind her, the anticipation overwhelming. With one smooth motion, I slide inside her, and a rush of pleasure makes my head spin.

She groans and arches her back. I reel.

"Shiloh," I exhale, the word fractured by the intensity of being enveloped by her warmth.

"Tell me," she urges, her voice laced with desire.

The fragmented sentences tumble out, barely coherent thoughts that have been swirling in my heart since we first met. "So much... I wanted to... say before."

My hands roam over her, reverent and hungry all at once. Her shoulders bear the weight of my touch, my fingers trailing down her spine like a prayer. The curve of her back is my altar, her softness under my palms more precious than anything I’ve ever known.

"Always loved you," I confess between thrusts, each word punctuated by my hips meeting hers. "Knew you were the one."

She pushes her hips back against me, her breath hitching, and the sensation of her breasts brushing against my hands is nearly my undoing.

"Shiloh..." It's a whisper, a plea, a vow. I adore her in ways I never thought possible, more than companies, more than any material thing I’ve ever owned. She is my everything—this fierce, incredible woman who turned my life upside down.

"Again," Shiloh breathes out, her voice laced with an urgency that matches the rhythm of our bodies. "I'm going to—"

"Come for me," I urge her, my movements becoming more fervent as if I could convey every ounce of my love through each thrust. "Fuck, Shiloh," I growl, feeling her tighten around me. Every nerve ending is alight with electric pleasure. "I love you so much."

Her soft cries fill the kitchen, a symphony of passion that drowns out the rest of the world. Then, with a final, concerted drive, we crest together. Breathless, I pull her back against me, enveloping her in my embrace.

"Shiloh," I pant, pressing my lips to her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. I hold her close, still joined, unwilling to break this connection even as the waves of ecstasy begin to ebb. My heart hammers against her back, and I look into her eyes, shifting just enough to see her face.

"I love you," I tell her again, the words heavy with emotion. Each time they pass my lips, it's like I'm discovering their depth anew. "And I am so damn grateful for you."

I pull out, my breath still ragged from the intensity of our connection. Standing there for a moment, I feel the cool air of the room contrast with the heat of my skin. I reach down to grab my boxers and slide them on, the fabric sticking slightly to my damp skin.

Shiloh, her cheeks flushed with post-coital bliss, picks up my discarded button-up from the floor. She slips her arms into it, the material hanging loose over her body. It's too big for her, but she looks perfect, almost ethereal in it. Our eyes meet, and we can't help but share a bashful smile, silently acknowledging the raw intimacy we've just shared.

"Let's get that fire going," I say, walking back toward her with an affectionate smile tugging at my lips. "Make some new memories."

"Perfect," she agrees, her voice soft, still catching her breath.

Then her gaze shifts, looking past me, her expression one of surprise. Curious, I turn around to follow her line of sight and see through the window the first snowflakes of the season gently falling outside.

"First snow of the season," I murmur, an undeniable warmth spreading through me despite the cold imagery. I pull Shiloh closer, wrapping my arms around her. The sight brings back a vivid memory, the very moment when everything shifted, when I knew she was the one who would change everything. "Just like the night we met… the night I realized you were the one."

Shiloh leans into me, her body fitting perfectly against mine as we stand there, lost in the quiet beauty of it all. It's like the universe has given its blessing, cloaking our new beginning in this pure, serene white.

"Looks like we're starting our own traditions," she says, her voice a tender murmur that fills the silence of the room.

"Yeah." My voice is steady and sure as I hold her. "Our traditions, our family."

We stay like that for a moment longer, watching the snow deepen on the streets of Beacon Hill, the world outside turning into a winter wonderland. It's magical and peaceful—a sharp contrast to the flurry of emotions and passion that just took place inside.

"Come on," I say eventually, releasing her from my embrace but catching her hand in mine. "Let's get that fire started."

She nods, her eyes still wide with the wonder of the snowfall and follows me as I lead her toward the living room. There's a feeling of contentment hanging in the air, warm and full, as we settle down by the hearth.

I build the fire methodically, placing the logs just so, striking the match, and watching the flames catch. The light flickers across Shiloh's face, casting shadows that dance over her features. She watches me with those eyes—those damn beautiful eyes that saw right through to my soul from the very start.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely louder than the crackle of the fire.

"For what?" I ask, though I know. I know it's for this—for us—for the chance at something real.

"Everything." Her smile is soft, genuine. "For this perfect night."

All I can do is stare into those rich brown eyes, the future unfolding before us.

I can’t believe she’s thanking me when I’m the luckiest man in the world.