9. Liam

That kiss…

That kiss haunts me, blurring the lines between blessing and curse. The moment our lips touched, a primal urge surged inside me, fueling desires I'd never acknowledged. I craved to claim her, to bring her to the brink of ecstasy where only my name would echo through her mind. This intense longing unsettles me; I've always prided myself on control, yet with Nessa, restraint seems like a foreign concept.

This really unsettles me. I've never lost control the way I did in that car, never. It seems that this unruly part of me refuses to be put back in its box. It comes to life every time she crosses my thoughts, which is shamefully far more often than it should.

Reflecting on Ethan and Cole's entanglements, I used to view their actions as impulsive, almost irrational, when it came to Poppy and Eva. But now, feeling the pull Nessa has on me, I understand. If I'd been any other man, if I didn't have the impending doom of responsibility hovering over me, I would make her mine any way possible.

My dad's voice, always so damn authoritative, tries to rein me in, warning me of the mess this could lead to. A simple kiss has already turned my world upside down; taking this any further could spell disaster. Yet the part she woke, the one that refused to be silenced, is so much stronger than I expected.

As the guys go on about whether Poppy and Eva will come to the game, my mind's stuck on Nessa. Texting her to come was impulsive, crazy even. But the thought of her there, watching me, sets something ablaze inside. She's like a spark to dry tinder.

My little spitfire… She's not yours, though, is she? She's not mine, not really. But damn if I don't want her to be. The more I think about it, the more I realize she wants me too. Maybe this is a chance to let go, to let something real happen, even if we know it's only for a short while.

The rational part of me screams caution, but the rest? It's already decided. Nessa's under my skin, and as I sit here pretending to listen to Ethan and Cole, I'm planning my next move. Inviting her to the game? That's just the start. I want to show her there's more to me than the perfect facade.

Nessa's the kind of trouble I've been avoiding my whole life. But right now? I'm all in. It's time to see where this fire between us can go. We need to have an honest talk, though, because I don't want to end up hurting her—she's been through enough already.

The banter, the flirting with her, it's effortless—like stepping into uncharted territory for the first time. This feeling intensifies as I dash out of the tunnel onto the pitch with the guys, turning to the crowd to see her sitting beside Poppy and Eva. Suddenly, I'm smiling, my steps lighter, just knowing she's here watching me. Fuck, I'm really in trouble—a kind of trouble I'm unexpectedly eager to dive into.

The game rushes by, and I catch myself playing partly to impress her, another first. I've never sought anyone's approval before, but I can't deny the thrill I get from catching her eye, from seeing her cheer specifically for me after each assist and goal.

I sneak glances at the guys, hoping my newfound zeal isn't as transparent as it feels. They're too caught up in their performance to notice, for which I'm grateful. I'm not ready to face their questions, nor am I entirely sure of what's unfolding inside me.

Once the whistle blows, marking the game's end, my gaze locks onto hers, and my heart jolts at her cheeky grin. Instinctively, I take a step toward her—a mistake, I realize, but then the team engulfs me in a victory hustle, distracting me from acting on impulse.

By the time we go back to the locker room, the stadium is already half empty. I can't suppress my grin when I reach for my shower gel and spot two texts from my spitfire. Glancing around, I find the guys engrossed in their own worlds. They see me as the "boring, perfect Liam"—if only they knew the effort it takes.

Shaking off the gloom, I focus on Nessa's words.

Nessa: Your stamina is quite impressive. Is it the same in other settings?

Nessa: I'm free tonight if you are.

My cock stirs in my shorts, and I'm surprised. I feel like a rowdy teenager… something I never even felt when I was a teen.

"What are you doing to me, spitfire?" I murmur, unaware I've spoken aloud until Ethan's voice pulls me back.

"What's that?" Ethan, towel in hand, looks curiously at me.

Caught off guard, I glance down at Nessa's text before deflecting. "I was wondering about your postgame plans."

"Oh." Ethan's hand goes to his neck, a goofy smile spreading across his face—one that clearly spells Poppy Donovan.

"Poppy?" I probe, and his grin widens in confirmation.

"Yeah, going to spend the evening at her place. We're watching a show."

Cole's bark of laughter cuts through the air, and I turn to find him already stripping down. "Watching a show? That's what we're calling it now?"

Ethan rolls his eyes. "Don't be crass."

"Bet my fucking plane you don't make it past the first episode," Cole shoots back, the challenge clear in his voice.

Their banter, so typical, eases some of the tension inside me, and I can't help but join in the laughter. "Seems like a safe bet. And you, Cole? Any plans tonight?" I ask, hoping for a yes to keep him occupied and away from any potential interference with Nessa.

Cole nods, a smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, got plans with Eva."

Ethan's mocking smile appears instantly. "Does she know that?"

Flipping Ethan off, Cole heads to the showers without another word.

"She doesn't, does she?" I sigh, half amused, half concerned.

"Nope." Ethan's response is as expected.

The locker room dynamics, the teasing, the camaraderie—it all fades as I turn my attention back to my phone, to Nessa's invitation. Whatever happens between Cole and Eva, it won't matter; my evening is now unequivocally claimed.

Me: I'm free. Want to come over? I'll pick you up. Is 8 okay?

Her immediate lack of response sends me to the showers, my mind racing with possibilities—doubt, anticipation, desire. It's a mess, a beautiful, terrifying mess.

Finally dressed and somewhat calmer, I check my phone again. Her reply is there, simple and promising.

Nessa: 8 is perfect. I'll meet you there.

The apprehension lifts, replaced by an unfamiliar excitement.

"Shit, I'm in trouble," I whisper to myself, the reality of my situation settling in. Tonight is happening, and there's no turning back.

By seven thirty, I'm a bundle of nerves, half tempted to crack my skull against the marble counter just to distract me from the incessant fidgeting. It feels as though I'm a kid again, jittery with anticipation for a trip to Disneyland, but I'm well aware that what awaits with Vanessa Caldwell promises a far more exhilarating ride.

I groan, surveying my room for the umpteenth time. It's spotless, evidence of my restless attempts to channel the nervous energy. The bed is freshly made, the aftermath of my second, entirely unnecessary shower, and an outfit chosen with such painstaking care it borders on the absurd, considering its destiny to end on the floor should the evening proceed as we both hope.

I've rehearsed my no-commitment speech so many times that by the time eight hits, I'm not even sure I'll know what I want to say anymore. All I know is that before anything happens between us, she needs to know that no matter the circumstances, a future is not possible.

I find distractions in the details: the precise placement of my phone, the alignment of books, the rhythm of my pacing as the clock ticks closer to eight. Every glance at my phone, every adjustment of my clothes, is a step in a dance of anticipation, a mix of eagerness and anxiety.

Opening the window to let in the evening air, I try to calm the storm inside, grounding myself in the moment.

As eight approaches, my rehearsed indifference battles with the reality of my excitement. The vibration of my phone cuts through the tension, anchoring me back to the present—ready or not, here she is.

When I open the door, my breath catches in my throat. Vanessa is always stunning, but tonight, she's a vision of ethereal beauty. Her skintight dress accentuates every curve, and her long silver-and-purple hair cascades down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. For a moment, I'm struck speechless, grateful for her deafness so she can't hear the rapid thud of my heart or the rasp in my voice as I manage to croak out, "You're stunning," as I step back to let her in.

It must show on my face the effect she has on me because her smile brightens despite her nervousness. I've learned to read her, to spot her tells—the way she brushes her fingers against the stretchy material of her dress, betraying her anxiety. It was my first mission when I met this beautiful enigma, and I see it now, a subtle sign of vulnerability beneath her confident exterior.

"You're quite a vision yourself," she says, her voice soft and melodic, breaking the silence. "As impressive on the pitch as in person."

I nod, my nervousness manifesting in the habitual gesture of brushing my neck. "Do you want something to drink?" I offer, my words coming out in a rush as I try to steady my racing thoughts and pounding heart.

"What are you offering?" she inquires, shedding her high heels to reveal her natural height, still notably shorter than my six-four stance.

"We're a posh house. We have it all," I jest lightly.

She nods, brushing her dress again. "I think I want to keep my head for this. A Coke will do."

Grateful for her choice, I fetch a Coke for her and a beer for myself from the fridge. Settling on the sofa, I gesture for her to join me, the air between us charged with anticipation.

"What made you change your mind?" she inquires, taking a sip of her drink.

I don't feign misunderstanding. "It was always going to happen," I admit, the weight of certainty in my voice.

As she leans back, the slit of her dress parts slightly to reveal a long slender leg, and my dick turns into a semi at the thought of touching her skin. I press my lips. I don't have long before any rationality vanishes completely.

"We need to talk."

She tilts her head, a playful challenge in her eyes. "I'm not a virgin, Liam."

"No, I—" I shake my head; I'm making a mess already. "This can't be more than this." I point to her and then to myself. "I can't offer you a future or a relationship. All I can do is friendship and fun."

"Orgasms?" she teases, one eyebrow arched in challenge.

"Many," I confirm, the promise hanging between us, laden with desire and an unspoken agreement to the terms of our connection.

She smiles. A hint of mischief in her gaze. "I'm only eighteen, Liam, and I've just truly started to live. No offense, you're picture perfect, but I'm not here to get chained to the first man I hook up with. I don't want more than friends with benefits."

Her words are exactly what I thought I wanted, what I believed I needed to hear, yet there's an unexpected sting in her detachment. It bothers me, unsettling something I hadn't realized was there.

"And I want you." It's the truth, I can't deny it. Not when the evidence is starting to tent my pants, not when I'm breaking every single rule I've imposed myself.

Her expression lights up with genuine surprise, as if genuine admiration is a rarity for her. It's ludicrous—someone like her must be adored. Celebrated.

Then she moves, shifting to kneeling on the floor between my legs, parted in anticipation. This isn't a first for me, but it's undeniably different. Never before has this gesture struck such a chord; never has it felt so charged with meaning.

I look at her wordlessly, way too caught up on her slender hands trailing up my thighs, my muscles tightening at the contact until she reaches the button of my jeans.

She opens it and looks at me, and all I can do is look down at her, my lips slightly apart, probably looking like a schoolboy about to experience his first. I can't say a word, so many thoughts battling at once, and the only reaction I have is physical as I tilt my hips up slowly, a silent prayer for her to ease the pressure of my now fully erect cock.

She keeps her eyes on me as she trails one of her pointy black nails slowly down the zipper, and I let out a moan as my cock twitches.

She may be the one on her knees, but I'm the one completely at her mercy, and she knows it.

She undoes my zipper, and her eyes widen a little as she gets my cock out of my pants. I can't even smirk with male pride because all I can think about is how her plump red lips are seconds away from being wrapped around me. I feel like I won't be able to breathe until I see them stretched around me—until I hear her gag when I hit the back of her throat. I want her with the desire of a madman, and it's scaring me.

She wraps her hand tighter around me, and I lean my head back, moaning again at the delicious torture of the added pressure.

I feel her tongue on the tip, and I look back just in time to see her lick my tip again and again as if she were enjoying her favorite ice cream. I let my hand trail in her silky hair and grab it in a fist. She takes it as an encouragement and sucks the tip into her hot mouth with a little smile.

Little witch…

I nudge my hips up, keeping her face in place, inviting her to stop her sweet torture and suck me deeper.

She hums around my cock, apparently enjoying the guidance. Fuck, she is even more enticing than I thought. I fist my hand in her hair, and she hums again at the bite of pain. I let my head fall back as I pump my hips, fucking her hard, and if I go by her quiet hums and deep suctions, she enjoys relinquishing control as much as I enjoy taking it.

I keep pumping in her mouth, and with each thrust, she sucks me harder. I groan, feeling about to come, so I pull her off my cock.

"No, I'm going to come with your walls tightening around my dick."

Her lips, swollen and bright red from her dedication, part in a squeal as I stand up briskly, pulling her up with me and carrying her to my bedroom in just a few long strides.

"I want you naked, now," I command, already pulling down the full-length zipper of her black corset dress.

As the material hits the floor, the sight of the little witch draped in black lace, leaving nothing to my imagination, takes my breath away. Her body is lean and toned, her skin milky. My cock starts throbbing again to the point of pain.

I turn her face toward me. "Bra and panties off."

She lets out a little moan as she unhooks her bra, and the cool air of my room brushes against her small, perky breasts. I lick my lips as I look at her hard pink nipples, already tasting them in my mind.

I jerk my head toward her panties as I wrap my hand around my length, stroking it slowly.

She slides them slowly down her legs, and I can't contain the growl that escapes me as I squeeze my cock at the view of her bare pussy, already glistening with her desire.

Fuck, she's really getting off on being dominated.

She looks up, and I see uncertainty on her face as she stands naked before me. How is that even possible? She's the most stunning woman I have ever seen. I would get on my knees and beg for a chance to explore her with my hands, my tongue, and, ultimately, my cock.

"Lord, you are absolutely mesmerizing. Now get on the bed and spread those pretty legs for me; let me see what I'm about to own."

I see her shiver, not from fear or cold but from unadulterated desire. I quickly discard my own clothes as she settles into the middle of the bed, her blue eyes darkening as her pupils widen.

She spreads her legs just a little to tease or from self-consciousness, I'm not sure, but this will not happen.

I stand at the bottom of the bed, squeezing my cock to stop me from getting carried away, but precum is already leaking like crazy.

"Wider, little witch."

She spreads them as wide as possible, showing me insane flexibility that I can't wait to test out. Fuck, I could almost come right now. Then her lips spread, showing me her perfect drenched pussy.

"Now it's my turn to taste," I tell her just before falling on my knees and burying my face between her legs, licking her juices like a starved man before entering her with my tongue and fucking her like my cock is going to do as soon as she comes.

I suck her clit as I slide two fingers inside her, and I marvel at how tightly she squeezes them with each thrust. I know it will be pure heaven once she does that around my length.

She's letting out mewling sounds that are almost as hypnotic as her taste, and as soon as I graze her swollen clit with my teeth while I push my fingers inside of her, she comes, screaming my name.

I can't take it anymore—my cock is now almost purple, so I grab a condom, roll it on, and enter her in one hard movement before she is even down from her orgasm. She arches her back at the rough intrusion, her mouth open in a silent cry as her walls tighten so violently around me that I almost come at once.

I start thrusting deep and hard inside her as I grab her right breast, alternating between kneading it and pinching her nipple as I kiss her collarbone, her neck, her mouth—anything within reach. I want to devour her, make her mine, possess her inside and out. This woman transforms me into an animal, stripping away all semblance of control. The perfect, composed Liam, master of control and calm, is long forgotten. In her arms, I am nothing more than a savage, wanting to conquer and own her. This has never happened to me before, and I suspect it never will again with anyone other than my little witch.

"Oh God, oh, it's so good. Oh, Liam. Yes! Yes! Fuck me. Oh fuck, I can feel you everywhere," she half cries, half begs.

I bite her neck, knowing I won't last. I feel my balls starting to tighten as she squeezes me in her heavenly heat with each stroke. I start moving faster, harder, encouraged by her screams of pleasure.

I look up and meet her eyes. "Touch yourself," I order as I give her short, shallow thrusts. "I want you to come with me."

And suddenly, her walls tighten so hard that I can feel them pulsating, and she comes just as I let go.

I fall on top of her and lick the mark I left on her skin. I think it's the first time I've done that, and strangely enough, I feel no shame at this complete lack of judgment. I feel some kind of pride leaving my mark on her skin.

I roll to the side, remove the condom, and turn toward her.

"That was amazing," she says, breathless.

"It was," I confirm, grazing her cheek with my knuckles.

"Who knew you were such a dominant?"

Even I didn't, to be honest. "Who knew you were such a good girl?"

"I would love to see more of this side of you."

Oh, you will, I think as my dick starts to twitch again. "Will you keep on being a good girl?"

"For that dick of yours?" She lets her fingers trail down my chest until they wrap around my semi. "I will be the best."

For the rest of the night, I explore the extent of my dominance as she reveals the depths of her willingness to follow along, each of us partaking in the discovery of the other's desires.

When I wake up, she's gone. Logic dictates this shouldn't affect me; it was meant to be a fleeting connection, after all. I should feel relieved, even pleased, by the adherence to our no-strings agreement. Yet, the empty space beside me speaks more loudly than anticipated, stirring a sense of loss where satisfaction was supposed to reside. It's a surprising twist, the absence of her presence leaving a void that wasn't supposed to exist, challenging my convictions about what I truly wanted from this.