All of Me: Liam & Sophie

by Callie Harper

  “Are you going to marry him?” she asked, stripping the relationship to its bones with childlike simplicity.

  “Doubt it.” Damn that wistful note in my voice. “Are you hungry?” I changed topics to an immensely easier one.

  After a pastry from Cuppa Joe, a little more cleaning and a solid lunch at home, I took Sophie to the beach. Sitting there on the sand, watching her spin and laugh with the birds and surf, I felt it in my soul. I’d come home. That was where I belonged, where I could be my true self. Now I just had to work like hell to make it reality. It was going to take hard work and determination, but I’d prove I was more than just a poor little rich girl loafing around in mommy and daddy’s mansion living on her trust fund. I’d do whatever it took, run through fire and back to become a bona fide small business owner and contributing part of the community.

  “Dance with me, Auntie!” Eloise pulled on my hand and together we spun and twirled and leaped in the waves. She was the best dance partner I’d had in a long time.

  * * *

  §

  * * *

  That night my phone dinged with a text.

  * * *

  Liam: You up?

  * * *

  I let it sit there for a bit. Liam Connolly, texting me at ten o’clock at night, it felt surreal. I’d spent so many days, weeks, months, years apart from him but never forgetting. And there was also the guilty truth of what I’d been doing in bed right when I got the text. Remembering how he’d looked at me, that intensity I felt coursing through him, I knew he had such passion and fire beneath that congenial exterior he showed everyone else. I’d been lying in bed fantasizing about him while I touched myself. So it took me a few minutes to reply.

  * * *

  Sophie: Hi

  * * *

  When my phone rang, I jumped as if it had come alive. I hadn’t expected him to level-jump like that. What was next, him throwing rocks at my window to get me to sneak out? He’d done it before. And now I wouldn’t even have to sneak.

  “Hey.” Sitting up in bed, I answered the call like it was no big deal talking to the one-and-only love of my life I’d thought was lost to me forever. No biggie.

  “What are you up to?” He sounded all casual.

  “Nothing much.” Definitely not wet and slightly breathy over a hot fantasy of you pushing me up against a wall and fucking me hard.

  “I’ve been thinking about your project.” He started talking to me about flooring, how he thought he might approach removing it, how he figured it would be a good idea to bring over his buddy to get his opinion, too, since he’d just worked on a historic home with water damage.

  “Sounds good.” I sounded distracted, because really I was wondering what Liam was doing at 10 at night devoting all that time to a flooring project.

  “Sorry, am I boring you?”

  “No, no, not at all.” I quickly tried to dispel any misconceptions. “Thank you so much for your help. I know it’s a tough project, but I’ll do whatever it takes to get it renovated. I’m just…” I paused, searching for the right words in the midst of so many I wasn’t sure how to say. “I’m grateful you’re up at night thinking about the project.”

  He paused. Until he told me, “I’m up at night thinking about you.”

  I leaned back against the pillows, the weight of his words like a blanket over my body. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, either. I closed my eyes.

  “It’s good to see you again, Sophie.” His voice flowed low and intimate through the phone into the darkness of my bedroom.

  I swallowed. “You, too, Liam,” I whispered.

  We both sat there, phones in hand, so much unsaid.

  “I’ll let you get some sleep,” he offered, letting me go. I didn’t want to get off the phone. I wanted him at my window, throwing pebbles until I rushed out in my pajamas into his waiting arms to stay there and only there until the sun rose the next morning.

  “Sleep well,” I murmured.

  “You, too.”

  I sat there with the phone in my hand for a long time after he hung up. This was big stuff we were playing around with. I’d lived with George and felt much less for him than I did for Liam. That a brief conversation about relatively nothing at all could rock me to my core scared the hell out of me. But it was unavoidable. One way or another, it looked like Liam and I both still felt a strong pull. I just hoped it didn’t pull me apart.

  8

  Liam

  It took me a while to fall asleep after talking to Sophie on the phone. I could picture her on the other end, lying in bed with her hair down, long and lush on her pillow. Back when I knew her she used to wear spaghetti strap tank tops and boxer shorts to bed, all thin, soft cotton. When she’d sneak out she used to drive me crazy on my lap in my truck, twisting against me and getting so wet as we made out. She’d always been so responsive. We’d always had explosive chemistry, every touch making us both crave more.

  It had been a mistake to call her. Just like it had been a mistake to stop by her store and offer my help, entering willingly, even eagerly into this entanglement. I barely recognized myself. Women were the ones who pursued me. All I did was head out, be my usual, friendly self and my phone lit up with flirty messages and calls. “What are you up to tonight?” “Come hang out!” “Thinking of you!” All I had to do was pick and choose.

  It worked for me. It kept me busy and required little to no effort. A bunch of the guys I knew were green with envy at how girls served themselves up to me on a platter. They thought it was because I was big, brawny and handsome, and, hell, that didn’t hurt. But they hadn’t learned my secret: paying attention. I guess I’d picked it up from growing up with my mom, having to be sensitive to even her non-verbal cues. I’d learned to watch for things like which shoulder she couldn’t raise after my father’s latest bender so I could jump in and get the dishes down from the top shelf.

  In my experience, if you paid attention to a woman, really listened and observed and asked the right questions along the way, it was all over. They’d lose their minds over you. And I didn’t mind doing it. Everyone had a story to tell. I wasn’t in a rush, generally.

  Paying attention was the secret to being a good dom, too. That might seem surprising. Lots of people thought domination meant selfishly inflicting pain. But in my experience it took keen insight to intimately read a sub, understanding exactly what she needed before she even knew. True mastery only came through paying close attention.

  I was paying attention to Sophie. Close attention. But I was also playing with fire.

  I shouldn’t mess with a good thing. The set up I had worked for me. I worked the darkness out of me once a month off the island, then just enjoyed myself with casual fun the rest of the time on Naugatuck. I got my release, plus earned the happy, good guy reputation that mattered so much to me. It made no sense to pursue the one woman who could completely screw that up. I couldn’t be just one or the other with Sophie. She’d bring out all of me. Only that could never happen.

  Thankfully, I had a 24-hour shift at the station to keep my mind occupied. No storm this time, we still kept plenty busy with tourists doing stupid things like leaving on the gas and setting bonfires on the beach. It was all routine stuff we were able to keep at annoyance instead of catastrophe, tamping things down before any real problems emerged. But my mind still kept up a steady stream, repeating the same film reel, with Sophie in my arms just two days ago kissing me back so ardently, eagerly.

  After I clocked out I forced myself to try to get some shut eye, then headed over to her building around one. She was there when I knocked, fresh and pretty, walking toward the door to let me in with a spring in her step. She wore a simple little dress, light blue cotton, scooping at her neck and ending at her thighs. Hungry, I watched her hips sway as she led me toward the back of the store.

  “Thank you so much again!” She chatted sweetly, telling me how grateful she was, offering me some water. As she passed to fill a glass from the tap,
she touched my shoulder. It was brief but I felt it everywhere. When she kneeled down to look at the flooring, she brushed against my side, a strand of her hair falling over my arm. I wanted to curl it around my finger, tug on it, hear her gasp again like she had when I took her mouth.

  I touched her, too. Helping her up, I brought my hand to her elbow. Only my touch was firmer, more intense. Her eyes flared at the contact. As I passed by her to get another tool from my truck, I brushed my hand along her lower back. I could feel her body sing to my touch, bending toward me with all of her dancer’s grace. Only this didn’t feel rehearsed or polished. This felt raw and primal, the need pulsing between us.

  I removed some floor planks, working slowly, prying them off with the utmost of care and avoiding any damage. What I found below looked like toothpaste gummed up and spread over a mess of rotten wood. I didn’t make too big a deal over it, though. She had enough on her mind already. She only needed to know if it was unsalvageable, and it wasn’t. With enough time and effort I could set it right again, and I’d do that for Sophie.

  She hopped over to Cuppa Joe and came back with coffee and pastries. “Here.” She set them down on a countertop. “You need to take a break. I know you worked a 24-hour shift and now you’re right back at work again. You should have some of this chocolate croissant.”

  I rose and accepted her offer, savoring the sweet, flaky confection.

  “You’ve got some—” She giggled, sweeping her thumb up to the corner of my mouth. I flicked my tongue out where she touched me, lightly catching her and our eyes met. She blushed, stepping back, looking away. But I grabbed her hand before she could bring it down by her side. Wrapping my fingers around her, I gently grazed the pad of my thumb across the inside of her wrist.

  “Your pulse is racing.” I could feel it beneath my finger, the blood surging through her body in response to mine.

  “No,” she protested lamely, blushing more and giving a weak tug to her hand.

  “Yes, it is.” I backed her a step farther against the wall, bringing the wrist that told me all I needed up over her head, pinning it there in my grasp. She shivered, still not meeting my eyes, but not fighting to get away. Ducking my head down, I nuzzled into her hair, below her ear, scenting her. She tipped back her head, sighing, yielding. Down at her neck, I pressed my lips to her soft skin.

  “I can feel your pulse.” As I licked it, a low, soft moan escaped between her parted lips. “Your heart is pounding.”

  “Liam,” she pleaded.

  “What?” I wouldn’t give her anything until she asked. I wanted to own her, hear her voice, throaty and desperate, asking me to kiss her and so much more. I kept my mouth at her vulnerable throat, blowing softly against the wet skin. She quivered, her breath coming fast. With my free hand, I started drawing it slowly along her side, barely touching her skin, beginning at her arm stretched out above her head. Traveling down, I teased along her goose bumps and shivers, past the swell of her breast, the dip of her waist, to rest at the curve of her hip.

  She moaned as I stroked, the gentleness of my touch contrasting with the firm, rough grip I had on her wrist, trapping her against the wall. Through the thin cotton of her dress her nipples pebbled, taut and stiff. My cock swelled in response, knowing how wet she must be, how quickly I could make her cum with my mouth feasting on her.

  “What do you want, Sophie?” Close to her ear, I spoke low and hushed as my fingers made their lazy way along her side. Her body answered, but I wanted to hear her confession. “Do you still think about me?”

  She panted and paused, but then admitted, “Yes.”

  I pressed her wrist harder into the wall. “And now you’ve come back.” Looking down at her nipples, the way she twisted under my grip, I wanted to do unspeakable things. I wanted to torment her, see how long I could force her to delay orgasm, make her beg and wish for punishment under my hand so she could request and be granted release. Sophie had made a grave mistake in returning to Naugatuck.

  “You shouldn’t have come back.” I grabbed her free wrist and joined it up over her head under my palm. She gasped as I trapped her, her eyes fluttering half closed for a moment in surrender and pleasure. I brought my fingers teasingly, lightly under the swell of her breasts, lifting them up to display her nipples. Grazing the tips with my thumb, I brought her attention to her own arousal.

  “I won’t be gentle with you, Sophie.” I pushed my thigh between her legs, parting them. “I’m not the man I was. Now, I want to bring you to your knees.”

  She made a fevered sound in her throat, arching her back toward me, asking with her body for more contact, intensity, friction. But I wouldn’t give it to her, not yet. I was enjoying her panting underneath me too much, the feel of the desperate need coursing through her, building, making her writhe, urgent sounds escaping her throat. That was what I wanted, needed, would feed on to soothe myself after all those years apart.

  “I’m going to make you beg, Sophie.” Dipping down, I sank my mouth into her neck, letting my teeth graze her in a bite. She cried out, head tilted more, offering herself to me to do whatever I wanted.

  “I know what you want, Sophie,” I whispered into her ear, low and wicked. “Do you?”

  “I—I don’t know,” she panted. “I’m scared.”

  “You should be.” Without another word, I broke away, leaving her there even as she strained against me. I leaned down, scooped up my tools and packed in seconds flat. She didn’t even have time to compose herself to speak. I headed out the door before I could do anything else to her.

  I drove back, barely aware of my surroundings, lust and the fierce urge to control and punish twisting within my gut. I had a monster inside of me. I could tell myself it was the way Sophie and I connected, the Dom/sub chemistry, our true natures revealed. But how did I know it wasn’t just the sick, sadistic side of myself taking over?

  Part of me wanted to punish her so I could watch her writhe and beg for orgasm, then revel in her release once I finally let her go. But another part of me? That part wanted her to pay.

  Seven years ago, she’d wrecked me, taken me for a ride and then vanished without a trace. I’d been 20 years old and felt like my life was over. Before she left, it hadn’t even occurred to me that she might. Of course she and I would move together to New York City. I’d never been an overly analytical guy and some things were so obvious they didn’t even seem to require an explanation. Sophie and I belonged together.

  Then she’d rejected me, taking off on her own. Talk about a sucker punch. What if this intense urge to dominate was really just a desire to punch her back? I’d seen my dad land a punch or two on my mom. I had his traitorous blood running through my veins.

  When I got home, I called Jax out in California. He was surprised at my call, but more than happy to have me out to visit over the long holiday weekend. As expected, he asked no questions.

  “Get your ass out here to Cali, man,” he encouraged me. “We’ll show you what a real party’s like.”

  Whatever, I didn’t care what we did, I just needed to get my head screwed on right. And to do that I needed to get some distance from Sophie. The next call I made was to the chief. I’d literally never asked for time off, so after giving me some shit for not giving him any notice at all, he told me to go have a good time. They’d figure it out. I’d done the same for many of the guys I worked with over the last two years. I appreciated now they’d do the same for me.

  Distance, that was what I needed, because Sophie had infected me like a virus. She’d taken the nice, stable life I’d set up for myself and been enjoying for years now and shaken it up like a snow globe. I didn’t even want to host my famous Fourth of July party. I’d leave town instead.

  * * *

  §

  * * *

  I’d been out to California once before, and it always struck me the same way—bright as fuck. As I stepped out of LAX the sunshine felt like it might make me burst spontaneously into flame. Jax laughed at me
for not having sunglasses.

  “Masshole.” He elbowed me as we walked over to his truck.

  “Yeah, you know you’ve got some in you, too.” I elbowed him right back. He’d lived in Massachusetts as a kid, his mom and sometimes his dad coming out to Naugatuck as part of the seasonal labor force serving tourists’ needs. His mom had worked as a maid and his dad had worked alongside mine on a couple of construction projects.

  I could still remember the first time we’d met. Both 10 years old, he’d sized me up like a Vegas card shark, deciding whether or not I’d rat him out if he told me what he had in his backpack. Thankfully, I’d passed his test. He’d taken me aside and whispered, “I’ve got bottle rockets, roman candles, and a bunch of firecrackers.” Then he’d made me his willing partner-in-crime by asking, “Where should we set them off?” A lifelong friendship was born.

  He was a long way away from Massachusetts now, though. Several years ago he’d made his way out to Southern California about an hour north of L.A., just down from Santa Barbara. From what I’d seen the couple of times I’d visited, he’d carved out a pretty sweet life for himself. The beach was a 15-minute drive from his place and the local girls dressed like they were on it even when they weren’t, with string-tie bikini tops and cutoff short shorts. He co-owned a bar with a buddy of his. Last we’d talked, business was booming.

  “Gonna be a rager of a weekend,” he assured me, settling into the freeway traffic.

  “Bring it.” I looked out the window, the golden hills so foreign to my eye.

  “You should move out here, man.” Jax smacked me on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you. You could work as a bouncer at the bar until you get your feet under you. And you could get work on the houses around here. Everyone’s building, remodeling, this place is exploding.”