“Yes,” I cried, arching my back, surrendering to him as he spanked me hard, direct across my clit. I had to bite my lip to force myself not to cum.
“That’s it,” he praised me, stroking me soft, then hitting me hard. “You take your punishment.”
When he told me I could, I came apart so hard for him, my body and mind exploding with pleasure, endlessly sobbing, climaxing pleasure he kept coaxing again and again out of my body.
“You’re mine,” he told me, growling it out rough and demanding and my body sang its response, one orgasm feeding into another, each summit leading into the next peak until finally I collapsed, completely spent.
He wrapped me in his arms, whispering in my ear, “And I’m yours. And I’m not done with you yet.”
Propped up on my hands and knees, he fucked me from behind, hammering into my pussy so hard I could barely stand the onslaught, bracing myself against the headboard, against the bed. But even as I struggled under his force, the size of his cock stretching my pussy as he pounded me mercilessly, that was exactly how I wanted it. Exactly how our two puzzle pieces fit together. No one else could match our edges and grooves.
He shot his cum into me so deep, sending me over the edge yet again, quivering and shaking, crying out his name as he called out mine. Then we lay in bed, naked. I sprawled across his chest, panting. He brought his hand to my back, caressing me, down to my thighs, up again. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Sophie Douglas.”
I smiled, too spent to say anything in response. I simply enjoyed, instead.
“You know I never stopped loving you,” he added.
“I never stopped, either,” I admitted, remembering those seven long years. Now that I was back with him, it seemed so obvious. That longing ache I’d never shaken, the way I’d felt numb with other men, it was Liam I’d been missing.
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d never broken up? If you had moved to New York with me all those years ago?”
He shook his head. “I used to, but not anymore. Now that life’s so good I wouldn’t want to change a thing.”
“I was so young and stupid,” I continued, remembering it so vividly. “My mom told me it would be unfair to you to bring you to New York. You wouldn’t know anybody. I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“Sophie.” He held me to him, kissing me full and deep. “Let it go. What happened, happened. What matters is now.” He held me, kissed me again and I felt his promise in it.
“I love you, Liam.” I meant it body, mind and soul.
“I love you, too,” he murmured. “And I’m never letting go.”
Epilogue, December
Liam
Right after Thanksgiving, our entire downtown exploded in little white lights. Every year we put together a big Christmas parade through the center of town and tourists flooded back for it. I wasn’t usually the kind of guy who noticed details, but this season all the lights plus the wreaths and bows on every streetlight and shop window struck me as beautiful. It was probably because I was in love.
I’d become one of those annoying people, smiling at nothing, whistling as I worked. On nights off, Sophie and I liked to stroll downtown, arm in arm, hot chocolates or coffees in hand admiring the lights. We stopped to chat with locals we knew, admired babies and puppies and just about everything else. We were both pretty annoying, come to think of it.
It couldn’t be helped. It came from being so happy. Neither of us could believe everything was coming together so nicely. Sophie had opened the doors of her dance studio in September, right at the start of the school year. She offered all kinds of dance classes to everyone from preschoolers to seniors. Her friend Lara helped her teach, and they had so much demand even during the “off” season they’d brought in one more teacher specializing in hip hop.
Sophie had tried to talk me into take a class. As much as I loved my girlfriend, and I was completely crazy about her, that was not going to happen.
“Don’t you want to move like JT?” she’d teased me, dancing around the living room to his latest hit.
“Are you referring to Justin Timberlake?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t admire his dance moves.”
“OK, I’ll just keep that thought to myself.”
“Seriously, though.” She’d perched herself on the arm of the couch. “He’s a straight white boy just like you, but he can move his hips! He’s proved it can be done!”
“Are you saying I can’t move my hips?” Those were fighting words. She’d started giggling and running away, which of course just baited the bear. We hadn’t done much discussing of dance classes after that. But I had shown her I could move my hips in a nice rhythm, thank you very much.
I was so proud of her, seeing all her hard work paying off. Nights when she was working but I wasn’t, I usually stopped by to bring her something to eat. She’d go the entire afternoon and evening without a bite if I didn’t remind her. I guessed old habits died hard.
One night in early December, I got there around 5:45 p.m. knowing she’d still be teaching for another 15 minutes but I wanted to stand outside and watch. Chilly as it was, I just pulled my hat down over my ears and enjoyed the scene inside. Sophie looked lit from within, laughing and flitting around her dancers. The girls all seemed to be in their early teens, maybe 13 or 14 years old, and they gazed at Sophie like she was a magical fairy princess touched down from above.
She took to the front of the room to demonstrate something. I didn’t know what it was called, but she basically spun herself around like a top then flung herself high into the air like she weighed nothing, spread her legs into a perfect line, floated there for a while and then landed gracefully on both feet. At least that was how it seemed to me. Her students seemed to watch her with the same mystification. She laughed, said something reassuring which I could see made them all smile and then set them each working on one small piece of the movement.
I could tell she was doing what she loved, and I loved seeing her do it. Once the class disbursed, I stole in for a moment with some soup.
“From my mother,” I told her, giving her a quick kiss.
“Ooh, what is it tonight!”
“Chicken noodle.” Sophie’s eyes lit up. I set it all on a counter in back. “See you tonight.” I kissed her again, never one for missing an opportunity.
“Thank you so much, Liam. I haven’t eaten since—”
“I know, since lunch. You’re bad at that.”
“I am,” she acknowledged.
“See you around nine.”
“Around nine.” She smiled and gave me one more kiss for good measure. See, I said we were annoying.
I drove home, already eagerly anticipating her arrival in a few hours. Because she’d be heading exactly where I was. She’d moved into the cottage with me at the start of November, when Lara’s lease had run out. Lara now lived above the dance studio and Sophie lived with me, right where she belonged.
Pulling in, I noticed that the light was on in the main house. Mom must be home. I decided to stop in and say hello, tell her how much Sophie appreciated her soup. She was in the kitchen and when I sat down she put some pulled pork and a roll in front of me.
“Eat,” she demanded, as if I hadn’t eaten a thing all day.
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” I agreed, making myself a sandwich. There were many perks to living with my mother, and I was aware and grateful of every one of them.
“So, tell me about the studio.” She always wanted to hear the latest news, how rehearsals were going for the big holiday performance, whether the new hip hop hire was working out. Half the time I had to tell her to ask Sophie directly, because I didn’t know the kind of details she wanted. The two of them were becoming fast friends.
“Uh-huh.” She nodded at what I was able to tell her. And then she asked, “And when are you going to ask Sophie to marry you?”
“Excuse me?” I’d been drinking a glass of water when she a
sked and just narrowly missed spitting it all over the table.
“Sophie? When are you going to propose?”
“Um, Mom, I haven’t exactly—”
“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t decided if you’re going to ask her.” She threw a dishtowel at me. It hit me square in the chest. Pretty good aim. But I was also a big target.
“You and I have both known she was the one since that summer you dated years ago.”
“You knew back then?”
“Sure. The way you look at each other? The way you connect? That doesn’t happen often in life. You were both so young back then, but now you’re the perfect age.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“What, was I supposed to do, rub salt into the wound? ‘Gee, son, you really lost the love of your life.’ You were sad enough as it was.”
“True.” I couldn’t imagine how tough I would have taken it if she’d said that to me back when I was missing her so hard it was like having lost a limb.
“I know!” She lit up. “Ask her when you’re in Scotland! That’ll be so romantic.” Sophie and I were traveling there after Christmas to visit Ian. I had no idea what we’d find when we got there, but it did seem to be the only way to see the man. He certainly wasn’t getting himself on a plane to come visit us. I’d never left the country before and couldn’t wait to do it with the love of my life.
“You’ll make your brother, Pat, best man I’m assuming.” Mom hopped right back onto the wedding planning train. She looked at me meaningfully. “Jax, Ian and Chase can be your groomsmen. But I think it would mean a lot to Pat.”
I stood up, having already dogged my sandwich. She was such a good cook. “Let me just think about the whole main question for a little bit. That OK with you?”
“What’s there to think about?” She shook her head in amused frustration. “Honestly, don’t over think this thing, honey. I know you can do that sometimes. But why waste any more time?”
I walked back to the cottage mulling over her words. Was I really wasting time? I knew in my heart Sophie was the one, but I guess I’d been giving her time. She’d only moved in a couple of months ago. Would I be jumping the gun to ask her to marry me?
I thought about calling Ian and asking his opinion, maybe even his permission, but I knew he wouldn’t pick up. I could call Chase but I already knew what he/Emma would tell me. “Just tell her how you feel!” No, I needed to talk to Jax. If anyone would tell me I was making a huge mistake, it would be Jax. He would be honest and straight with me. He wasn’t a romantic. He’d had it rough all his childhood, having to fight for everything he had. He didn’t look at the world through rose-colored glasses. He’d set me straight if that was what I needed.
The conversation did not go as expected. I called him. He knew instantly something was on my mind.
“What’s up?” he asked, direct as always.
“So, ah, I’m thinking of asking Sophie to marry me. And I was, ah, wondering what you thought of the idea.”
“Yeah, man, of course you should. She’s been under your skin since the day you met her. That’s never going to change.”
“What?” I’d expected at least a little good-natured ribbing from my confirmed bachelor friend, probably hosting a party as we spoke with ten hot women waiting for him downstairs. “How do you know that Sophie’s been under my skin since the day I met her?”
“You told me.”
“I did?” I had no recollection of doing that.
“Yeah, how you saw her dancing in the theater? The summer before you even dated.”
“I told you about that?” I’d thought that was my own private memory. I hadn’t even told Sophie about that yet.
Jax laughed. “You were pretty drunk when you told me about it.”
“What other secrets have I told you about myself that I don’t remember?”
He chuckled again. “I’m not telling.” And I knew he wouldn’t. He was good with secrets. I had a feeling he had a few of his own.
“OK, then, I guess what I should be asking you is if Sophie says yes—”
“When she says yes,” he corrected me.
“I’m not counting on a yes.”
“Fine, have it your way. If she says yes, I’ll be there. And then I’ll have to work on the both of you to move out to Cali.”
We agreed to disagree on that point. When I got off the phone, I realized I had a few more things on my to do list than I’d had that morning. First, I needed to get a ring. In all the years we’d been together I’d only given Sophie one other piece of jewelry, and that had been something she’d found on the beach. The first time we’d talked she’d played with a little white shell. I’d kept it, coated it in shellac and put it on a chain. That was cute for an 18-year-old, but now she was 26 and I wanted to find an engagement ring that would take her breath away.
And there was something else I needed to put on my to do list. What was I forgetting? Oh, that was it. I needed to ask Sophie to marry me.
Epilogue, December
Sophie
We were only a week away from Christmas. Many families were in gear-up mode, getting ready for the big day, wrapping presents, finalizing travel arrangements, planning holiday feasts. But for me, I could finally relax.
Our big holiday dance performance had been over the weekend with Saturday and Sunday shows. I’d been terribly nervous, barely sleeping at night, forgetting to eat. It wasn’t that I wanted everything to be perfect. I did, of course, but more than that I wanted all my dancers to enjoy themselves. I wanted them to have a positive experience out on the stage, most of them for the first time.
I knew what it was like to get out there under the lights. It felt scary and exposed. I worried about one of them tripping and falling not because it would reflect poorly on my studio, but because I knew that poor girl would remember that moment for the rest of her life.
But now the days had come and gone and I could honestly say that the performances had been fantastic. We’d had a few flubs, some trouble with costumes and scenery, but nothing a regular audience member would notice. The dancers were all in varying stages of expertise, from brand new to more experienced, and what I loved about the shows was how everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. I took as much pleasure from watching the little ones admiring their sparkly tutus as I did from watching my most talented students jeté, pirouette and glissade across the stage with strength and grace.
And now, most of all, I enjoyed having some down time before Christmas and, then, the trip Liam and I had planned to the UK. We were going to meet up with my former dance partner, Geoffrey, and his boyfriend in London for a couple of days. Then we were headed to the coast of Scotland to visit Ian. I couldn’t wait.
In the past, all my performances had ended with more stress. What next? Had that performance been big and bold and perfect enough to win me another? Whose eye had I caught? Or, worse, had I displeased anyone? Disappointed someone important? It was all nail-biting all the time, before, during and after performances.
But not anymore. Now I was in the cottage I shared with Liam and we were about to cook dinner. Regina and her boyfriend Ed were coming over for dinner tomorrow night, but tonight was just us. I’d invited Margot and Eloise over to join, but they’d declined. As much as I enjoyed seeing them, I was happy they’d wanted to do it another day.
Margot had moved back to the island a few weeks ago, enrolling Eloise in the local kindergarten. Things hadn’t worked out in Raleigh, and she wanted to try her hand back on more familiar ground. They’d moved into the family house and she’d hired herself a nanny with her trust fund money. I’d love to say that everything was going perfectly, but that would be a lie. What I could say was that I was grateful Eloise was nearby. She was going to start taking dance at my studio in January, the start of the next semester of classes. And I could see her any time I wanted. That, at least, helped me sleep easier at night. The rest of it I’d just have to wait and see with fingers crossed
.
Liam came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, nuzzling my hair. “Hey, beautiful.”
I smiled, leaning back against his solid chest. I was so lucky to have him. And I was so happy I’d agreed to move in. It felt so natural sharing a home with him. We’d really never hit a rough patch over it, no “that’s my towel” or “I need more space” issues. If anything, we wished we had more time together. With his 24 hours on, 48 hours off schedule plus my hectic teaching schedule every day, we didn’t see as much of each other as we’d like. But we still managed to make time for the important stuff.
“I was thinking about you today.” He kissed my neck, working his hands down my body.
“Were you?” I’d been thinking about him, too. He was surprisingly creative, always seeming to have some new idea he wanted to try out with me. It made me wonder what would come next.
“Um hmm.” He moved his fingers lower, slipping past the waistband of my sweats, finding my panties. “You know that sound you make when I’m getting you right to the brink of orgasm?”
He started stroking me as he asked, first outside my panties, then slipping his fingers underneath to touch me directly on my skin. Slick under his expert fingers, I leaned back into him, letting him do the work he did so well. With his other hand, he slid up my shirt, pulling down my bra.
“Do you know the sound I’m talking about?” He tweaked my nipple as he asked, pulsing against my throbbing clit.
“No,” I panted. I had to admit I didn’t know what he was talking about. He made me make all kinds of sounds of pleasure. I wasn’t always aware, or in control of the moans and groans and sighs that came out of my mouth.
“No?” he asked, working faster, taking my arousal and sliding it along my pussy, fucking me slow and steady with two fingers. He moved his hand up to my throat, holding me there against him, keeping me still as he finger-fucked me. The feeling of being held, dominated, triggered something in me and I could feel my arousal build.
All of Me: Liam & Sophie Page 27