Liam “This is mint-chocolate chip,” Zoey said. “If you are anti mint- chocolate chip, you’ll have to leave.” “I never said I was anti mint-chocolate chip,” I r eplied. The show opened with dramatic music and three women arguing about whether someone had stolen someone else’s fiancé. There were subtitles, slow zooms, and a re cap of an argument that that had apparently occurred twelve minutes earlier. I barely paid attention to any of it because Zoey’s knee was resting against mine. “Previously on emotionally unregulated adults,” she muttered, her blue hair cascading like a waterfall around her face. I took a measured bite of ice cream and watched the screen. “Why are they meeting in a restaurant?” “Because producers encourage public humiliation.” “That seems cruel.” “That’s the point of reality television.” One of the men on screen began shouting. Zoey inhaled sharply and sat up straighter. “Oh, this is where he lies.” “He hasn’t lied yet.” She sent me a wry smile. “He is about to.” The man spoke, and she was right. He lied. I looked at her. “You knew.” “I always know. It’s a talent of mine.” Zoey licked more ice cream off her spoon, and I tracked the movement of her tongue. “Here it comes.” I blinked and turned my attention back to the screen. “What?” “The revisionist history.” The man began rewriting the timeline in real time. I looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “You predicted that.” “I always do.” She pointed her spoon at the television, dangerously close to slinging melted mint across the couch. “Observe the deflection.” “I’m observing.” “He’s not answering the question. He’s reframing it so she feels unreasonable for asking.” “It’s a strategic move,” I said. “That’s cowardly.” She leaned forward further, intent, the line of her neck exposed again, her focus absolute. I studied the screen, then her. “How do you know what’s coming?” She gave me a sideways look. “Pattern recognition.”
“From experience?” “From existing in the world.” She was animated and completely invested in the drama unraveling on the screen. Her hair had slipped over one shoulder at some point, and she didn’t fix it. Her fingers curled loosely around the spoon as she gestured, punctuating her argument about narrative manipulation and fragile masculinity, but I barely heard a word. I was too fascinated by her. Her knuckles brushed my thigh absentmindedly. She didn’t even notice it, but I did. “This is not about the fiancée,” she continued, leaning closer to the screen. “This is about power.” “Everything is about power,” I said. She stilled for a fraction of a second, then narrowed her eyes at me. “That was an ominous thing to say.” “Maybe I’m jaded.” Her mouth twitched at that, and I could see she was cataloging that and filing it away somewhere. On screen, a drink went flying across the table in a dramatic arc. Zoey gasped, delighted. “That is assault,” I said. “Assault makes for quality television.” From the back of the couch, Markie yelled, “PROSTITUTION WHORE.” Zoey didn’t even look away from the screen. She reclaimed the ice cream tub from between us and dug her spoon in with unnecessary force. I watched her wrist flex as she scooped, the motion controlled, the tendons in her hand shifting beneath her skin. She held the spoon out toward me without looking away from the screen. “Try this section. Heavy on the chocolate.” I leaned forward, telling myself I didn’t need to be hyperaware of our proximity. I didn’t need to register the warmth of her thigh pressed against mine or the faint scent of mint and sugar and her shampoo. My thumb brushed her knuckle as I took the spoon from her. Her breathing changed slightly. The average human wouldn’t have picked up on it, but my shifter senses did. Neither of us commented on it. The host on screen demanded accountability. The man grew louder. “Why is he still talking?” I asked. Zoey snorted. “Because no one has told him to stop.” “I would have.” She turned her head slowly toward me, questioning. “Would you?” “Yes.” “You’d be very calm about it.”
“Yes.” “And terrifying.” I shrugged. “Possibly.” She smiled then, and it was the most open smile she’d directed at me yet. It landed somewhere low and immediate inside me. Dragging her thumb along the rim of the tub, she caught a streak of melted ice cream. Absently, she brought her thumb to her mouth and licked it clean. I swallowed hard. She caught me looking. “What?” “You missed a spot,” I said evenly. Her gaze sharpened instantly. “I did?” “Yes.” She held my gaze and dragged her thumb slowly along the corner of her mouth, deliberate now. I k ept my posture relaxed. It required effort I didn’t let onto. “Better,” I said. Her smile changed. From his perch, Markie screeched, “WEIRDO!” Zoey didn’t break eye contact. “He’s stressed,” she said lightly. “I think he’s observant,” I r eplied. On screen, someone began crying. Zoey inched closer to me without comment. Our thighs pressed together fully now, and the warmth of her body se eped through the fabric. Her shoulder brushed mine. “Why do you like this?” I asked quietly. “I don’t like it. It’s a form of es capism.” She took another slow bite and considered her words. “These people,” she said finally, gesturing toward the chaos on screen, “make terrible decisions.” “That is evident.” “They implode and self-sabotage. They torch their own lives in high definition.” “And?” “And none of it is my problem.” She leaned back into the couch, but she didn’t create distance. If anything, she settled more firmly against me. “I spend most of my life anticipating consequences,” she continued. “Mapping outcomes, managing variables, cleaning up after other people.” I k ept quiet, waiting for her to continue. “With this”—she nodded toward the television—“I get a front-row seat to absolute disaster, and I’m not responsible for any of it.”
“I admit, when you put it like that, it does sound appealing.” “It’s therapeutic.” “It looks exhausting, though.” “It is,” she said. “For them.” On screen, someone stormed out of the restaurant and a producer chased after them. Zoey smiled faintly. “They chose to be on the show. They signed contracts and agreed to be ridiculous. That’s the beauty of it.” “You prefer contained chaos.” “Yes.” “And you prefer observing to participating.” Her fingers tightened slightly around the spoon, but her expression was unreadable as she stared at the screen. “Watching reality television reminds me that I’m not obligated to fix everything.” “You aren’t.” She huffed quietly. “Tell that to my nervous system.” As her thigh pressed even closer to mine, her neck drew my attention. The line from her jaw to her collarbone was clean and unguarded. There was nothing performative in the way she sat. No attempt to curate the angle. She was simply there, fully present, fully absorbed in the chaos unfolding on screen. And I had an immediate, intrusive urge to lean in and press my mouth there. The thought arrived fully formed. I didn’t act on it. The television continued its dramatic escalation. Someone was shouting about betrayal. Someone else was crying into a napkin. But I only vaguely heard it, too caught up in her. Zoey set the tub of ice cream on the coffee table, then tucked one leg beneath her, angling her body toward me. The shift in movement closed what little distance remained between us. “This show is all about people wanting something and pretending they don’t,” she said. The statement hung between us longer than the dialogue on screen. I cleared my throat. “That seems inefficient.” “It is.” “Why not say what you want?” From the corner of my eye, I saw someone on the screen storming off again, and yet another producer was chasing them. Zoey’s hand rested on the couch cushion between us, close enough that I could reach it without effort. Close enough that the decision not to reach felt purposeful. “That would be showing vulnerability,” she said lightly. “And?”
“And I prefer chaos.” “You don’t.” She raised an eyebrow in challenge, then sighed. “I prefer control.” “There we go.” “And sometimes,” she added, her tone softer now, “it’s easier to watch other people ruin things than risk ruining something yourself.” The noise from the television seemed distant now. Markie shuffled on his perch and muttered, “TURN IT OFF.” Zoey’s gaze flicked toward him, then back to me. Picking up the remote, I lowered the volume instead of killing it completely. Her hand shifted closer to mine. A subtle adjustment. An invitation. “I like it when you ask questions,” she said. “Oh, I have more.” “Obviously.” I placed my hand on top of hers, gently rubbing my thumb against hers. Her hand stayed in mine for three seconds. Four. Five. Then she withdrew it. She muted the television entirely, then stood and gave me a look I hadn’t seen since the night in the hot tub as she st epped between my knees. My body reacted before my mind caught up, every instinct and nerve going on alert. She tentatively put her hands on my shoulders, waiting to see if I acc epted her touch. I didn’t move. Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of my shirt. I let her. When she saw I wasn’t moving away or shrugging off her touch, she straddled me. Her weight settled against me, the contact full and undeniable. Every thought in my head vanished, and my focus narrowed to the space where we touched. Zoey leaned forward, touching her forehead against mine. As she moved, her hair fell over her shoulder. Her chest rose and fell as her breath ghosted over my skin. “Is this okay?” she asked. “Yes,” I said with no hesitation. Her hands slid from my shoulders to the back of my neck, and I finally closed the distance, brushing my lips over hers.
Her mouth was warm against mine, and she leaned into the kiss like she had decided something and didn’t intend to retreat from it. I settled my hands on her waist, and when I did, everything in me reacted. Her heat se eped through the thin fabric, and the weight of her felt glorious on my thighs. The scent of her shampoo invaded my senses, and I felt the subtle ripple of her muscles as she moved against me. I let my hands drift, memorizing the shape of her. When I palmed her ass, her knees tightened slightly at my sides, and a sharp pulse of want moved straight through me. I felt it in my hands first, my fingers flexing against her instinctively before I forced them to relax. She was warm. Solid. Real. And she was here because she wanted to be. That knowledge burned hotter than anything physical. I slid my hands higher along her sides, slow enough that she could stop me if she wished. She didn’t. Her small hitch of breath nearly broke my restraint, and I de epened the kiss, pouring all my desire into it. Her body responded to that, pressing closer against me. My pulse was loud in my ears. I could feel every point of contact between us: her hands in my hair; her thighs framing me; her mouth demanding more. I wanted to pull her closer, wanted to anchor her against me and let the restraint snap entirely. Instead, I tightened my grip at her waist just enough for her to feel the strength there. Just enough to communicate that I was choosing control. She shifted in my lap, and that nearly undid me. Holy fuck. I clenched my jaw and forced my breathing to steady. I felt the full weight of her against me and the full force of my reaction to it. She was aware of it. I saw it in her expression when she leaned back just enough to look at me. “You’re very calm,” she said softly. I was not calm. I was barely holding the line. “For you,” I said. Her mouth curved, but not in amusement. Something darker, curious, moved through her eyes. She brushed her lips lightly against mine, testing, teasing. “I want to see you unravel,” she murmured. My grip on her tightened instinctively. “For me, Liam.” Her fingers slid down from my neck to my chest, pressing lightly there. My heart beat unsteadily under her touch. “You’re so disciplined. I wonder what happens when you’re not.” The room seemed to shrink, becoming warmer. I swallowed hard as I looked at her. Zoey held my gaze without flinching. There was certainty behind the challenge in her expression. That was enough.
I stood without warning. Gripping my shoulders, Zoey twined her legs around my waist. Her breath caught, and I felt it against my throat. The sound went straight through me. It was small but honest, the first crack in the composure she usually guarded so fiercely. I held her securely, hands firm under her thighs, fingers digging in just enough to anchor her there. She fit against me so naturally, like our bodies were made to be pressed together like this. Her hair fell forward, and she pushed it back impatiently without breaking eye contact. Her face was level with mine now. There was no distance left to hide behind. “You want to see?” I asked as I took two st eps forward. Her pulse was visible at her throat. “Yes.” I pressed her back against the wall, my gaze raking over her face, taking her in. Hair slightly disheveled. Stubborn defiance still sitting in her expression even now. Lips slightly parted. I crashed my mouth against hers, harder than I’d intended. The moan that came from her throat shot through me with a force I felt in every inch of my body. Her fingers slid into my hair—goddamn it—and pulled me closer before slipping back around my neck to hold me still. Her other hand found its way between our bodies, fisting in my shirt as if she needed something to ke ep her grounded against this new wave of desire she’d unleashed within me. “Fuck,” I hissed as she rocked her hips, moving against my erection. Sharp, demanding heat coursed through my body. Every instinct I had spent years learning to control pushed forward at once. She whimpered into my mouth, and I wanted to take her right there against the wall if it meant making her feel this needy, this desperate for me. The urge was overwhelming and powerful, but I’d promised myself patience. So, I held myself back, looking de ep into her eyes as she tried to catch her breath. When she licked her swollen lips, my brain short-circuited. I pinned her against the wall with my body as I gripped the hem of her shirt and slowly pulled it over her head. Trailing my hand over the smooth skin of her back, I unhooked her bra, revealing her perfect breasts. My free hand cupped one gently, rolling the nipple between my thumb and forefinger until it hardened under my touch, and a low growl rumbled through my chest. “The noises you make will be my undoing,” she gasped before I claimed her mouth again, this time with more tenderness. The shift surprised me, the kiss slow and de ep. She rolled her hips in desperation. “Bed,” she said. Gripping her ass, I walked to the bedroom, my mouth never leaving hers. As I lowered her onto the mattress, I slid my hand beneath her skirt and up her thigh, teasing the lace edge of her panties. She gasped into my mouth, her fingers tightening in my hair again. I pulled away, breathing heavily. “You’re soaked. Is this all for me?” “You’re not giving me a choice,” she said, her eyes dark pools of lust filled with promise and challenge all at once. “Ke ep fucking going.” “Yes, ma’am.”
I trailed kisses up her thigh until I reached the waistband of her panties. Biting the lace, I dragged them down her legs until I was kneeling between her legs. “Fuck, Liam, that was so fucking hot.” The way she said my name sent a sharp pulse through my entire body. I kissed the inside of her thigh and lingered there for a moment as she trembled beneath me, desperate for more. I wouldn’t give her what she wanted just yet. Patience. I moved to the other thigh and slowly licked my way closer to where I wanted to be. “Christ, Liam.” “Look at you, all spread out for me.” I teased the outline of her folds with my tongue, tasting her before licking a long, slow line from bottom to top. She tasted so sweet, so addictive. I needed more. I pulled her closer with rough hands against her stomach as I buried my face between her legs and pressed my tongue de eper into her core. I groaned against her, reveling in her heat and the scent of her arousal. If the world ended in that moment, I would not have noticed because I was already in heaven. Her legs opened wider and she moaned louder, begging for more. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling gently but firmly as she writhed against my face. The salty-sweet taste of desire coursed through my veins and made me want to claim every inch of this woman who looked down at me like I was the only man alive. She tasted so fucking good it hurt—and I took advantage of that by sucking on her clit roughly while one hand slid lower to find her entrance slick with need. Zoey cried out and bucked against my mouth as I pressed two fingers inside of her slowly but surely until she was filled to the brim with my touch. She trembled around me. Her body bucked against my mouth and fingers, her scent filling the room as I lapped at her sweet honey. She shattered in my arms and all I could think about was being inside of her, filling her up until we both found our release. “Liam,” she whispered when she caught her breath. “That was...” I stood up slowly and pulled my pants and boxers down, freeing my already hard cock from its confinement. It stood straight out before me, leaking pre-cum for this woman who owned me completely whether I wanted to admit it or not. For a moment I simply stood there, breathing hard, trying to steady the surge of feeling moving through me. Want was part of it. Hunger, too. But beneath that was something heavier, something I had spent most of my life learning to ke ep under control. With her, the discipline felt thinner, but more important. I dragged my shirt off, revealing the skin and scars that told their own story. Her gaze followed the movement. The scars never bothered me before. They were part of the map of who I had been forced to become. But the way she looked at them now made me suddenly aware of every mark.
She slid her skirt down her legs and reached for me. The gesture was simple, but it carried a quiet certainty that made my pulse kick harder. Zoey was long and lean, all clean lines and quiet strength. Her blue hair spilled across the sheets in messy waves, the color contrasting with her warm skin. Her shoulders were narrow, her waist pulling inward before her hips flared just enough to make my hands ache to hold them again. There was nothing delicate about her. She carried herself with a stubborn confidence that she brought to every argument, every challenge. Even here, bare and unguarded, she looked completely certain of herself. And God help me, that might have been the most incredible thing about her. I reached underneath her with one arm and flipped her over in one swift motion, inciting a squeal of surprise. She looked back at me over her shoulder with a look of pure delight and lust. “Fuck me, Liam. Please.” I couldn’t have resisted even if I’d tried. I knelt behind her, my erection pressing against her ass as I took in her beauty one last time before positioning myself at her entrance. My hands found her hips, and I filled her in a single thrust that made us both gasp. The sensation slammed through me, grounding me completely in the moment. Zoey arched her back and gripped the sheets, moaning in approval and as I began to move within her in long, de ep strokes. “Holy... fuck... ohhh... yes, Liam. Yes.” I could have come at any moment but I wanted—no, needed—this to continue. I would mourn the loss of her touch as soon as it was over, and it couldn’t be over. Not yet. So, I pulled out. “What are you doing?” she asked with a whimper. “I need to see you ride me, love.” She sat up and smirked seductively, and I knew I was going to be ruined. There was that spark again, that defiant confidence that had drawn me in from the start. She shoved me down on the bed and straddled me, her body hovering over me. The tip of my cock brushed against her, and she gave me a sly grin. “You like that?” she teased as she slowly lowered herself onto my cock, taking me inch by excruciating inch into her warmth until she was fully seated. “Fuck, yes,” I groaned. She began to move with a rhythm that matched the beating of my heart against my chest. It was like heaven and hell all at once as she took control, creating a rhythm that drove me to insanity. Her breasts bounced beautifully and I couldn’t resist palming them. Moaning, she leaned forward, giving me better access to her tits while still taking care of herself. God, she was perfect. “Fuck,” I hissed as she increased the pace, slamming her hips down onto mine. She ran her hands up my stomach, digging her nails into my pecs, and that lick of pain hurt so fucking good. Gasping, she lay down on top of me, her beautiful hair splayed across my face and her breasts pressed against my chest. I grabbed her ass, taking more control of the pressure and pace. “Liam... damn it, Liam, you feel so good. Oh... God.”
She clenched around me, and I knew she was just as close to coming as I was. Still, I didn’t want this to end. I wanted to hold this moment in place. Freeze it before reality caught up with us. I wrapped my arms around her tightly, and she bit my shoulder. She moaned my name until we shattered together in an orgasm so intense it would be impossible to ever, ever forget. We came back to reality slowly, panting heavily in each other’s arms as our hearts raced from the exhilaration of it all. I traced the soft skin of her arm as I held onto this moment for dear life. Nothing would ever be the same for me again. The air had gone quiet. Not the tense quiet that lived between people who didn’t know what to say, but the softer kind that settled after something powerful had already been communicated. Zoey lay sprawled across my chest, her weight warm and solid on me. My arm rested on her back, my palm spread across the narrow span of her waist. The world outside the apartment might as well have disappeared. Her blue hair was everywhere. Across my shoulder. Tangled along my collarbone. Strands brushing my jaw when she moved slightly. I didn’t mind it all. I hadn’t realized how much tension still lived in my body until she slowly, curiously, traced the tips of her fingers along the center of my chest, following the faint scar tissue there I had long since stopped noticing. I stilled. Zoey noticed immediately. She stopped tracing, then continued, but this time, her touch was lighter, slower, as she followed the path of the mark downward, the pad of her finger brushing lightly over the uneven skin. “Are all of these from the same incident?” she asked. I brushed a kiss over the top of her head. “They’re old.” “That doesn’t answer my question.” Her fingers moved again, mapping the next scar. The movement was almost absentminded, the way someone might trace patterns on a page while thinking. Exc ept she wasn’t thinking about anything else. “They’re all pretty much the same story. Punishment in the name of growth.” Her shoulders tensed. “I don’t like them.” “They’re not going anywhere.” “That’s not what I meant.” She raised her head, resting her chin on my chest. There was something sharp in her expression now. Something fierce and protective that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Her fingers slid along another scar near my ribs. “I want to make whoever put these here pay,” she said quietly. The words were calm, matter of fact. Zoey didn’t say things lightly. I studied her face for a moment. “Zoey.”
Her thumb brushed the scar again. “They hurt you.” “It was a long time ago.” “It doesn’t matter.” I almost smiled because she looked genuinely annoyed by the conc ept of time as a mitigating factor. Her gaze softened slightly as she studied the marks again. “Does it bother you when people touch them?” “No.” “Good.” “Why?” She pinned me with her gaze. “Because I’m not planning to stop.” Her fingers resumed their slow path across my chest, the touch light and comforting. I tightened my arm around her slightly without thinking. Zoey settled closer against me in response, her leg hooking over mine as if the movement had been expected. A little while later, she sighed. “This might be my favorite part,” she admitted. “Which part?” She tapped one finger lightly against my chest. “The part where you stop pretending you’re not soft.” I looked down at her. “I never claimed not to be.” “You absolutely have.” “I’m very honest about my disposition.” She snorted quietly. “Sure you are.” Her hand slowed again, resting flat over my heart. “Whoever did this, they don’t get to hurt you anymore.” The statement was simple. Certain. And for reasons I didn’t fully understand, it landed de eper than the threat that had come before it. I brushed a strand of that gorgeous blue hair out of her face. “Noted.” Zoey smiled faintly and dropped her head back against my chest, resuming the idle tracing of patterns along my skin. And this time when the quiet settled around us again, neither of us tried to interrupt it.