Liam The path to the spa curved up into the rock, stone worn smooth by time and heat and people who knew a good thing when they found it. Pine Hollow had built the tub straight into the mountain, so the natural stone rose around it. Steam rolled low and steady, catching the light from the lanterns bolted into the rock face. The water glowed from the moon, bright and inviting. Quiet. Private. Zoey stopped short when she saw it. The lantern light caught the blue in her hair when she turned her head. I hadn’t noticed how bright it was before. “Oh,” she said on a reverent breath. “Okay, I get it. It really is beautiful here.” I checked the railing—secure—then the st eps—dry. When I offered my arm, she took it without comment, which I decided counted as trust. She moved carefully, ke eping her weight off her ankle, her attention split between the ground and the view. Overhead, the sky glittered with a myriad of stars, as if it was showing off for her. “This is obscene,” she said. “In the best way.” I smiled. She sat on the edge and lowered her toes into the water. Her shoulders sagged, like her body had been waiting for permission to let go of tension. A few strands of blue slipped forward over her shoulder when she leaned down. “Should I put my foot in with the bandage on?” she asked. I shook my head. “I’ll rewrap it after. It won’t take long.” She studied me for a second, nodded. “If you do it wrong, I’ll never let you forget it.” “That seems excessive.” “I’m very consistent,” she said. I nodded. “Fair enough.” I knelt beside her and unfastened the tape slowly, careful not to tug. The bandage came loose under my fingers, warm from her skin. I k ept my focus on the task. Still, the pull was there just from the brief touches of skin against skin, sharp and unwelcome. I had not felt this in a long time. She was a guest, and I worked here, which should have made the line between us clearer than it was. “Do people usually behave themselves up here?” she asked. “No,” I answered honestly. “They don’t even pretend to.” She huffed a laugh. “Figures.” Once the bandage was off, I stood and held out my hand. She braced herself on her good foot and rose, steady but cautious. Then she did something unexpected. She gripped the hem of her shirt and lifted it with no visible rush and no sign she intended to spare me. I looked away immediately, counting lanterns and checking the waterline, trying my damnedest to remain professional.
By the time I looked back, she was standing in her bra and underwear, as calm as can be, as if this was a totally normal thing to do in the middle of the night and not a direct assault on my self-control. She held my gaze, daring me to look. I did, and when I did, I was done for. She was tall and lean with long, tan legs that seemed to go on for days. Her smooth, bare skin glistened in the moonlight, and my eyes tracked a path up to the dark fabric that sat low on her hips, concealing little. My gaze dragged higher before I could stop it. Her breasts would be a perfect handful, perky and full. I could see the outline of her nipples through the fabric. And then her hair. Tousled, it fell over her shoulder like she had forgotten it existed. She didn’t move to cover herself. Didn’t do anything but stand there and give me the choice to look or not. I had already made the mistake. The heat came fast, sharp enough that my jaw locked and my hands flexed once at my sides before I forced them still, forced everything in me still. She took a breath then and said, “Ready.” After gathering my composure, I took her hand and helped her into the water. She hissed softly, then sighed as the heat enclosed her body. “Oh god, I’m never leaving.” She looked up at me, her chin tilted. “Are you getting in?” “I don’t have a swimsuit.” She arched an eyebrow. “Neither do I.” I hesitated, running through all the reasons why I shouldn’t: Work. Boundaries. Common sense. None of that seemed to matter at the moment. I took off my shirt and shorts and left my boxers on. The water welcomed me just as much as it had her. We sat shoulder to shoulder, close but not touching, steam rising between us. She leaned back against the stone and tipped her head up toward the stars. “You’re different from other people,” she murmured. I waited. “You listen,” she added. “In my experience, most people are just waiting for their turn to talk.” Something warm and unfamiliar settled in my chest. I was used to being useful and efficient, used to ke eping quiet when it counted. Listening had always been expected of me. No one had ever complimented me about it, though. I held her gaze a second longer than I should have. She shifted, and I felt her pull away just a little, walls sliding into place as the night sobered her. The mystery of her sharpened instead of softened. Watching her, I told myself to remember this moment exactly as it was. Because whatever this was, it was worth remembering.
The water pressed in close, heat settling into muscle and bone. Pine Hollow disappeared beyond the stone edge, the world reduced to steam and dark sky and the woman sitting beside me. Zoey leaned back against the rock, looking completely relaxed. The earlier sharpness was still there but softened at the edges. People usually noticed me quickly, or at least the size of me and how I filled a space before I ever said a word. They reacted first and listened later, if they bothered at all. Zoey reacted differently. When she looked at me, I felt seen in a way that had nothing to do with my body. And I had literally known her for an hour. I told myself it was way too early to trust that feeling. “That thing you did earlier,” she said, eyes still on the stars. “With the neighbor.” “I just stood there,” I said. “Yeah, but it worked. Thank you.” I smiled and didn’t bother stopping it this time. The water rippled when she moved her leg and let out another blissful sigh. She caught me watching, and the looks she gave me said she knew exactly what I was doing. “You’re thinking,” she said. “I usually am.” She snorted. The alcohol had burned off, and with it went some of the openness. I could see it happen in real time. Her shoulders drew in a fraction. The humor stayed, but the access didn’t. It intrigued me. It worried me. It made me want to earn whatever she was pulling back. She turned and studied my face. “You don’t flirt.” “Not often, no.” “Why?” “People tend to expect something when you flirt.” She nodded like that confirmed a theory she had been playing around with. Steam drifted between us while I k ept my hands braced on the stone, even though every part of me wanted to close the distance and touch her. I didn’t. She must have noticed because she inched closer, her shoulder brushing mine in a way that felt both casual and entirely intentional. My pulse kicked hard, and it took everything in me to stay still. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For earlier. For not making it weird.” “It wasn’t weird,” I said. “It could have been.” “Yes,” I said with a smile. “It could have.” She leaned her head back again, gaze returning to the sky. The moment felt balanced on something thin. I wanted her—I couldn’t deny it. That was the easy part. What unsettled me was how much I wanted to understand her, and how much it felt like she was deciding whether to let me.
Bracing my arms on my knees, I counted the lanterns again. Four on the left curve of stone. Four on the right. The waterline stayed where it should. Steam curled low and steady, but I didn’t look at it. I looked at Zoey instead. Her posture said relaxed. Her jaw said not at all. She k ept her hands folded like she was guarding a secret. Every few seconds, I had to stop myself from reaching for her. From brushing the damp hair off her shoulder. From pulling her in until that guarded line in her body eased. The most ridiculous impulse of all was to lower my head against her shoulder and stay there like I’d earned it. I had not. My body didn’t seem interested in that distinction. “Why’d you put me down as your emergency contact?” She snorted. “You were there. And upright.” That shouldn’t have pleased me as much as it did. Being chosen for availability was still chosen. I wasn’t proud of how quickly my instincts ran with it. “That’s not what I meant.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was deciding whether I was about to be annoying. “Then what did you mean, exactly?” “I meant, why wouldn’t someone like you have someone else to put there?” She blinked, then burst out laughing. “Oh. That.” She waved a hand. “Bold of you to assume I come with a roster.” “A roster?” “Yes. A bench. A d epth chart. A laminated list of trusted adults.” I smiled. “You’re telling me you don’t?” “I’m telling you that if I were charming, my life would look very different. I would own candles. I would have plants that are still alive. I would have at least one ex who doesn’t describe me as ‘intimidating but hot.’” “That sounds charming,” I said. She scoffed. “It’s exhausting.” “Still doesn’t answer the question.” Her shoulders drew in, just a little, but she didn’t move away. “I’m not charming,” she said. “I’m efficient. I fix things. People ke ep me around until they don’t need me anymore.” I shook my head. “Those aren’t opposites.” “They are if you’re me,” she said dryly. “Trust me. I’ve tested the theory.” She continued. “I have a mom with major boundary issues. It’s not healthy. I’m starting to establish some distance, but it’s a lot of work. And it doesn’t always pan out the way I intend.” “I get that,” I said. And I truly did. I understood the effort, the constant correction. The awareness that if you let something slip, even a little, it could take more than you meant to give.
Suddenly, I could make sense of her. The sharp edges. The way she pushed first and softened later. The way she held control so tightly until she chose, very deliberately, to loosen it. It was management. A way of moving through the world without giving more than she could afford to lose. “The only real friends I have right now are the women upstairs,” she went on. “This weekend is the first time we’re really spending any time together. In person, at least. We bonded remotely through mutual professional suffering.” “That counts,” I said. She shifted, water sloshing softly against the stone. Our legs brushed, sparks shooting over my skin at the small contact. I didn’t pull away. “I don’t plan on coming back here any time soon,” she added. “So, you should be safe from having to be called.” “I’m not worried about it,” I said. She gave a measured look. “I understand complicated families.” It was true, and for some reason, I needed her to know it. Before I could think better of it, I reached out and brushed the hair out of her face. My fingers skimmed her temple as I tucked the strand behind her ear. She didn’t flinch. Our legs pressed together. She swallowed, then her lips parted. “You want to compare notes?” she asked. “Only if you do.” She nodded. “My father wasn’t in the picture. My mother is very much in it. Too much. I’m learning to manage.” I nodded. “I learned to leave.” She watched me, her gaze piercing. “That sounds like a story.” “It is.” I rested my hands back on my knees and k ept them there. “My pack is small. Hierarchical. My parents married for reasons that had nothing to do with liking each other. When I came of age, it turned out I was an alpha. That meant lessons, training, pr eparation. I had to be serious and in control. Which meant no swimming, no playing. No joy. No love.” She huffed. “That sounds terrible.” “It was,” I said. “So, I ran.” “How old were you?” “Sixteen.” She fell quiet, drawing one knee to her chest and hugging it. “That sounds like some impressive boundary setting,” she said at last. “I guess you could put it that way.” We sat there, close enough that I could feel the heat from her skin as the water warmed her body. I forced my attention to her face and nowhere else.
The humor had fallen away, revealing something de eper. Her mouth softened first, then her posture changed, slowly and deliberately, like she had made a decision and was giving me time to catch up. She leaned in close enough that every instinct I had started lining up and asking permission. Yet I stayed where I was. I didn’t move to meet her. I needed to know this was her choice, not momentum. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then flicked back to my eyes. A strand of blue brushed my jaw. The space between us shrank, becoming charged until it felt like one wrong move would either snap it or ignite it. Her knee pressed more firmly into my thigh. She didn’t apologize or pretend it was an accident. My heart beat faster. I locked my jaw and k ept still. Our mouths hovered so close that I could count the seconds it would take to close the distance. One. Two. I waited for her to stop. She didn’t. I lifted a hand between us and said, “Hold on.” The words landed with more weight than I intended. Her brows shot up, her eyes flashing with annoyance and curiosity. I k ept my palm between us, not touching her, but needing to pause the moment without breaking it. “I need to make sure that this is you. Not the alcohol or the circumstances. Just you.” She searched my face, then her mouth curved into a lazy smile. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing.” “I think you do,” I said. “I need to be sure.” She leaned in another inch. “Ask me something,” she whispered. “Test me.” I smiled despite myself, tension pulling tight through my shoulders. “Are you serious?” “Painfully,” she said. “Go on.” I didn’t drop my hand or move closer. “Tell me the number,” I said. No way she would have memorized my phone number, but if she had, that would be one way of guaranteeing her capacity for consent. Her lips curled in pleasure. “From the card?” “Yes.” She didn’t look away. She recited it cleanly. When she finished, she added, lightly, “And you used a font with open fours. Most people don’t. I approve.” I gaped at her. “How did you do that?” She shrugged, like it hadn’t been impressive enough to merit commentary. “Photographic memory. If I see something clearly, it sticks.” She let out a dry laugh. “When I’m drunk, everything looks blurred together. Right now, it doesn’t.” Her focus stayed on me, present and unmistakable. “You didn’t expect me to remember it.” Something inside me loosened and tightened at the same time. I lowered my hand and closed the distance between us. Our mouths met in a slow, controlled movement, as if we were both still deciding. Her blue hair tickled my cheek. She sighed against me, sliding her hand into the space between my shoulder and neck like it belonged there.
I pulled back just enough to look at her, and she smiled at me, small and certain in a way that settled one thing inside me and ruined something else. “Still worried?” she asked. “No,” I said, feeling a little undone. I leaned in again, slower this time, giving her every chance to change her mind, but she didn’t. I k ept the kiss light, a careful caress with just enough pause to feel her answer me. Her lips moved against mine, testing, learning the shape of me the same way I was learning her. When she tilted her head and de epened the contact, she did it with an unhurried certainty that nearly finished me. Desire surged hard and fast, but I held myself steady. I refused to take more than she offered. She made another quiet sound against my mouth, and my resolve slipped a fraction. Her hand slid from my shoulder to the side of my neck, thumb resting just below my jaw. The touch was confident, claiming without being possessive. I answered by angling closer, letting the kiss turn fuller, slower, wanting to memorize the moment instead of rushing past it. Her lips were soft but firm, and she kissed me with purpose. This woman knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it. I shifted closer until our legs pressed together fully, the water rolling around us. I put my hand on her waist, not pulling her in, but anchoring myself to her. She leaned into my touch, and time stretched, each second weighted, like we were daring each other to be the first one to lose control. And I wanted her to break me. She broke the kiss to look at me, lips parted, a dazedly satisfied look on her face. She didn’t give me time to think before her hand slid to my shoulder as she moved closer to me, the water rising and settling as she straddled me, knees braced on either side of my thighs. Her blue hair fell in a curtain around us. I went very still. Not because I didn’t want it—didn’t want her—but because I wanted it enough to be careful. Her weight settled fully on me, the contact sending a jolt straight through my body. I locked my hands on the stone at my sides, fingers spread, knuckles tight. I didn’t count the lanterns. She watched my face, assessing. A satisfied amusement flashed through her eyes. She enjoyed seeing the effort it took for me to stay right where I was. “Still with me?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. She kissed me again, rolling her body against me. She was a fucking goddess. I k ept the kiss measured, even as everything in me pushed forward, wanted more, wanted permission I was not going to give myself yet. Her hips shifted against me as she slid her hand up my neck, and my focus narrowed to the fact that she was sitting on me. It took a conscious effort to stay present instead of letting instinct take over. I let one hand leave the stone and rest at her waist. I didn’t draw her closer, but I didn’t stop her either. She smiled into the kiss, then murmured against my lips. “I like your restraint.” Fuuuck.
She tilted her head, and I matched her, ke eping the pressure steady. Her fingers curled into my shoulder, just enough to say she knew exactly what she was doing to me. She drew away, pressing her forehead against mine, her gaze locked on my mouth. “You’re thinking very hard,” she said. “I always am.” She grinned, and if I wasn’t sitting, it would have knocked my legs out from under me. It was fucking formidable. Then her lips were on mine again, rewarding me for staying exactly where I was. I let myself have it. “Take me back to your place,” she said. I didn’t hesitate. “Okay.” That sexy smile spread on her lips again, like she’d expected a protest and found something better instead. As I stood, her legs locked around my waist, and I settled my hands under her ass. Something in my mind had eased. The usual background tension didn’t disappear, but it had stopped pressing forward. I noticed the path, the st eps, the door ahead of us, and then I stopped tracking them. My body knew what to do. The usual list of checks stopped rearranging itself. I noticed the lanterns once more on the way out of the spa, then didn’t need to again. “That was fast,” she said. “You were clear. And I’m good at following directions.” “Good,” she said. “I like that.” “Thank you,” I said. She laughed, full and surprised, and the sound hit me low in the belly. Her hands slid to the nape of my neck, then up into my hair. She weighed nothing, and it felt like this—here, in my arms, with her legs locked around me—was exactly where she belonged. Her mouth brushed my collarbone first, testing, teasing. She pressed a kiss there, then another, lingering this time. Her lips moved up the side of my neck, unhurried. I stopped walking. Everything in me narrowed to that single point of contact and stayed there. The pressure in my briefs was becoming hard to ignore. She leaned forward again and rested her forehead against mine for half a second, then pulled back like she’d caught herself enjoying something. She didn’t go far. Her mouth found my throat instead. She kissed the spot just under my jaw, then pressed her mouth there again, teeth grazing, breath warm against my skin. My hands tightened reflexively under her thighs. I forced myself to move again. I needed more. Almost there. I opened the door to my place, then kicked it shut behind us. It was the same as every night. Lights off, shoes where they belonged, counter clear. I noticed it all, then noticed how little it mattered.
She glanced around and hummed. “This seems very you.” I didn’t ask what that meant and carried her down the hall. When the bed came into view, I realized I didn’t really want to put her down. I liked her where she was. I didn’t make it that far. When she shifted in my arms, my control slipped. I stopped short and turned, pressing her back against the wall with more force than I’d intended. Not careless. Just honest. Her gasp cut off as my mouth found hers, all restraint having vanished. Her hands slid into my hair, tugging lightly. She kissed me back without hesitation, fierce and demanding, her body pressing forward like she’d been waiting for this exact second. I pinned her with my weight, one hand braced beside her head, the other tight at her waist, ke eping her right where she was. I pulled back, gasping for breath, and she chased my mouth. “Don’t stop,” she moaned. That did it. I crossed the room in two st eps, the urgency back and louder now. As I lowered her to the bed, I k ept my hands on her, unwilling to let go. She twined her arms around my neck and pulled me down with her. She looked up at me, eyes dark, lips already swollen. I hovered there for half a second, everything in me wound tight. “Still with me?” she asked breathlessly. “Yes.” I braced my hands on either side of her, the space between us tightening quickly. Waiting stopped feeling like an option. Our breathing picked up, mingling together. I trailed my hands up her sides and under her bra, filling my palms with her. I didn’t slow down. I couldn’t. My fingers moved with purpose, learning and claiming as she kissed me harder. She made a sharp, needy sound against my mouth when I pressed closer, and it unraveled what remained of my restraint. I pulled her bra free as I trailed my lips down her throat, her collarbone, her chest, until finally, I took her nipple into my mouth. Her hand fisted in my hair, holding me in place. I pressed closer, all my focus locked on her, on the way she moved against me. God, I wanted more, and I was running out of patience with myself for holding back. Her moans became louder as I sucked harder on her nipple, feeling it harden against my tongue. With one hand still exploring her curves, the other slid down to cup her ass, pulling her closer still. I pulled away from her nipple with a satisfied smile before kissing my way down her stomach, stopping just short of her panties. I glanced up at her for confirmation. “Don’t stop,” she said. I didn’t. I slowly peeled her panties off, revealing smooth skin underneath, which was petal-soft against my lips. I kissed my way to her wetness, tasting her, and fuck me if she wasn’t the best thing I had ever tasted. I let out a low growl and pressed my tongue into her, then delicately flicked it against her clit as her hips ground into my face.
I paid attention to her responses, adjusting to every shift of her body. She told me what she needed without words, and I was a good listener after all. Zoey pulled my hair, pressing me de eper where she wanted me. I could have lived a lifetime between her thighs. With my fingers, I teased her entrance, rubbing circles over her sensitive skin. “Fuck me with your fingers,” she whispered. I smiled against her. “Whatever you want, Zoey,” I said as I slid two fingers inside her. “Yes, Liam, yes... just like that. So good.” I k ept the rhythm exactly where it was and felt her start to lose herself, moaning louder each time I touched that sensitive spot within her. With every moan that es caped her lips, every movement she made against my hand, my cock grew harder and harder, straining against my briefs. Fuck, she was breathtaking. My name fell from her lips like a prayer, and it was all I could do to stay steady, stay focused on her reactions. I let the world narrow down to her and nothing else. When she came, screaming my name, shuddering underneath me, I couldn’t help but kiss my way up her body, reveling in the taste of her pleasure, her sweat. Our lips met in a heated kiss as our tongues dueled. The taste of her on my tongue was fucking intoxicating. She clung to me like ivy to a brick wall, her fingers digging into my skin, leaving traces of love bites. “Fuck,” she murmured against my mouth before pulling away slightly. “More. I need more.” She pushed my boxers down and looked at me with open approval. “Fuck me,” she said. I thrust into her in one quick motion, eliciting a loud moan from both of us. “Fuck, Zoey, you feel too good,” I groaned against her ear. My hips met hers, our rhythm quickening as her nails dug into my back. I held onto her, supporting her as we rocked together. It felt so right. Her walls gripping me tightly; every thrust causing me to lose my mind a little more. My hands found their way back to her breasts, massaging and tweaking the nipples gently. With each thrust, we got louder, our breathing ragged. She wrapped her legs around me, her back bowing off the bed. It felt like heaven being one with this woman... so perfect in every way possible. “I’m close,” she murmured. “So am I,” I said. “Stay with me.” She did. I thrust harder and de eper into her, loving the way she milked my cock. “Come for me, Zoey,” I growled against her lips as we crashed together in a heated kiss, our tongues dancing as we both found our peaks. She came, screaming out my name as waves of pleasure washed over us both. I held onto her tightly, kissing every inch of her neck as I exploded inside her.
“Fuck, Zoey,” I moaned against her skin, unable to find words for how good it felt. We collapsed together, our chests heaving with exertion as we came down from our high. It was perfect. She was perfect. We stayed tangled together, her blue hair spread over my chest, neither of us rushing to move. The thought cr ept in quietly, without panic or resistance. I didn’t want this moment to end.