Page 91 of Stolen Rebel

“Of you?” I lean down, brushing my mouth along his. “Never.”

That does something to him. I feel it in the way his hands tighten, in the breath he drags in like he’s steadying himself, in the way his eyes burn into mine hotter than the fire next to us. Like he’s making a choice too.

I kiss him until my lungs burn, until the questions in my head quiet, until the world narrows to our bodies tangled on the floor and the steady crackle of the flames.

When he rolls us again, stretching over me, he pauses there, breathing me in. I wrap my arms around him and pull him down to me. He’s too far away, there’s too much space, too many clothes, and too much lost time.

The way his mouth claims mine goes from exploration to desperation in seconds. His mouth shifts from moving over mine with deliberate care to consuming hunger before my brain has a chance to catch up. He wastes no time undressing me, but when I try to return the favor, fumbling in my haste, he growls and rips off his clothes and tosses them to one side.

Naked and pressed against each other, everything inside me relaxes, as though every inch of me knows I’m safe here. Heat flickers low in my abdomen, my nipples harden, and goosebumps spread everywhere he touches.

His hand slides from my throat down between my breasts, slow enough that my stomach tightens in anticipation. He watches my face like he’s studying a map, like he’s checking that he still knows the way.

“You’ve no idea how much it kills me that he ever touched you.” His voice is rough, jealous. Possessive.

My breath catches. “Liam⁠—”

“I’m not angry at you.” His thumb presses on my bottom lip. “I’m angry at him.”

Heat coils low in my belly. His mouth follows the path of his hand, kisses trailing down the column of my neck, my collarbone, my sternum, my stomach. He takes his time. His lips dragging torturously over my body. It’s as though he’s proving to himself that I’m real, that he remembers, that I still react under his touch. My back arches as his fingers amble lower.

“That’s my girl.” His lips smile against my skin. “Spread your legs for me, Rebel.”

I’m soaked, but I’m not at all embarrassed. This is Liam, my Liam. This isn’t our first time, but it’s our first time in years with intention. It’s not a quick fuck against a wall because the dress I wore unlocked a memory. This time, he’s tracing every centimeter of my skin with painfully gentle fingers and lips, getting reacquainted with how my breath quickens with every touch, every breath, every kiss.

His fingers slide inside me. His head drops to my shoulder on a pained moan. “Is all this for me?” He collects my arousal as he explores my pussy the way he’s traveled my body. “You’re so fucking wet.”

He clamps his teeth over my nipple, sinking them into the sensitive flesh. My back bows more, my hips rolling, bringing us even closer together as his fingers circle my clit.

I don’t get a second to drift. Every time I tense, every time I try to squirm away from the sensation, he holds me steady.

The pressure builds too fast. My fingers tangle in his hair, my thighs tightening, inching closer together, but he shoves them apart. “Keep them spread, or you won’t come.” His command sounds real; there’s no trace of humor in his voice, so I force my legs wide. “Liam⁠—”

“I’ve got you, Rebel. You’re safe here.” Every touch, every sweep of his fingers feels deliberate, like he’s reclaiming territory that’s always been his.

The first wave crashes through me so suddenly it steals the air from my lungs, a sound I don’t recognize tearing from my throat.

He doesn’t stop. He eases off a little, but he doesn’t withdraw. His hand stays exactly where I’m most sensitive, drawing slow, maddening circles while I’m still trembling.

“That’s one,” he murmurs against my breast. “You’re not finished.”

This time he builds me up slowly. Painfully slowly, with just enough pressure to keep me teetering at the edge of release but never enough to let me fall. The fire crackles and pops, the heat licking across my bare skin while his mouth moves lower again.

I try to shift away but he catches my hips, holding me in place. “Don’t fucking move.” His voice is rough. When he settles between my shaking thighs, he hooks his arms under my legs and jerks me across the floor toward his eager face. He nips the soft skin of my inner thigh with his sharp teeth, and I squeal. “Eyes on me, Rebel. Let me see how pretty you look when you soak my face with your cum.”

Fuck. I might climax from his words alone.

“I’m not letting you slip through my fingers again.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or himself, but I don’t get a chance to ask. He drags his tongue through my soaking wet folds, a delicious shiver rolling through every vertebra in my spine. My head lolls back on a moan, but his tongue stops lapping, and a sharp slap rings out in the otherwise quiet room.

Heat radiates through my pussy as the sting warms my aching core. “I said.” He slaps my pussy again, a little harder this time. “Eyes.” A bite on my inner left thigh. “On.” One to match on my right. “Me.” When he’s sure he has my full attention, he buries his head between my legs and feasts on me with such hunger it makes me lightheaded.

His grip tightens on my body, not to restrain me, but to anchor me—as if he’s afraid I might disappear again. “I should’ve been holding you all those nights. He stole that from me. Never again. You’re mine. Fucking mine. Forever.”

My second climax hits harder than the first. It’s deeper, dragging his name out of me in broken pieces on shallow pants of breath.

When it finally ebbs, I’m boneless, the soft fibers of the rug cushioning me. My breaths are ragged, skin coated with a fine sheen of sweat.