Wicked Heart (Starcrossed #3)(71)

Dear God. Aroused men are sexy. Aroused Liam is the equivalent of a metric ton of the world’s most potent aphrodisiac.

“I need to kiss you,” he says, his voice almost a groan. “Please, Liss.”

“Liam, you know why you can’t.”

“Let’s pretend for a moment that Angel doesn’t exist and I can. Pretend I didn’t go to Hollywood. That I stayed here and made a life with you. One where I could make love to you every day. See you whenever I liked. One where I didn’t ache like a part of me is dying whenever I’m not with you.”

He’s leaning down. So close I can smell him and feel his warm, sweet breath.

“Liss.” He cups my face and looks into my eyes. “Pretend with me. Imagine we’re in a movie of how our lives could have been. Let me show you what I fantasize about every time I see you. Please.”

I want to stop looking at him, but I can’t. Just like I can’t stop wanting him.

I grip the front of his T-shirt and pull. He takes it as permission, and brushes his lips against mine. Just the lightest touch. My body explodes with sensation. Fierce flutters start in my stomach and spread through all my limbs. When my toes curl, I grip him tighter to urge him closer.

Sweet Jesus, the power of what he does to me. It’s been so long, yet everything comes rushing back in knee-buckling detail.

He kisses me again, and a groan passes from his mouth to mine as his lips open and his tongue slides and strokes.

“God . . . this,” he whispers against my lips. “You. You’re everything.”

He captures my lips and sucks gently, then repositions so our mouths slant over each other. We fit together just as perfectly as always, and the soft warmth of his tongue makes me groan. He kisses me again, and again, and each time it’s deeper and more passionate, but still not enough. I grab at him and hold on as he lifts me and pulls my legs around his waist. Then I anchor my hands in his hair while he grinds against me, and I’m reminded how he can overload every pleasure receptor in my body in a matter of seconds.

Our hands aren’t gentle as we roam over each other. Everything has an air of desperation about it, not only because we’re so relieved to finally give in to this unrelenting need, but also because we know this is borrowed time and it won’t last. Liam rocks his pelvis against me, stroking and pressing his hard against my soft, hitting all the right places to make me gasp. When I dig my fingers into his shoulders, he makes a noise in his chest. A dark, possessive sound. It makes me kiss him harder and cling to him more fiercely. More than anything, I want to be possessed by this man. Not just physically. I want to belong to him, just as much as I want him to belong to me.

But even through the trembling muscles and low, needy aches, I can’t turn off the guilt that comes with kissing a man who isn’t mine. An echo of ‘This is wrong, this is wrong’ starts in my brain and won’t be silenced. Even as I’m gripping his shoulders and pulling him closer, I’m bombarded with images of Angel in her wedding dress, giddy over the thought of Liam waiting at the end of the aisle. The Prince Charming in her ever after.

“Liam.” There’s barely any noise. Just air. He kisses my neck. Nibbles and sucks. I arch and grip him tighter. “Stop. We can’t.” I put my hands on his chest and push. He’s so solid, I’m sure he barely feels it. He kisses me again, but I pull back and hold his face away from me. “Liam, stop.”

He tightens his arms around me as he pants into my skin. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t prepared. You still feel so perfect. More perfect than I remembered.”

“Put me down. Please.” I’m trembling with frustration that my heart still claims him as mine even though he’s not. It’s trying to convince me that he still loves me, but how can he? After everything he’s put me through, he can’t. This isn’t love. It’s lust. And weakness.

He lowers me to my feet, then cups my face in his hands. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to go,” I say as I turn toward the end of the alley.

“Liss, wait.” He grabs my arm but I pull free.

“No, Liam. What the hell are we doing? Pretending we can be together? This isn’t a movie. It’s my life. And I’m not a goddamn consolation prize.”

He exhales and takes a step back, his jaw tight and his hands fisted. “I’ve never thought of you as a consolation prize.”

“You said you didn’t want to be one of those assholes who thinks he can have it all, but that’s how you’re acting. You can’t have me and Angel. You just can’t.”

“Then I’ll end things with Angel.”

My stomach drops. “What?”

He steps forward and takes my hands. “I know the timing sucks, and I’m about six years too late, but . . .” The determination in his expression is unmistakable. “I want to be with you. Wait, that’s not right. I need to be with you.”

I push wet hair away from my face. “Liam, you’ve been drinking—”

“I’m not drunk. I’m actually thinking clearly for the first time in years. There are so many reasons I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. Jesus, more than you could possibly know, but still—”

“Well, now you’re really selling it.”

He takes a breath and lets it out, then fixes me with a determined gaze. “I know I’m not saying the right things, but . . . God, Liss, I can’t live without you anymore, and I’m tired of pretending that I can.”