Page 69 of Veiled in Brick

“I’ve got you,” he breathed out. “Come for me.”

As if my body were a slave to the command, I came. His name stayed on my lips like a deranged chant that started off hoarse, echoing off the walls, and ended as a weak, mousy, small iteration that could barely be heard.

The erotic sound that came forth from him was one that I knew I would seek out again and again—a loud, guttural, groaning, “Oh,” that stretched on into eternity. He continued to move through his orgasm, slowly pushing in and pulling out of me until his moaning ceased.

My head lolling on his shoulder, his breaths came heavy in my ear. His lips touched the side of my face, and I felt a corner of my mouth pull up ever so slightly. He carried me to his bed, setting me on the edge of his mattress as he lowered me, and my smile morphed into a frown for I was previously very much content with remaining in his arms.

His touch lingered against my back as if he didn’t want to remove it as he stood before me, my eyes level with his chest, and I kissed the area softly. Starting on his right and trailing my way over, I pushed myself to my knees and raised up to brush my mouth against his left shoulder’s scar tissue. It started as a pink gash along the bone and ran all the way to the joint, a perfect circle of smooth flesh situated in the middle depicting where the bullet had gone through his body. I kissed it all, and I ended with his lips.

His fingers, which were grazing me lightly on my lower back as I explored his chest, moved up to the side of my face then, and his thumb brushed my jaw as he hummed out a happy noise. Our lips separated, but only just, and I muttered against his mouth in a near slur due to exhaustion from the day and my post-coital haze:

“’M’sleepy.”

“Mmm.”

He sounded tired as well, and our following conversation was delightfully similar to a caveman and woman discussing their sleeping arrangements.

“Couch?” I asked.

“You?”

“Mhm.”

“Mmm-mmm,” he replied in a dissatisfactory hum. “Bed.”

“Me?”

“Mhm.”

“You?”

“Couch.”

Liam, of course, knew that I didn’t care to sleep with men. In an odd, reverse way, it made my chest warm knowing that he wasn’t going to press the issue and ask me to sleep with him. His offer to sleep in his bed while he took the couch in his own apartment, however, did not sit well with me. I pushed away from his chest and looked up at him with a pointed gaze, my one-syllable responses falling to the wayside.

“You don’t even fit on the couch, Lee.”

He sighed, though the smile remained in his eyes. “I just—”

“Liam.”

“Okay, okay,” he returned, “fine. Off to the couch, you go.”

Chapter 12

I did sleep on the couch. However, my slumber only lasted for a few small stretches of time.

At approximately one o’clock, I woke to kisses trailing down my bare stomach, and not long after, all clothing was foregone and Liam’s head was buried between my thighs. It was a sensual ravaging—the darkness only allowing for me to witness the shadow of his head nuzzling my most sensitive area. My lack of sight and the quiet of the night made for an erotic display; the only sounds that graced our ears being our moans of pleasure. Mine rang out first as I came on his face, holding his head between my legs with a prayer on my lips. His occurred shortly after as his thighs shook and he shot down my throat, releasing a gravelly rumble from above.

He left me to return to his bedroom then, both of us with sleep-tinged, satisfied, wicked grins stretched across our faces. I dozed off only to wake to the most recent memories of our entwined bodies, and I roused him by grazing my tongue over his neck, my naked body leaning over his. His hands found me, the light touches memorizing the curvature of my breasts, back, and behind, and I climbed on top. Our respective releases approached us slowly—we were in no rush, and though it began as lazy rocking into each other’s bodies, it evolved into nails scratching. Teeth biting. Muscles quivering and contracting. Deep groans pleading for our impending implosions that called out into the dawn of morning. The sky was pink when we were finished, and I returned to my makeshift bed to sleep for whatever remaining hours I had left.

I dreamt of hedonism. Of the way his tongue feels on my skin. Of the noises he makes when he’s inside of me. And then I woke for the final time that morning. I grumbled, for it was far less sleep than I needed, but I was unable to drift off any longer. The lights surrounding me were on, the blinds to the outside all raised, and the world was awake. I reached to the side table behind me, grabbed my glasses, and threw them on. Liam was sitting just beyond my feet at his small, circular dining table which was dwarfed even further by his size. His legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and he was dressed for comfort in a grey hoodie and flannel pajama pants, lifting a mug of what I presumed to be coffee to his lips. His eyes caught mine, and he greeted me happily.

“Good morning.”

“Morning.” My voice was raw and scratchy.

He chuckled. “What, are ya tired?”

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