Page 107 of High Hopes

“Because Warren—”

“Birdie, baby, say the man’s name. One. More. Time.”

His hands are gripping my hips like he’s torn between stopping me and letting me keep going. “Warr—”

Before I can finish, he surges upward, cutting me off with a kiss. I squeal in surprise, but it’s muffled by his lips. Warm and insistent, they steal the breath right out of me. His laughter melts into the kiss, and mine does, too, until it’s just us, lips moving together.

Liam flips us over with surprising ease, rolling me beneath him as his weight presses me into the mattress. His hands are on my waist, then in my hair, threading through the strands and tugging lightly as his mouth deepens the kiss.

It’s slow and teasing at first, but then he shifts, his hips settling against mine, and a sharp jolt of heat shoots through me.

“Liam,” I whisper, the sound caught somewhere between a gasp and a plea.

My hands clutch at the back of his shirt, fisting the fabric as he leans into me. Every inch of him feels solid and overwhelming in the best way—his broad shoulders, the strong line of his torso, the way he fits against me so perfectly.

His lips leave mine to trail along my jaw, then down to my neck, where he presses kisses that make me shiver. “You’re ... very distracting.”

“Good,” he mutters against my skin, his voice low and rough. “Don’t want you thinking aboutanythingelse.”

His hands slide down to my hips, gripping firmly as he grinds against me. My breath catches, and I arch up into him instinctively, the friction sparking something primal and needy inside of me. I’m wet, aching for something to fill me up.

He feels so good, so solid and warm, and I want more. My head tilts back against the pillow, my body moving against his as if it has a mind of its own.

“Birdie,” he murmurs, his voice thick with want as he presses his forehead to mine, his hands tightening their grip on my hips. “I want to taste your pussy.”

Heat rushes through me, flooding from head to toe, and I wriggle beneath him, my body reacting before my brain can catch up. I want that. I really want that.

But my thoughts spiral, pulling me out of the moment. I’ve only ever done that twice, and honestly, it wasn’t that good. Bothtimes were awkward, rushed, and left me wondering if I’d built it up too much in my head.

I liked to save that kind of intimacy for boyfriends, and before the car accident, I had plenty of them—casual, surface-level relationships that never went anywhere. Nothing that mattered, nothing that felt even close to this.

Now, with Liam above me, his lips brushing mine and his hands gripping my hips like he can’t get enough, I’m torn between the raw pull of the moment and the overthinking that’s always been my worst enemy.

“You’re in your head,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, cutting through the storm of my thoughts. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his blue eyes scanning my face with a mix of patience and mischief.

Then he flashes me that lopsided grin, the one that always makes my stomach flip. “I don’t have to eat you out if you don’t want me to. I was just thinking it could be really good. For both of us.”

A nervous laugh escapes me, and I lift my hands to his shoulders, gripping them as if I need the anchor. “No, I want that. I really do.”

He cocks his head, feigning innocence. “Want what?”

I flush even deeper, biting my lip as I try to muster the courage to say it. “You to ... eat me out. I just ... don’t know if I like it.”

That perks him up immediately, and his brows rise with exaggerated delight. “Boy, do I love a challenge.”

His playful tone pulls a startled laugh from me, and I relax a fraction, my fingers slipping from his shoulders to the back of his neck. “What if I’m terrible at it?” I blurt, my voice smaller now but still laced with humor.

He shakes his head, his smile softening into something reassuring. “Birdie, baby, I promise, you won’t have to do anything but enjoy it. If it’s not good, we stop. No pressure.”

I stare at him for a beat, his words sinking in. He’s so calm about it, like he’s completely certain this is going to work, that I’m going to love it. His confidence should be obnoxious, but instead, it settles something inside me, easing the nervous energy bubbling in my chest.

“Okay,” I say, my voice steadier now. “But if you’re bad at this, I’m making fun of you forever.”

He lets out a low chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. “Deal. But spoiler alert—I’m not bad at this.”

He shifts, trailing his hands down my sides and settling between my legs with a wicked grin that sends a fresh wave of heat surging through me. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, anticipation coiling tight.

His hands are quick, tugging at the button of my jeans and peeling them down my legs. My panties go next, a fleeting press of his fingers before I’m bare beneath him, utterly exposed. He pauses, his gaze dragging up my body, and the way he looks at me—like I’m art, like I’m something to be savored—makes my heart stutter in my chest.

---