Page 87 of High Hopes

“God, Birdie,” I groan, gripping her hips to hold her steady, though it feels like I’m the one who needs grounding. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Her lips find mine again, the kiss deep and consuming, her fingers threading into my hair as I lose myself in her. My hands slide under her sweater, skimming over the warm, bare skin of her back. She arches into me, her soft moan vibrating against my mouth, and I think I might lose my mind.

I want her—badly. So badly it’s all I can think about. But I don’t want to rush her. I pull back slightly, resting my forehead against hers, my breathing ragged and uneven.

“Can I touch you?” I ask, my voice low and raw with need but laced with hesitation.

She nods, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as her eyes meet mine. “Please,” she whispers.

That one word nearly undoes me. My hand slides under the waistband of her pants, hesitating for just a heartbeat before slipping beneath the thin fabric of her panties. She’s warm and wet, impossibly soft, and the feel of her sends a shudder down my spine.

“Fuck,” I rasp, my fingers brushing lightly over her clit. Her hips jerk, and I can’t stop the groan that slips out. “You’re so . . . goddamn perfect. So responsive.”

She buries her face in my neck, her teeth scraping lightly against my skin as my fingers move in slow, deliberate circles. Her breath is hot and uneven, and I can feel the tension building in her with every movement, every shiver.

Her hips rock against my hand, matching my rhythm, and the quiet, desperate noises she’s making have me on the brink of losing control. My other hand slides up her thigh, gripping just enough to keep her steady, to anchor her as she moves.

She trembles, her breath catching. “Oh, God, Liam.”

Hearing her say my name like that—breathless, needy—it sends a pulse of heat straight through me. My hips snap up reflexively, pressing against the place where my fingers are working her, and she cries out softly, her hands clutching my shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life.

“Birdie,” I rasp, my voice breaking under the weight of the moment. I’m so close to losing it, and she hasn’t even touched me. But it’s everything—how good she feels pressed against me, how beautiful she sounds when she whispers my name, how much I want to give her everything I have, everything I am.

Her movements grow more frantic, her breath hitching as my fingers press harder, faster. She’s so wet, so warm, and every tiny sound she makes pushes me closer to the edge.

“I told you I’ve got you,” I murmur against her ear. “Just let go.”

Her body tenses, her hips stuttering as a soft, broken moan escapes her lips. She shudders against me, her nails digging into my shoulders as she falls apart, her release washing over my hand.

The sight of her, the feel of her trembling against me, the way she whispers my name like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded—it’s too much. My hips snap up again, grinding against her, and the tension inside me unravels all at once. A guttural groan rips from my throat as I come, the heat of it coursing through me in waves, raw and overwhelming.

We stay like that for a moment, tangled together, both of us breathing hard and trembling. Her forehead rests against mine, and her hands slide down to cup my face, her thumbs brushing lightly over my cheeks.

“Wow,” she whispers, her lips curving into a small, breathless smile.

I press a soft kiss to her forehead before gently easing her off my lap. “Be right back,” I murmur, standing and heading to the bathroom.

Once inside, I grab a washcloth, wet it with warm water, and clean myself up first, my hands a little shaky but steady enough to get the job done. My reflection catches my eye for a second—flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and a dazed kind of smile I don’t even try to hide.

Shaking my head, I rinse a new washcloth and wring it out before heading back to the living room.

Birdie is still curled up on the couch, looking softer and lighter, like the weight of the world isn’t pressing down on her quite as hard anymore.

“Here,” I say, crouching in front of her. “Let me clean you up.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t protest as I carefully help her shimmy out of her pants just enough to reach her thighs. I wipe between her legs with deliberate care, keeping my movements gentle and precise. Once finished, I tie the little drawstring back up securely.

“There,” I say as I sit back on my heels. “All good.”

She brushes her fingers over my jaw. “Thank you.”

I nod, standing to toss the washcloth back into the bathroom before returning to her side. I pull her into my arms again, and she leans into me, her cheek pressing against my chest as I drape a blanket over both of us.

It’s obvious something fundamental has shifted between us, like we’ve uncovered a tiny bit of solid ground to stand on together, even if the rest of the world still feels unsteady.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, breaking the quiet. Her fingers toy with the hem of my shirt, her voice wavering just enough to crack something in me. “For trying to keep you at arm’s length. For thinking you were better off.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I tell her, tilting her chin up so I can meet her eyes. They’re shining, but not with tears. It’s something else—something warm and hopeful that makes my chest ache. “Just . . . don’t do it again, okay? Because I’m not going anywhere, Birdie. Not unless you tell me to.”

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