Page 21 of Unwrap Me After Dark
And I know, right then, that there’s no going back from this precipice we’ve jumped from together. Whatever comes next, we’re in freefall, and all I can do is hold on to Liam.
7
Liam
MY HEAD NESTLES IN the crook of Tyler’s neck, my arm draped across his naked torso, our legs tangled like we’ve been sleeping this way for years. His steady breathing brushes against my hair, and the memory of last night crashes over me in waves that leave me dizzy. If someone had told me at the start of this getaway that I’d end up in bed with my stepbrother, I’d have told them they were out of their mind.
Yet here we are, skin against skin, the evidence of last night’s passion still between us.
I blink against the sunlight streaming through the curtains, allowing reality to settle over me. Tyler Murphy is asleep in my bed. Tyler Murphy—college athlete extraordinaire, certified asshole, and the bane of my existence—fucked me senseless last night.
And I begged for more.
My body aches in places I didn’t knowcouldache, a delicious reminder of how he claimed me. Twice. The first time was fast and desperate, both of us shocked by the intensity of wanting each other after years of pretending we didn’t. The second timeslower, grinding together in the pale light of dawn until we came calling each other’s names.
Christ, even thinking about it now has my cock hardening against his thigh.
I trace my fingertips across his chest, marveling at the smooth skin stretched over defined muscle. He’s beautiful in the morning light—softer somehow, vulnerable without the cocky smirk he normally wears, like armor. My fingers drift lower, following the trail of light brown hair that disappears beneath the sheet barely covering his hips.
Tyler stirs, his breathing pattern changing, and I freeze, uncertain. What if he regrets this?
His eyes flutter open, focusing slowly until they lock on mine. For one terrible second, confusion clouds his face. Then recognition dawns, and his lips curve into the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen from him. Not the practiced charm he flashes at parties or the smug grin when he bests someone. This smile transforms his entire face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, revealing a small dimple I’ve never noticed before.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. His eyes scan my face.
I smile back, the tightness in my chest easing. “Morning.”
Relief flashes in those warm brown eyes before he masks it. He runs his hand up my arm, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch.
“So, I’m taking it you don’t consider last night a mistake?” He aims for casual, but I catch the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers pause against my skin.
“No,” I say, because it’s true. Whatever this is between us—this surprising, explosive thing—it doesn’t feel like a mistake. It feels like something that’s been building for years, disguised as animosity.
Tyler nods, his expression softening. He resumes drawing invisible patterns on my arm, the calluses on his fingertips creating delicious friction against my skin. We lie in silence for several minutes, the cabin quiet except for our breathing and the distant call of birds.
“Liam, I’m sorry,” he finally says.
“For what?” I prop myself up on one elbow to better see his face.
“For being such an asshole to you. All these years.” His voice is low and serious. “I was cruel sometimes. I know that.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
“No, it’s not.” He shifts to face me. “Your life was disrupted just as much as mine when our parents got married. That wasn’t your fault.”
I study his face, trying to reconcile this thoughtful man with the antagonistic stepbrother I’ve known for years. “Why were you so angry with me?”
Tyler sighs, his hand now tracing the line of my collarbone. “I was jealous.”
“Of me?” I can’t keep the disbelief from my voice. “Why would you be jealous of me?”
He laughs, a short, self-deprecating sound. “Because you’re fucking brilliant, Liam. You’re going to work at NASA someday. I know you will. You’ll design rockets and shit.” His fingers moveup to my face, stroking my cheek with surprising tenderness. “And what am I? Just an athlete with an expiration date. Best-case scenario, I’m washed up by thirty with nothing but old trophies to show for it.”
“That’s not true,” I protest, catching his hand in mine. “You’re more than that.”
Tyler shrugs. “And then there’s my dad. He worships the ground you walk on. ‘Why can’t you be more like Liam?’ ‘Liam got another scholarship.’ ‘Liam knows what he wants to do with his life.’” He mimics his father’s voice.
“That’s bullshit,” I say firmly. “Your dad brags about you constantly. All those trophies in your room? He had special shelves built for them.”
