Page 30 of Because of Liam

“Oh my God! You’re so stubborn! You don’t give an inch, do you, Liam?”

“I can give you eight.”

“As if—”

“Would you like to check it out?”

“Please don’t flatter yourself. Let me put things in perspective for you. Vaginas were designed to deliver a seven-pound-plus, twenty-one-inch-long baby. So there!” That gotta shut him up. Fuck! Now my favorite number is eight.

He looks at me and winces. “Yeah, that’s gotta hurt. I wasn’t going for pain, but hey, if that’s your thing—”

“Ughbragh!” I growl. I actually growl. Then I walk way. Okay. I stomp my feet away. Why is every word out of his mouth about sex?

That little voice tells me he sounds just like me, but I tell it to shut the fuck up. I get as far as the garage door and turn back around. In hindsight, it was a big fucking mistake. I should’ve keep on going.

“You know what I hear, Liam? A whole lot of bark and no bite!” I walk back to him until I’m so close I have to look up to meet his eyes and then I jab my finger on his bare chest after each word. “Every time I see you, you tell me you’ll fuck me five different ways from Sunday and yet here we are and it’s just blah, blah, blah and you think all this talk about fucking will get me to come after you and beg for a lay? It will never happen!”

He grabs my jabbing finger and then flattens my hand on his chest. I can feel his heart’s furious beat under the palm of my hand.

“Say the word, River,” he orders me.

“No.”

“Say the word, River. Say please.”

I laugh. “You think you have a magical dick and I’m enthralled by it? Do rainbows and unicorns jump out of it when you come?”

His lips hitch up a bit at the mental image I painted for him. But he fights the smile, then moves my hand down his chest and over his abs and holy shit, I’ve seen his abs before but damn, touching them is something else altogether. I’m distracted and I should know what he’s up to, but can you blame me? I didn’t catch on until it was too late and there’s a full smirk on his face and it’s not the only thing that’s full.

So is my hand. Yep. My hand is full of dick. His dick and it’s hard and long and my freaking hand is actually groping him. Or it’s trying to because I can’t close my fingers around his dick. Fucking traitorous hand. I hate his track pants. I love his track pants.

He closes his hand around mine, tightening it around his dick. Nope, still not able to close my fingers around him. “Why don’t you give it a try and find out, River? I do like to bite. I like it a lot.”

* * *

It’s beentwo hours and I’m sitting on the couch staring at my hand when Skye comes in loaded with grocery bags.

“What are you doing?” she asks me.

“Do you think I have small hands?” I hold my hand up for her to see.

She puts her hand on mine. “No, not really. Our hands are the same size. Why?”

“Have you ever held a dick your hands could not wrap around?”

She blushes. The curse of pale skin. Every thought shows in her face.

“Logan?” I ask.

She nods.

“I guess it runs in the family,” I mumble.

Her eyes go round. “You and Liam—”

“No. Nothing happened. Well, one thing happened. He grabbed my hand and put it on his dick.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. My hand did it all by itself.” I hold my hand in front of me again as if it’s an alien object. “This freaking traitorous hand has a mind of its own.”

“But how? What—”

I cut her off before she has a chance to ask anything else. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. It’s weird. You’re dating his brother. Come on, I’ll help get the rest of the stuff from the car.”

She lets it go, but I can feel her worried eyes on my back. She’s been looking at me like that often in the last few months. If she only knew why I’ve been so evasive, but I can’t. I can’t talk about it. If I don’t think about it, if I don’t talk about it, it’s not real. My rational brain recognizes what I’m doing. Denial is the first of the five stages of grief. I tell my rational brain to shut the fuck up. I’ve been saying it a lot lately.

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