Page 46 of The Savior

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Sunshine…

Liam didn’t know where that nickname had come from. If he’d been pressed, he would’ve assumed that someone called “sunshine” would have blond hair or was overly friendly.

But that wasn’t Chelsea—dark hair, dark eyes—and her disposition wasn’t necessarily sunny. More like radiant with a vivid mix of mystery.

She could turn a shitty day around, kick him in the ass if need be, or give him a look that did very good things to his bad thoughts. Each had happened tonight, and that made her shine like the sun, as far as Liam was concerned.

He kicked off his shoes, fumbled to turn out the light then toppled onto the couch made up as if he were a king. Liam stretched, and it took a toss and a turn until he found the right spot, despite, or maybe because of, the fluffy layers.

Alcohol and exhaustion pulled at his tired eyes. He hooked an arm around the pillow, breathing in lemons and lavender, but jerked away, shocked at how vivid Chelsea became in his mind. He was suddenly wide-awake. His blood rushed, and no matter how he eased against the couch again, all he could smell was the memory of her.

Fucking hell.If he needed to get laid, he needed to think about it some other time than when he was near Chelsea. Finding her suddenly attractive made him feel a kaleidoscope of guilt and anxiety that ran through him like lava.

As carefully as he could, Liam laid his head on the pillow. Citrus and sweetness made his mouth water. He closed his eyes and remembered how it felt to innocently curve his hands around her body.

Liam’s breathing became irregular. Arousal rushed from his chest to his cock, and he wanted to ignore his judgmental thoughts as he stared at the ceiling. But his erection thickened, much to his excitement and disappointment. Even his lips tingled at the idea of stroking to thoughts of Chelsea—her hair, her flushed cheeks, and how she claimed to have climbed him like a monkey. He laughed even as he palmed the bulge in his pants.

Breathless and shaky, he shut his eyes and pressed his lips tight, pinching them between his teeth. Because fuck it, he was painfully erect.

Liam carefully loosened his pants and stroked himself. A full-body shiver cascaded from the top down. Erotic thoughts tumbled in his mind—Chelsea clinging to him, the scent of her hair, and the softness of her skin. The small details he’d somehow remembered now danced as his grip tightened and he jerked harder and faster—her laugh, her stubbornness, and the way her lips curved, plump and full.

What would it take to touch her? To feel her?

God, he was on the brink of orgasm, dreaming about how her tongue might torture him and what it would be like to slide his hands between her legs and find her—so unbreakable and unstoppable—wet.

His hips rocked. Chelsea’s name hung on his lips as he teetered on the edge of an insane climax. Then he yanked his shirt up and came, muttering her name like a prayer to god for sanity.

Under the protective shield of Chelsea’s blanket, Liam sucked air until he could open his eyes again. His heart slammed in his chest, and he needed to clean up. But first, he lay there, wondering how the night had done nothing short of leaving him blindsided.

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