Page 44 of Mostly Loathing You

“And I saidno.” I try to muster up the confidence to not stand down to him, but as he encroaches on my space, the air I’m searching for to bring me solace lodges in my throat.

My back presses firmly against the counter once more, but this time Liam doesn’t appear to be stopping his advance. He rests his hands on the counter on either side of me, bringing his body flush with my own. The sensation of my sensitized nipples grazing his exposed chest sends shivers down my spine.

Unfortunately, he notices.

“Something bugging you, princess?”

I swallow before attempting to compose myself. “Yeah,you’re near me. That tends to cause involuntary negative reactions.”

“Is that so?” he whispers in a taunting tone. “What sort of involuntary reactions?”

“The negative kind. I just said that.”

“More specific.” He steps closer still, bringing his mouth just shy of my lips, so close that our breaths intertwine. Liam’s hand leaves the counter before snaking down my side to find the hem of my sleep shirt. He doesn’t lift it, but simply rubs the hem between his fingers.

“Irritation.” I try to stand firm in my words, but my body betrays me as I press further into him.

“Doesn’t seem like irritation to me,” he says with a smirk, allowing his fingertips to dance along the hem of my shirt before resting on my inner thigh. “Care to test that theory? Because I would venture to bet that it’s something else.”

Liam squeezes my inner thigh, reminding me just how close to my core he is.

“Liam.” I mean it to be a plea—to reason with him that this is a bad idea—but it comes out reminiscent of a moan.

“Do you want me to stop?”

I can’t tell if he means it genuinely or if he’s taunting me for amusement. Either way, it sets me ablaze.

“No, I don’t want you to sto—”

A loud yelp escapes me as he lifts me without warning, my bare ass now against the cold marble countertop as my shirt bunches to my hips. He steps between my legs as he pulls me toward him, his mouth lingering against my own, yet still not kissing me.

“Last chance to back down, Hannah. Because I’m telling you right now, I have no intentions of stopping this time.”

NINETEEN

LIAM

“For the love of God, do you ever stop talking?” Hannah asks in a breathy tone, causing me to fixate on her mouth more than before. I reach one hand upward to entangle my fingers in the hair at the back of her head, yanking it hard in response to her insult.

Hannah moans, and this is the only indicator I need to advance as I press my lips to hers, the taste of spearmint sweet on my tongue. I squeeze her inner thigh, allowing my nails to scrape down the tender flesh as I pull her legs further apart and move in closer. My hard length presses against her heat, which pulls a soft whimper from her lips.

That is quite possibly the best sound I’ve ever heard.

Allowing my fingertips to dance along her thighs, I’m enamored by how soft her skin is. Her tanned skin is cold to the touch, at complete odds with the energy in the room. Despite the chilly atmosphere, I am on fire.

Snow begins to fall at a rapid pace outside the window above the sink, encasing us in what feels like a secluded cocoon despite the nagging reminder that at any moment oneof our friends, including Hannah’s brother, could walk in on us.

I hate the way that eggs me on further.

Hannah’s legs wrap around my hips, pulling me closer. Her oversized T-shirt bunches around her waist, giving me full view of the cotton cherry-printed boy short panties hiding beneath.

I’ve spent the better part of the last month aching to touch her, fighting my instincts to reach out and seize her, consequences be damned. What happened the other day was a breaking point for me, finally giving in to what haunted my thoughts ever since she showed up in Atlanta.

However, the ache I’ve been fighting pales in comparison to feeling her skin against my fingertips.

“Liam,” she moans against my lips, pulling my erection flush against her cotton-clad pussy, eliciting a groan of my own.

Okay, I like that a lot. I’ve heard her say my name a million different ways over the last twenty-seven years. Well, twenty-four years; Hannah was a late bloomer when it came to talking. She has said my name with indignation, irritation, amusement, anger. She has called me every name in the book, though seldom the good ones, but nothing causes me to react quite like the sound of her moaning my name.

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