Page 78 of Mostly Loathing You

A soft moan escapes me as he nips at my bottom lip, coaxing my mouth open for him to explore, which he does. His tongue tentatively dances over my own, inquiring at first, then quickly shifting to a frenzy. The scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of beer and laundry is weirdly comforting, and—dare I say—enticing.

He tightens his hands on my hips before lifting me withoutwarning, pulling a yelp from me as he does so. My ass lands against the top of the dryer, but he doesn’t waste even a second as he resumes his assault of my senses. His mouth collides with my own with far more urgency than before, and I dissolve into him.

A crash sounds outside the door, pulling us from the moment. Our gasps melt together as the realization hits us in unison. I’m ready to tell him we shouldn’t, but he speaks first.

“Go to my room,” he whispers. I want to bite back, tell him not to tell me what to do, but I just nod. “I need to check on what that was or my dad might kill me if something is broken. I’ll be up there shortly. Go upstairs.”

He hands me the oversized shirt from the hanger I’d been reaching for before. I pull the fabric over my head and it falls to hit a few inches above my knees. I escape the laundry room without drawing a look in my direction. I realize I was worried for nothing, because I’m sure no one here would even bat an eye at what we were just doing…so why am I freaking out?

Regardless, I’m not fazed enough to not meet him upstairs.

Liam has always been weirdly protective of his space. I’ve only ever been in his bedroom at the beach house a couple times, and even less at his house in Atlanta. He likes his space and, of all the things about him, I tend to respect this trait the most.

I meander, looking through the figurines huddled all over the top of his dresser.

“God, such a nerd.” I chuckle to myself before turning on my heels to move over to the bed.

His bedding is insanely soft, the plush fabric like heaven against my sunburnt skin.

The door clicks, causing me to jerk before I realize it’s Liam.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, a shortness in my breath that the situation doesn’t call for.

“What?” He looks confused before he remembers. “Oh, uh…yeah, everything is fine. Some idiot knocked over the fruit bowl on the counter, but that thing is rock solid.”

Liam steps toward me, crowding me again, this time with a much gentler touch. He’s calculated, and I’m starting to think he may be sobering up.

“Hannah, how drunk are you?” he asks, a concerned expression riddling his features.

I was pretty drunk earlier, but I haven’t had a sip of alcohol in close to two hours. This reminds me that I’ve officially sacrificed my full beverage sitting somewhere downstairs as I’m not dumb enough to pick up an abandoned drink at a party.

“I’m not drunk,” I say matter-of-factly.

Liam stares at me for a moment as if trying to determine the truth. He seems to see something on my face that reassures his fear, so he nods.

“Okay, good.”

He stands in front of me so that my face is level with his belly button before reaching down, snaking his hand around to cradle the back of my neck and tilting my head to look up at him. I expect him to say something, but he doesn’t. He just looks at me for a bizarre amount of time.

“What are you thinking about, Park?”

This appears to shake him from whatever he was thinking as he leans down and places a gentle kiss on my lips. I want more, but he doesn’t give it right away.

Liam pushes me back onto the bed and crawls between my legs. I instinctively wrap my legs around his hips, which causes him to grin.

I’m new to all of this, but nothing I’ve done has seemed to offend him, which gives me a new sense of confidence. His gentle kisses shift in intensity as I drag my tongue along his lower lip, spurring him into action. A groan escapes him and causes me to smile.

There is something invigorating about knowing that I cause the same reaction in him that he pulls from me.

Wrapping my hands around the back of his neck to pull him closer, I realize I want him more than I thought was even humanly possible. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve liked people, I’ve been attracted to people, but I’ve never felt this. This all-consuming feeling of need is new and borderline terrifying. Despite my nerves, the feeling of his grin against my lips manages to ground me.

I squeeze my legs around him, pulling him closer, his hardness pressed flush against where I ache. He groans, which only coaxes me more. I want him, consequences be damned.

I want this; I want Liam.

“Liam,” I say in a breathy moan. I don’t know why I say it, but it seems to awaken something in him.

He doesn’t respond, but simply presses into me further, pulling a matching sound from my mouth.

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