Chapter 7: Sunrise Submission
The first pale streaks of dawn painted the ceiling gray when Ava stirred. The scent of sex and Liam still clung to her skin, a potent musk mixed with the fading memory of whiskey. She felt bruised in the best way, marked, claimed. A profound weariness settled in her bones, but beneath it hummed a current of restless anticipation, the echo of his command – Stay – vibrating in her core. She shifted slightly, seeking the solid heat of him beside her.
He wasn’t there. The sheets beside her were cool.
Before the pang of disappointment could fully register, rough hands clamped down on her wrists. She gasped, eyes flying open, as Liam hauled her arms above her head, pinning them to the mattress with one strong hand. He loomed over her in the dim light, a dark silhouette against the waking sky outside the window. His eyes gleamed, predatory, hungry.
"Morning, princess," he rasped, his voice thick with sleep and something darker, hotter. There was no tenderness in the greeting, only a raw, proprietary edge that sent a jolt straight to her core.
His free hand slid down her body, calloused fingertips skimming her ribs, tracing the curve of her hip. He paused over the faint bruise blooming on her inner thigh from the balcony railing, then dipped lower. He hooked her knees, forcing her legs wide open. The cool air hit her exposed sex, instantly pebbling her nipples. She was already slick, her body responding instantly to his dominance, to the memory of his possession.
He didn't hesitate. Lowering his head, he sank his teeth into the soft flesh of her inner thigh, just above the bruise. Not gentle. A sharp, possessive sting that made her cry out and arch off the mattress. He licked the spot, a slow, soothing swipe that instantly reignited the burn.
"Liam!" she gasped, her hips lifting involuntarily.
His answer was a low growl vibrating against her skin. He dragged his tongue upwards, a broad, wet stroke that parted her folds and zeroed in on her swollen clit. He circled it, once, twice, with agonizing slowness, the pressure maddening. Then he flattened his tongue and licked a long, firm stripe from her entrance to her clit, spearing the tip briefly inside her gathering wetness. She whimpered, her fingers curling into fists above her head.
His fingers found her breasts, pinching her nipples hard, twisting them between his thumb and forefinger. The sharp pain-pleasure arced through her, making her gasp and buck against his mouth. He rewarded the movement by sucking her clit into his mouth, hard. He sucked rhythmically, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud, while his fingers continued to torture her nipples. He speared his tongue deep inside her, fucking her with it, mimicking the thrusts of his cock, the wet sounds obscenely loud in the quiet room. Her moans escalated, high and desperate, as the relentless assault on her clit and breasts built the pressure inside her impossibly fast.
"Taste so fucking good," he groaned against her, his breath hot on her wetness. "Always did. Like fucking sin." He slid two fingers from her breast into her dripping cunt, curling them instantly to find that deep, sweet spot. He pumped them in and out, in time with the fierce suction of his mouth on her clit. "Gonna eat this sweet cunt," he promised, his voice muffled, "till you scream. Till you fucking break." His fingers crooked harder, hitting that perfect spot with unerring accuracy while his mouth devoured her clit.
It was too much. The dual assault, the possessive brutality, the sheer overwhelming sensation – it detonated her. A ragged scream tore from her throat as her orgasm slammed through her, violent and all-consuming. Her hips jerked wildly against his face, her inner walls clamping down hard on his thrusting fingers. Wave after wave of pure, blinding ecstasy rolled through her, leaving her trembling and gasping, her vision speckled with stars. He didn't let up, lapping at her clit, drinking her release, fingers still working inside her, prolonging the shattering pleasure until she was a shuddering, whimpering mess.
Only then did he lift his head. His chin glistened. His eyes, dark and dangerous, locked onto hers. "That's it," he breathed, releasing her wrists. He sat back on his heels, his gaze raking over her flushed, trembling body. His erection strained against his boxers, a thick, demanding outline. "But we're not done." He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, shoving them down. His cock sprang free, thick and rigid, the head flushed dark, already glistening. "Gonna fuck you so deep," he growled, leaning forward, bracing his hands on either side of her head, "you feel me for days. Feel me every fucking time you move."
He positioned himself, the blunt head nudging against her thoroughly slick, sensitive entrance. He pushed forward. Slowly. Deliberately. Stretching her tender, well-used flesh. She gasped at the sensation, the delicious burn of his thickness filling her inch by inch. He watched her face, his gaze intense, unblinking. "Look at me," he commanded softly.
Her eyes, still hazy with aftershocks, snapped to his. He held her gaze as he sank the final inch, burying himself to the hilt with a low groan that seemed to come from the depths of his chest. He held there, pressed deep, letting her feel the sheer size of him, the possessive weight. The connection was electric, deeper than skin. It felt like he was pressing into her soul.
"Feel that?" he rasped, his voice thick. "Feel me deep inside? Filling this perfect cunt? My perfect cunt." He withdrew almost completely, the drag agonizing, then surged back in, hard and deep. A choked cry escaped her lips. "Mine, Ava," he repeated, the word a vow, a brand, as he began a relentless rhythm. Deep, powerful thrusts that drove the breath from her lungs and hammered against her most sensitive spot. His hips pistoned, the bed creaking beneath the force. She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, pulling him deeper with each plunge.
The sounds filled the room – the wet slap of skin, his harsh grunts, her high-pitched whimpers turning into moans. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a fierce, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of her own arousal. His tongue mirrored the thrusts of his cock, claiming her mouth as thoroughly as he claimed her body. The intensity was overwhelming. It wasn't just the physical sensation; it was the raw emotion pouring off him, the years of pent-up love and frustration channeled into every deep drive. It was the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear that this fragile thing between them might shatter.
"Saw the note," he gasped against her mouth, his thrusts deepening, hitting that spot with punishing accuracy. "Kept it… fuck… in my old wallet… then taped inside a book… proof…" Each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. "Proof I wasn't fucking lying… even when you… ah fuck… thought I was."
"I know! Oh God, Liam, I know!" she cried out, arching beneath him, her nails scoring his back. The confession, raw and vulnerable amidst the brutal fucking, shattered her again. Tears blurred her vision as another orgasm detonated, this one deeper, more emotional than the first. Her inner walls clamped down on his cock in frantic waves. "Yours! Fuck! I'm yours! Always! I Believe you! I Believe you!"
Her violent spasms triggered his release. With a guttural roar that shook the room, Liam buried himself impossibly deep and held. His hips jerked erratically as his cock pulsed, jetting hot streams of come deep into her convulsing core. He shuddered violently above her, his face buried in the curve of her neck, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. He kept thrusting shallowly, prolonging the connection, emptying himself completely as she milked him dry, her own climax echoing his.
He collapsed heavily on top of her, his weight a crushing, welcome anchor. Sweat slicked their bodies together. His softening cock slipped from her as he rolled slightly to the side, pulling her with him, wrapping his arms around her tightly. His heart hammered against her back. They lay tangled, breathing hard, the silence broken only by their ragged gasps and the distant sounds of the city waking up.
Sunlight streamed fully through the window now, illuminating the rumpled sheets, the discarded clothes, the faint bruises on her hip and thigh. Liam traced the bite mark on her shoulder with a surprisingly gentle fingertip. "Hurts?" His voice was rough, scraped raw.
"Good hurt," she murmured, pressing back against him. "Like proof."
He huffed a sound that was almost a laugh against her hair. "Crazy fucking woman." He kissed the top of her head. "Coffee?"
"God, yes."
He disentangled himself, the chill air hitting her skin where his body had been. He padded naked to the kitchen, a powerful, predatory grace in his movements even now. Ava watched him, the play of muscles in his back, the stark reality of him moving through his space. The crumpled note flashed in her mind – the teenage script, the earnest declaration. Proof.
He came back with two steaming mugs. She sat up, pulling the sheet around her, accepting the coffee. It was strong and black, just how she remembered he liked it. She took a sip, the heat searing her throat, grounding her. He sat beside her on the rumpled bed, his thigh pressed against hers, radiating warmth. He stared into his mug, the vulnerability she’d glimpsed during their joining now stark on his face in the harsh morning light.
"Scares the shit out of me," he said quietly, not looking at her. "This. You being here. After… everything."
She set her mug down and turned to him, cupping his jaw, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Me too," she admitted. "But I'm not running this time." She leaned in, kissing him softly. "Show me that coffee shop. The one you wrote about."
He looked at her, surprise flickering in his eyes, then a slow, hesitant smile touched his lips. It transformed his face, erasing the harsh lines, revealing the boy she remembered from the parking lot slow dance. "Yeah?" He cleared his throat. "Okay. But they make shit coffee."
"Better than yours?" she teased, her voice still hoarse.
He snorted, pulling her close, kissing her hair again. "Nothing's better than this morning," he murmured, his voice rough with a truth that resonated deeper than the physical. He took a long swig of coffee. "Get dressed. We'll grab breakfast." His hand lingered on her hip, possessive, anchoring. The city outside buzzed with ordinary life, but inside the rumpled sheets, something extraordinary, fragile, and terrifyingly real had taken root. They were stepping into the daylight, finally, together.
After getting breakfast they find themselves back inside together. The room was dim, the faint hum of the city outside barely audible over the sound of their breathing. Ava’s hands trembled as she pushed Liam back onto the bed, her nails digging into his chest. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice low and commanding, her eyes blazing with a hunger that made his pulse race.
He didn’t resist, his body sinking into the mattress as she straddled him, her thighs pressing against his hips. Her hands moved with purpose, sliding down his stomach, her fingertips tracing the hard lines of his abs. “You’ve had your fun,” she said, her voice dripping with intent, “now it’s my turn to make you beg.”
Her lips found his neck, her teeth grazing his skin as she nipped and sucked, leaving marks that would linger for days. She could feel him hardening beneath her, his cock pressing insistently against her core. “Fuck, Ava,” he groaned, his hands gripping her hips, but she swatted them away. “No,” she said firmly, her voice a velvet snarl. “You don’t get to touch. Not yet.”
Her mouth trailed lower, her tongue flicking over his nipples, her teeth biting down just enough to make him hiss. She reveled in the way his body tensed, the way his breath hitched when her lips brushed his stomach. “You’re mine now,” she murmured, her voice a sultry promise as she moved lower, her hands gripping his thighs.
When her lips finally wrapped around the head of his cock, Liam let out a strangled moan, his hips bucking involuntarily. She smirked around him, her tongue swirling as she took him deeper, her throat relaxing to accommodate his length. “Christ, Ava,” he gasped, his hands fisting the sheets as she worked him with her mouth, her lips tight, her pace relentless.
She didn’t stop, her movements deliberate and unhurried, her tongue teasing the sensitive underside of his shaft. Her fingers traced the base of his cock, her thumb pressing against his perineum, and he nearly came undone. “You’re gonna kill me,” he choked out, his voice strained, but she only hummed in response, the vibration sending shockwaves through him.
When she finally pulled back, his cock glistening with her saliva, she looked up at him with a wicked grin. “Not yet,” she said, her voice dripping with mischief. She climbed back up his body, her pussy hovering over his cock, her wetness dripping onto his stomach. “You’re going to feel me,” she said, her voice a sultry whisper, “every fucking inch.”
She sank down onto him slowly, her walls clenching around his length as she took him in, inch by agonizing inch. Liam’s head fell back, a guttural groan escaping his lips as she enveloped him completely. “Fuuuuccck,” he breathed, his hands gripping her thighs as she began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
Ava’s eyes locked with his, her gaze fierce and unrelenting as she rode him, her body taking what it needed. She leaned forward, her hands pressing into his chest, her lips brushing his ear. “You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice trembling with raw emotion. “Always.”
Her pace quickened, her movements becoming more urgent as she chased her own release, her pussy gripping him tighter with every thrust. Liam’s hands moved to her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he tried to hold on, but she was relentless. “Come for me,” she demanded, her voice a breathless command, and he obeyed, his body shuddering as he spilled inside her.
She followed him over the edge, her own climax crashing over her in waves, her body trembling as she collapsed onto his chest. They lay there for a moment, their breathing ragged, their hearts pounding in unison. “Ava,” he whispered, his voice raw, but she silenced him with a kiss, her lips soft and tender against his.
“No words,” she murmured, her fingers tracing his jaw. “Just this.” And for the first time in years, there was no doubt, no hesitation. Just them.
Liam’s breath was hot against her skin, his lips trailing a path of fire down her neck. Ava’s back arched off the mattress, her fingers tangling in his hair as she gasped his name. “You’re so fucking wet for me already,” he growled, his voice rough with desire, his tongue flicking over her nipple before he sucked it hard into his mouth.
She whimpered, her hips bucking as his hand slid between her thighs, fingers pressing against her soaked panties. “Liam, please,” she begged, her voice trembling, her nails digging into his shoulders. He chuckled darkly, hooking his fingers into the fabric and tearing it away, the sound of ripping fabric making her shiver.
“You’re mine, Ava,” he muttered, his breath hot against her ear as he spread her legs wide, his fingers tracing her slick folds. “Always have been, always will be.” His thumb circled her clit, slow and deliberate, and she cried out, her body trembling with need.
“Fuck, Liam, don’t tease,” she pleaded, her voice breaking, her hips grinding against his hand. He smirked, his eyes dark with hunger as he slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and she gasped, her back arching off the bed.
“You like that, princess?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his fingers pumping in and out of her, his thumb still working her clit. She nodded frantically, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps, her body on the edge of exploding.
“Yes, yes, fuck, don’t stop,” she moaned, her nails scratching down his back, her legs trembling as he added a third finger, stretching her, filling her completely. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, his tongue tangling with hers as he fucked her with his fingers, his rhythm relentless.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled against her mouth, his fingers thrusting deeper, faster, and she cried out, her body convulsing as her orgasm ripped through her.
She was still trembling when he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his lips and licking them clean, his eyes never leaving hers. “You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, his cock hard and throbbing against her thigh.
“Liam,” she whispered, her voice shaking, her hand reaching for him, but he caught her wrist, pinning it above her head.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice rough, his other hand gripping her hip as he positioned himself at her entrance. “I want to feel every fucking inch of you.”
He pushed inside her slowly, inch by inch, his eyes locked on hers, and she gasped, her body stretching to accommodate him. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice strained, his hands gripping her hips as he bottomed out inside her.
“Move, please,” she begged, her legs wrapping around his waist, her nails digging into his back. He obliged, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, and she cried out, her body arching off the bed.
His pace was relentless, his hips slamming into hers, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his voice rough, his hands gripping her hips as he fucked her harder, deeper.
“Liam, I’m so close,” she moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair, her body tightening around him.
“Come for me, Ava,” he growled, his voice low and rough, his thrusts becoming more erratic.
She screamed his name as her orgasm hit, her body convulsing around him, and he followed her over the edge, his cock pulsing inside her as he spilled himself deep within her.
They lay there for a moment, their bodies tangled together, their breathing ragged. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, but neither of them moved to answer it.
“Liam,” she whispered, her voice soft, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest.
“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice tired but content, his hand stroking her hair.
She didn’t say anything, just pressed a kiss to his chest, her heart full. He smiled, pulling her closer, and they drifted off to sleep, the world outside forgotten.
The silence after Liam’s phone buzzed was thick, syrupy, clinging to them even in sleep. Ava woke first, disoriented, the unfamiliar weight of his arm slung possessively over her waist both comforting and terrifying. Sunlight, harsh now, cut through the blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing over the wreckage of the bed – tangled sheets smelling of sex and sweat, her ripped panties discarded on the floor near Liam’s torn jeans. Bruises bloomed faintly on her hips, a stark roadmap of his hands. Her thigh throbbed where his teeth had marked her at dawn. Proof. She traced the indentations lightly.
He stirred, his arm tightening. "Mmm. Five more minutes," he mumbled, his voice sleep-rough, pressing his face into her hair. The intimacy of it, the simple domesticity after the night’s raw carnality, stole her breath. She lay still, absorbing the heat of him, the rhythmic thud of his heart against her back, the unfamiliar sense of belonging that warred fiercely with a decade of ingrained doubt. The crumpled note in her mind’s eye felt heavier than his arm.
His phone buzzed again, insistent, vibrating on the nightstand like an angry insect. Liam groaned, releasing her to fumble for it. She watched his face in profile, the sleep-soft lines hardening instantly as he squinted at the screen. "Work," he grunted, silencing it with a jab of his thumb. He tossed it aside, turning back to her. His gaze, still hazy with sleep, travelled over her face, down her bare shoulder to the bite mark. A possessive gleam flickered in his eyes. "Hurts?"
"Good hurt," she repeated softly, echoing her words from earlier. "Stings a little. Reminds me."
"Good." The word was a low rumble. His thumb brushed the tender skin. "Should remind you who you belong to." He leaned in, but instead of kissing her, he nipped lightly at her earlobe. "Coffee first. Then I need to deal with that." He gestured vaguely towards the discarded phone. He swung his legs out of bed, the powerful muscles of his back and ass flexing, the fading scratches she’d left last night stark against his skin. He padded naked towards the kitchen, utterly unselfconscious.
Ava watched him go, the conflicting emotions churning. The sight of him moving through his space, the casual ownership he projected, ignited a fresh coil of heat low in her belly, mixed with a sharp spike of anxiety. Ten years of running, of disbelief, didn't vanish overnight, no matter how many times he filled her, marked her, roared his possession. She pulled the sheet around her and followed him, the cool floorboards under her bare feet a grounding sensation.
The small kitchen smelled of cheap coffee and the faint, lingering ghost of last night’s whiskey. Liam stood at the counter, pouring water into a battered coffee maker, his back to her. The silence stretched, filled only by the gurgle of the machine and the distant city hum. He seemed coiled, tense, the vulnerability from the dawn conversation buried deep again. Ava leaned against the doorframe. "What did the note say?" she asked quietly. "Exactly."
He froze for a fraction of a second, his shoulders tightening. He didn’t turn around. "Thought you remembered." His voice was carefully neutral.
"I remember the parking lot. The slow dance. Your fingers inside me. The stupid radio song." She took a step closer. "I remember you saying… things. Later. But the note? You said you kept it. Showed it to me last night, but… it was a blur. Show me again?"
He kept his back to her, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. The coffee maker hissed. "Doesn't matter now."
"It matters to me," she insisted, her voice firmer. She needed the words, the tangible proof he’d clung to all these years. "Please, Liam."
He turned then, slowly. His face was unreadable, a mask, but his eyes burned. He looked past her, towards the bedroom. "Wallet. Inside jacket pocket. Left pocket. Blue leather. It's… worn." The admission seemed pulled from him, rough and reluctant.
Ava turned and walked back to the bedroom, her steps measured. She found the worn blue leather wallet on the floor beside his jacket. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it. Cards, a few bills, a faded photo of a dog she didn’t recognize. Then, tucked behind a plastic divider, a small, fragile piece of lined notebook paper, folded and refolded countless times, the creases deep and white, the paper itself softened almost to cloth. She carefully unfolded it. The handwriting was his, younger, messier, but undeniably Liam.
> Ava,
> Sitting in Calc, watching you chew your pen. Still can’t believe you’re real. Last night… fuck. That parking lot. Slow dancing. Feeling you come on my fingers. I wasn’t just saying shit. It’s not just fucking. You make me feel… everything. Too much. I think I fucking love you. Like, crazy love. Scares the shit out of me. Don’t laugh. Please.
> Liam.
The date scrawled at the bottom sent a jolt through her. Three weeks after the parking lot. Three weeks before she’d laughed nervously, called him ridiculous, told him not to ruin what they had with ‘that crap’. She’d thought it was a line, a horny teenage boy trying to score more consistently. She traced the words ‘crazy love’, the ink faded but the desperation bleeding through. Proof. Not just proof he’d felt it. Proof she’d thrown it back in his face.
A tear splashed onto the fragile paper. She quickly wiped it away, refolding it with trembling care, the worn edges soft against her skin. She carried it back to the kitchen like a relic.
He was leaning against the counter, two steaming mugs in front of him. He glanced at the note in her hand, then up at her face, his expression guarded, braced. "Told you. Stupid kid shit." He pushed a mug towards her.
"It’s not stupid," she whispered, her voice thick. She placed the note carefully on the counter beside his mug. "It’s… real. You meant it. Even then." She looked at him, truly looked, seeing past the hardened man to the terrified boy who’d written those words. "And I didn't believe you. I’m so sorry, Liam. So fucking sorry."
He flinched, looking away, grabbing his coffee mug with unnecessary force. "Ancient history." He took a scalding gulp. "Coffee’s getting cold."
The dismissal stung, but she saw the tremor in his hand, the tight clench of his jaw. The raw openness of the dawn was gone, replaced by the familiar, defensive walls. He’d shown her his deepest vulnerability – twice – and now he was retreating, shielding the bruised parts she’d inflicted. The sight of him trying to armor up against her, after everything, ignited a desperate need in her chest, hotter and sharper than desire. She couldn't let him shut her out. Not now.
She stepped into his space, ignoring the mug she’d barely touched. Her hands went to his hips, sliding slowly over the hard muscle beneath his skin, up his sides. He stayed rigid, staring fixedly at the wall over her head, his breathing deliberately controlled. "Liam," she murmured, her voice low and insistent. She pressed her body flush against his, the sheet falling away, pooling at her feet. She felt the immediate, involuntary response against her belly as his cock stirred, hardening rapidly despite his resistance. "Look at me."
He dragged his gaze down, dark and stormy, filled with conflict. "Don't," he warned, his voice a low rasp. "Don't fucking pity-fuck me, Ava."
"I don't pity you," she said fiercely, her hands sliding around to grip his ass, pulling him hard against her, grinding her pelvis against his burgeoning erection. She felt the damp heat already gathering between her own thighs. "I want you. I need you. Right fucking now." She rose onto her toes, pressing her lips to the pulse hammering in his neck. "I need to feel you inside me. I need you to know how much I believe you now. How much I want this. How much I want you." She bit down lightly, not on the old mark, but on fresh skin. "Fuck me, Liam. Like you mean it. Like you own me. Because you do."
A low growl escaped him, part frustration, part surrender. His hands shot out, gripping her upper arms almost painfully. "You don’t know what you’re asking for," he ground out, his eyes blazing into hers. "You think saying sorry undoes anything? You think wanting me now fixes the last ten fucking years?" He shoved her backwards, not roughly, but with deliberate force, until her back hit the cool stainless steel of the refrigerator door. The shock of cold metal against her bare skin made her gasp.
"I don’t want it fixed," she breathed, bracing her hands against the fridge behind her, spreading her legs defiantly. Her heart hammered against her ribs. "I want this. I want you. Angry. Needing me. Fucking me hard. Show me." She met his furious gaze, unflinching. "Make me feel that 'crazy love'. Here. Now."
He moved like lightning. One hand clamped onto her left thigh, hoisting it high, hooking her knee over his hip. The other hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back, exposing her throat. He pressed his entire body against her, pinning her to the fridge, the cold steel biting into her shoulder blades, his cock a rigid brand against her stomach. His breath was hot and ragged against her ear. "You want me to own this cunt?" he snarled, his voice vibrating with fury and need. His free hand slid down, fingers roughly parting her slick folds. She was already drenched, her arousal a slick flood. He slid two fingers deep inside her, hard and fast, curling them instantly to punish that sweet spot. She cried out, her head thudding back against the fridge. "You want me to fuck you like I mean it? Like I own every fucking inch?"
"Yes! God, yes, Liam! Fuck! Like that!" she screamed, her body convulsing around his thrusting fingers. The pain from her hair, the cold metal, the brutal invasion – it fused with the overwhelming pleasure, creating a terrifying, addictive high. She felt raw, exposed, completely at his mercy.
He withdrew his fingers, slick and glistening, and pressed the thick, blunt head of his cock against her soaked entrance. He held her gaze, his eyes wild, desperate. "This pussy is mine," he declared, the words a guttural promise laced with years of pent-up agony. "Say it."
"It's yours! Fucking yours, Liam!" she gasped, pushing her hips forward, trying to impale herself. "Always! Now fuck me! PLEASE!"
He drove forward. Not slow. Not teasing. One savage, brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt, stretching her impossibly wide, forcing a choked scream from her lungs. He held deep for a second, grinding his pelvis against her clit, the pressure intense. "Feel that?" he gritted out, his voice strained. "Feel how fucking deep I am? How deep I’ve always been?" He pulled back almost completely, the drag exquisite agony, then slammed home again with piston force, the impact jolting her body against the fridge. "MINE!"
He set a punishing pace. Deep, relentless thrusts that hammered her against the unforgiving steel, driving the breath from her with each powerful drive. His grip on her thigh was iron, holding her open, his hand in her hair keeping her head back, forcing her to look at him. The sounds were obscene – the wet slap of his balls against her ass, the slick squelch of her arousal, his harsh grunts, her high-pitched cries, the metallic thud of her body against the fridge with every thrust. Tears streamed down her face, not from pain alone, but from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it, the emotional storm made brutally physical.
"You read it," he panted, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. "You know. You fucking know now." He slammed particularly deep, grinding hard, hitting her cervix, making her sob. "That ‘crazy love’? Still there, Ava. Buried under ten years of you thinking I was full of shit. But it’s still there. Fucking rotting inside me. Festering." He fucked her harder, faster, his control slipping. "And now? Now it’s out. And it’s ugly. It’s this. Me fucking you raw against a goddamn fridge because I don’t know how else to make you believe it’s real!"
"Liam!" she screamed, her climax detonating violently, triggered by his raw confession as much as the relentless pounding. Her body locked, spine arching, her cunt clamping down on his invading cock in powerful, rhythmic spasms. "I believe! Fuck! I believe! Oh GOD!" Wave after wave of pure, shattering ecstasy tore through her, her vision blurring, her cries dissolving into wordless sobs.
Feeling her convulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossibly deep, shattered his last shred of control. With a guttural roar torn from the very depths of his being, Liam buried himself to the root and exploded. He ground his hips hard against her, his cock pulsing violently, jetting hot streams of come deep into her clenching core. He shuddered violently against her, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps against her lips. "Ava… fuck… Ava…" Her name was a broken prayer on his lips as he emptied himself completely, his hips jerking with each powerful spurt.
They sagged against the fridge, fused together, trembling uncontrollably. His softening cock slipped from her as he finally released her hair and leg, his arms wrapping around her instead, holding her up as her legs threatened to buckle. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot and uneven against her damp skin. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his back, her face pressed against his shoulder, the cold metal of the fridge at her back forgotten. The scent of sex and sweat hung heavy in the small kitchen, mingling with the burnt smell of neglected coffee. His heartbeat hammered against her chest, frantic and slowing.
Slowly, shakily, he pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, raw, stripped bare. Gone was the fury, the defensiveness. What remained was a terrifying vulnerability, a profound exhaustion, and a desperate, fragile hope. He searched her face, his thumb brushing away a tear track on her cheek. His voice, when it came, was wrecked, barely a whisper. "...Believe me now?"
She reached up, her own hand trembling, and cupped his jaw. She saw the boy who’d written the note, the man who’d carried it for a decade, the lover who destroyed her against refrigerators and balconies. The complex, damaged, terrifyingly real truth of him. "Yes," she breathed, her voice hoarse but steady. Her thumb traced his lower lip. "I believe the crazy love." She leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, tasting salt and something infinitely complex. "And I believe the coffee is definitely burnt."
A choked sound escaped him, part laugh, part sob. He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. They stayed like that, leaning against the fridge in the ruined kitchen, breathing each other in, the world outside the apartment, the buzzing phone, the unresolved past, momentarily held at bay by the sheer, battered strength of the connection humming between their exhausted bodies. The silence wasn't comfortable, but it was theirs. And for now, battered and raw, it was enough.