Chapter 3: Public Display of Affection
The train shuddered to a stop, brakes hissing, and Chloe exhaled sharply as Liam’s fingers finally left her. The air between them was thick, charged—like the moment before a storm breaks. She could still feel the ghost of his touch between her legs, the wet heat lingering under her jeans.
“You’re a fucking menace,” she muttered, but her voice was shaky, ruined.
Liam smirked, stretching his arms behind his head, the bastard. “Tell me you didn’t love it.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because she *had* loved it—the thrill, the reckless danger of doing it right there, inches from strangers who had no idea. And he knew it.
The station platform outside was crowded. People shuffled past their window, dragging suitcases, talking too loud into phones. Chloe fidgeted, adjusting her backpack, suddenly hyperaware of the dampness between her thighs.
Liam stood first, grabbing his duffel, then leaned down so his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You’re walking funny,” he murmured.
She elbowed him hard in the ribs.
Outside, the air was crisp, sharp with the scent of diesel and late summer rain. Chloe inhaled deeply, trying to clear her head, but Liam’s hand found hers immediately, his grip possessive. His thumb traced circles on her wrist, a silent promise.
They moved through the station in a daze, bodies angled toward each other, shoulders bumping. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright, exposing every flicker of want on their faces. Every few steps, Liam’s fingers would tighten around hers, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he didn’t hold on.
“We could just get a cab,” he said suddenly, voice rough.
Chloe knew what he meant. Knew exactly what would happen if they got into the backseat of some anonymous car, windows fogging, hands desperate.
“Or,” she countered, slowing her steps, “we could wait until we’re home.”
He groaned, low and frustrated, pressing his forehead against her temple. “Christ, you’re killing me.”
She smiled, victorious, but then his other hand slid down, cupping her ass through her jeans, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. His lips curled against her neck. “But you’re still fucking soaked, aren’t you?”
His fingers dipped lower, brushing the seam of her jeans where they met her thigh, and she bit down on a whimper.
“Liam—”
“Say it.” His breath was hot on her skin. “Tell me how bad you want it.”
The station blurred around her. The noise—the announcements, the footsteps, the distant hum of traffic—faded into white noise. All she could focus on was the insistent pressure of his fingers, the way her body clenched in response, greedy.
“I want you to fuck me,” she whispered. “Now.”
He made a sound like he’d been punched, then yanked her into the nearest bathroom—a single-stall, flickering light, the door lock clicking behind them.
The second it shut, he had her pinned against the tile wall, one hand fisted in her hair, the other working frantically at her belt. His mouth crashed into hers, hungry, all teeth and tongue, swallowing her moans. Her jeans were shoved down her hips before she could even think, his fingers plunging back into her, curling just right.
“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he gritted out, fucking her with his fingers, his hips grinding against her thigh. “Could feel you squeezing me the whole fucking walk here.”
She clawed at his shoulders, her legs trembling. “Liam, *please*—”
He pulled his fingers out, slick and glistening, and shoved them into her mouth. She sucked them clean, tasting herself, salt and heat, while he unbuckled his own jeans with his free hand.
When he finally pushed into her, it was with one brutal thrust, so deep she saw stars. The wall was cold against her back, his body burning against her front, and the contrast made her gasp. He didn’t give her time to adjust—just set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving her higher.
“That’s it,” he growled, biting her shoulder. “Take it. Take all of me.”
She could hear the wet slap of skin, the filthy, obscene noise of him fucking into her, and it only made her clench tighter. His hand slid between them, thumb finding her clit, rubbing rough circles that had her whimpering.
“You gonna come for me again?” His voice was wrecked, breathless. “Right here, in some shitty train station bathroom?”
She nodded frantically, nails digging into his arms, her whole body coiled tight.
“Do it,” he ordered. “Let me feel it.”
The orgasm tore through her like lightning, violent and all-consuming. She buried her face in his shoulder to muffle her scream as she pulsed around him, her vision whiting out.
He fucked her through it, his own release slamming into him seconds later, his groan raw against her throat. He held her up as they both shuddered, his forehead pressed to hers, breaths ragged.
For a long moment, they just stood there, tangled together, the only sound their heartbeat. Then Liam pulled back slightly, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from her face.
“Still want to wait until we get home?” he rasped.
Chloe laughed, breathless, boneless. “Shut up.”
He kissed her again, slow this time, lingering. The kind of kiss that promised more—later, when they weren’t in a filthy bathroom, when they had hours and a bed and no interruptions.
Outside, the station announcer crackled to life, calling the next departure. Reality crept back in.
Liam sighed, reluctantly pulling away to fix his jeans. “Cab?”
Chloe nodded, straightening her own clothes, her legs still unsteady. “Yeah. Cab.”
They stepped back into the fluorescent brightness of the station, their fingers laced together, the world none the wiser.
The scent of burnt coffee and industrial cleaner clung to the station air as they walked, their steps syncing naturally. Chloe’s thighs still throbbed, the ghost of Liam’s fingers imprinted on her skin. She caught him watching her from the corner of his eye, that smug, satisfied tilt to his mouth that made her want to shove him against the nearest wall and ruin him all over again.
“Don’t,” she warned, squeezing his hand hard enough to make him wince.
He just grinned, unrepentant. “Don’t what?”
She didn’t answer. The cab line stretched long, impatient travelers shifting from foot to foot under the flickering overhead lights. Liam tugged her closer, his lips grazing her ear. “Bet I can make you come again before the cab even gets here.”
Her pulse leapt, treacherous. “You’re insufferable.”
“You love it.” His fingers traced the waistband of her jeans, dipping just beneath, teasing.
A shudder ran through her. God, she *hated* how easily he could unravel her. The memory of his mouth between her legs last summer, those relentless, clever fingers working her open on his shitty dorm room bed, flashed behind her eyes.
The line inched forward. Liam’s thumb circled the damp spot on her jeans, slow, deliberate. “Still wet,” he murmured. “You’re fucking *dripping*, Chlo.”
She clenched her thighs together, but it just made the ache worse. “Shut *up*.”
He laughed, low and dirty, and stepped back just as their cab pulled up. The driver barely glanced at them as they slid into the backseat, but Chloe still felt exposed, raw. Liam sprawled beside her, all lazy confidence, one arm slung over the seat behind her head.
The cab smelled like pine air freshener and old leather. Rain started to patter against the windows, streaking the city lights into smears of gold and neon.
Liam’s hand landed on her knee, fingers tracing idle patterns. “So,” he said, voice casual. “How many times do you think you can come before we hit your apartment?”
The driver coughed.
Chloe’s face burned, but her body lit up like a live wire. Liam’s fingers slid higher, pushing her thighs apart despite her weak attempt to clamp them shut. His palm pressed against her, warm even through the denim, and she bit down on her lip to stifle a whimper.
“Liam—”
“Relax,” he murmured, leaning in so his breath tickled her neck. “Just gonna tease you a little. Unless you want me to stop?”
She didn’t. That was the worst part.
His fingers undid her jeans with practiced ease, slipping beneath her panties, and her breath hitched. The cab hit a pothole, jolting them, and his knuckles brushed her clit—just a glancing touch, but enough to make her hips jerk.
“Fuck,” she breathed.
Liam smirked, watching her face as he circled her clit slowly, maddeningly light. “You’re so fucking responsive,” he mused, voice thick with amusement. “Like I’ve got you on a string.”
She wanted to argue, but then his fingers slid lower, dipping into her, and her thoughts scattered. He worked her open lazily, curling just right, his thumb keeping up that torturous rhythm on her clit. The cab’s hum, the rain, the driver’s quiet radio—it all faded beneath the roar of her own heartbeat.
“Gonna come already?” Liam whispered, lips brushing her earlobe. “Just from my fingers?”
She shook her head, but her body betrayed her, thighs trembling, heat coiling tighter. His fingers sped up, relentless, and she bit down on a moan, her nails digging into his thigh.
The cab turned a corner. Liam’s free hand cupped her breast through her sweater, pinching her nipple just hard enough to make her gasp. “Come on,” he urged, voice rough. “Let me feel it.”
She came with a silent, shuddering cry, her body clamping down around his fingers as pleasure ripped through her. Liam kissed her, swallowing her whimpers, his fingers drawing out every last pulse until she sagged against him, boneless.
When he pulled his hand free, his fingers glistened in the dim cab light. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum. “Told you,” he said, grinning.
Chloe glared, but there was no heat in it. Her legs were jelly, her thoughts slow and syrupy. Outside, the rain came down harder, smearing the city into a watercolor blur.
The cab slowed. Her apartment building loomed ahead, its windows glowing like beacons in the storm.
Liam leaned in, his voice a dark, delicious promise. “Now let’s see how many times I can make you scream before sunrise.”