Chapter 335: Chapter 335 Hot Morning (R-18)

When he finally pulled back, her breasts glistened faintly from his attention, her nipples still standing firm. She was breathing hard now, her eyes locked on his with a look that was equal parts desire and challenge.

Liam hovered over her, one forearm sunk into the mattress beside her head, the other hand skimming the line of her waist as if memorizing it. “That look,” he murmured, voice low, “is going to ruin me.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Kelly whispered, a smile tugging at her lips.

He kissed her again—slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that deepened on its own. The room was quiet enough that the soft rustle of sheets and the catch of her breath felt loud. She slid her palms up his chest, over the plain tee he’d thrown on earlier, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric. He eased closer until their bodies aligned, his weight caging her in without pressing, as if he were careful not to break a spell.

His thumbs found the elastic of her fluffy lounge trousers where they dipped at her hips. He paused, eyes searching hers. “Okay?”

She nodded, cheeks flushed, curls fanning across the pillow. “Don’t make me say please.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. He hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband and drew the soft fabric down inch by patient inch, tracing the path with the backs of his fingers so she felt both the slip of cotton and the warmth of his touch. When the trousers cleared her knees, she bent one leg to help, and he tugged them free, tossing them aside without looking. The pale light in the room made her skin look like satin; his gaze took its time returning to her face.

“You’re unreal,” he said, honest and a little reverent.

Kelly tried for a quip and found her voice unsteady. “Save the worship for later.”

“Already started,” he said, breath ghosting her cheek as he kissed along her jaw, down her throat, then lower—slow, teasing passes that made her fingers curl in the sheets. He mapped her with his mouth and hands, lingering where her body arched to meet him, letting the rhythm build and ebb until her breaths came shorter, steadier, then short again. When his kisses drifted lower, toward the delicate slope of her hip, she caught his hair lightly, a wordless yes in the way her thighs parted and relaxed.

He took his time. No rush, no scramble—just patience and care and heat. He drew soft sounds from her, coaxing them like secrets, and each one made him smile against her skin. She covered her mouth once, self‑conscious, and he lifted his head just long enough to say, “Don’t. I want to hear you,” before kissing her again, deeper, until her hand fell away and the sound of her filled the room.

When she tugged him up to kiss her mouth, her voice was a velvet rasp. “Your turn.”

Her fingers slid beneath the hem of his tee, knuckles grazing the hard lines of his stomach. She peeled the shirt up slowly, deliberately, revealing muscle and warmth an inch at a time, as if unwrapping something meant to be savored. He sat back on his heels so she could pull it over his head; the fabric hit the floor without either of them watching it land. She took a second just to look at him—broad shoulders, sculpted chest rising with a steadying breath—and then she smiled in a way that made his pulse jump.

“Stand up,” she said softly.

He did, and she followed, kneeling at the edge of the bed, her face level with his torso. Her hands slid to his waistband, thumbs teasing under the band before she undid the tie on his lounge pants. She eased them down with the same unrushed care he’d shown her, palms smoothing down his hips, his thighs, until the pants pooled at his ankles. He stepped out of them, and her fingertips traced back up, an exploratory glide that made his breath hitch. When she finally looked up, her eyes were dark and intent.

“Fair’s fair,” she murmured, and pressed a kiss low on his stomach that tested his control. He exhaled hard, a laugh tangled in it.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

“Mm. You like it.”

He reached for her then, fingers threading gently into her hair as if asking rather than taking. She rose, bodies meeting again as he backed her onto the bed, both of them half‑smiling, half‑breathless. The duvet bunched beneath her shoulder blades; his hand smoothed it flat without breaking the kiss. When they parted, their foreheads rested together, the shared heat between them saying more than words could manage.

“Tell me if you want me to slow down,” he said.

She laughed, the sound low and warm. “Pretty sure I’m the one begging you not to.”

He kissed her once for that—quick, grateful—then returned to the languid pace that had her melting. His hands mapped her again—waist, hip, the lines of her legs. He caught the edge of the last barrier she wore and paused, giving her time to stop him. Instead she lifted her hips in invitation. He eased the thin fabric down, careful, attentive, as if the act itself deserved respect. When he tossed the last piece aside, he didn’t ogle or joke; he looked at her like she was something rare and private.

Kelly swallowed, struck by the softness in his expression. “What?”

“Just memorizing,” he said. “In case I ever wake up and think I dreamed you.”

“Cheesy,” she whispered, smiling despite herself.

“Accurate,” he countered, and then he kissed her again, long and steady, one hand cradling her jaw while the other slid down, guiding, learning her tells—the catch of breath, the arch of her back, the sound that meant “yes, there.” He was patient and thorough, drawing her higher in slow circles until her fingers gripped his shoulders and her head tipped back. The rhythm turned into a conversation without words: her body asking, his answering; her urging, his obliging; him easing off just enough to keep her right at the edge, then giving a fraction more so she shivered and clung to him.

“Liam,” she breathed, a plea and a warning wrapped together.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and she believed him.

When she pulled him up for air, her pupils were blown wide, her lips kiss‑swollen. She pushed at his shoulder to flip him, playful and fierce, and he let her, surprised laughter rumbling out as his back met the mattress. She climbed over him, straddling his hips, palms splayed on his chest. For a moment she just looked down at him like a queen on her throne, then bent to kiss him slow and deep, rolling her hips in an unconscious rhythm that made him grit his teeth.

“Kelly,” he warned with a smile that wasn’t really a warning.

“What?” she whispered against his mouth. “Nervous?”

“Not even close.”

“You should be,” she teased, then sat back and reached between them, guiding him to where her body ached for him, a small, anticipatory shift that had both of them inhaling sharply.

He caught her wrist, not to stop her—just to anchor the moment. His other hand framed her face. “Look at me.”

“I am,” she said, and she was—steady, fearless, a hint of wonder softening the edges.

He nodded once, a vow in the gesture, and then, with a controlled breath and a final brush of his mouth to hers, he lined himself up, poised right at the threshold of heat and promise—

—and held there, just a heartbeat longer, letting the tension stretch sweet and tight between them as they readied themselves to fall together.

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