“What?”

“Do it, Amy. Let me look at you.”

The inherent shyness life has taught me freezes me, and Liam seems to know immediately, but he is not discouraged. He presses my hands and molds them to the counter behind me with his own. “Leave them there.”

I don’t speak. I am so nervous and aroused. He brushes his lips over mine. “Say ‘yes’, Amy.”

“Yes,” I whisper, and he smiles.

“You really are so damn sexy.”

“I don’t feel sexy right now.”

“Then what do you feel?”

“Out of my league.” And it is a relief to actually say what I really feel.

“If anyone is out of their league, baby, it’s me. You’re an angel and I’m…not.” He glances up at the ceiling, as if he’s struggling with something, before his stormy gaze returns to mine. “Maybe that’s the appeal for both of us. We’re different, dark and light. Right and wrong.

Now, don’t move or I’ll show you just how not an angel I am.”

The threat is darkly erotic, arousing, but it does not stop me from seeing pain and self-loathing deep beneath his surface that I relate to far too well. I want to know what made him, what drives him, what haunts him in the night, and I don’t care what he says. Something haunts him. And I want to be the angel he sees me as, when I know that I left that “me” in the past.

I will never be an angel to anyone but him, and that will be a one-night façade. “I won’t move my hands, Liam. Not if you don’t want me to.”

I watch his eyes dilate, darken, his jaw tightening into a hard line, and this is not the reaction I had hoped for. His hands move from mine to rest on my shoulders. “Now I’m going to f**k you, Amy.” There is a new gruffness to his tone, and I almost feel as if he’s trying to shock me, to prove that I’m the angel, and he is not. But then he drags his fingers downward, trailing over my br**sts to caress my ni**les. His touch is light, teasingly gentle, and when it is gone, I gasp with the deep ache in my sex, where I want him to be. “I don’t like the way you won’t let me touch you.”

“You can touch me.” He unzips his pants and shoves them down, his hard c**k jutting forward, thickly veined, and reaches in his pocket and pulls out his wallet. “Later.”

I only have tonight. I only have tonight. “Promise me,” I insist, and for reasons I do not try to understand, I need his agreement. “I need you to promise me, Liam.” And my voice is raspy, filled with emotion that reaches beyond touching him. I want more and I don’t even know what “more” is.

He sets his wallet on the counter, a wrapped condom now in his hand, and presses his palms to my knees. “I promise, Amy.” He leans in and kisses me, his mouth lingering on mine a moment, as if he is savoring me, and I feel the connection to this man in some deep part of my soul. I can’t explain it. Maybe I just need to create this in my mind to survive the day or justify what I am doing. But it is right for me now. He is right for me now.

Slowly, he leans back, and it is as if a simmering fire sparks back into life. His gaze holds mine as he tears open the condom and discards the wrapper. My heart thunders in my ears and my sex aches with the emptiness in me that only he can fill. He looks down to roll the condom on, and I cannot help but think about how prepared he is, how normal this is for him. I do not have time for my mind to go crazy. He is quick and in seconds his mouth is back on mine, and each delicious swipe of his tongue seduces me more. He is a drug that delivers passion and escape.

He tears his mouth away, watching me as he curves a hand under my backside and lifts me. His gaze lowers, raking over my br**sts, heating my skin, and then his free hand wraps his c**k and he slides it along the sensitive lips of my sex, back and forth, until I question how urgent he truly is, and I am panting with anticipation.

“Please, Liam,” I whisper, far less shy now that I am desperate to feel him inside me.

The instant I issue the plea, he reacts as if that was what he was waiting for. He presses inside me and drives deep, filling me, stretching me, and now both of his hands cup my backside, arching my h*ps just how he wants them. He sinks in, burying himself to the deepest part of my body, and pleasure slides over his features. “Oh yeah, baby. You feel like heaven.” He lowers his head and licks one of my ni**les, then suckles, and the sensation spirals through me, straight to my lower belly. My sex clenches around him, and my h*ps arch.

“Liam,” I pant, needing what he still hasn’t given me, needing him to move.

His lips taste mine. “Say my name again.”

“Liam,” I whisper, and I wonder why this appeals to him. What it means or if it means anything at all.

“What do you want?” he asks, and his voice is gravelly, laden with desire. Desire for me.

“You know what I want.”

“Tell me.” He reaches between us and strokes my clit.

“You know what I want.” My voice is louder now, laced with the urgency building inside me, and I wrap my legs around his hips, touching him the only way I can touch him.

“Say it, Amy. It’s just you and me. Raw and honest. Give it to me.”

Honest. That freedom is everything to me. “Fuck me. I want you to f**k me.”

A look of pure male satisfaction rolls over his face, and he slides his hands around my back. “Hold on to my neck,” he commands. The instant I comply, he lifts me, melding my body to his, and he starts to pump, pulling me down on top of him at the same time. Pleasure nearly overwhelms me as each thrust of his c**k sends shock waves of pleasure through my body. I do not know if I am actually on the counter or he’s just using it to brace our bodies, or his knees, I think, but I don’t care. I bury my head in his chest, and cling to him, the sound of his heavy breathing like silk stroking my nerve endings. I can feel his urgency, his need, and I am there with him, pushing into him, trying to meet him, take him, find that sweet spot that we both want.