He wants it slower now and that's okay. I do, too.

I run my fingers up and down his arm and then make my way toward his back.

I feel the strength of his shoulders and I lose myself in the thickness of his hair.

Burying his hands in my hair, he gives it a small tug, sending shivers all the way down to my toes.

When he tugs again, I tilt my head back and moan, enjoying the ripple effect of the sensation.

His mouth feels soft yet deliberate.

His lips connect immediately with mine and when our tongues touch, everything starts to feel okay again.

When he pulls away slightly, he runs his fingers down my neck and slowly pushes down one side of my shirt off my shoulder.

He's asking for permission.

It's nice, sometimes, to get tossed around and, other times, it's nice to take it slow.

I move my hands over and start unbuttoning his shirt one by one. They’re small and don't fit well into the loops, raising the tension of the moment.

Eventually the shirt flops open and I look at that muscled physique, losing myself in his marbled body.

He bends down and kisses the top of my shoulder.

Slowly, he finds his way underneath and unclasps my bra. Then with one quick motion, he takes off both the bra and shirt at the same time.

He kisses me again and pushes me against the nearest wall. The coolness of it against my back feels good but not as good as it does to feel the warmth of his body against my front.

Kneeling down again before me, he pulls down my pants along with my panties.

I feel exposed and on display, but in a good way. I like him looking at me. I like being naked before him, even though he's not.

The last time we were together, he was quite an expert with his fingers and if he’d continued like he did, he would've given me an amazing orgasm even without getting inside of me.

He lifts my leg up and puts it on his shoulder.

Pressing me harder against the wall, he kisses the inside of my thighs before licking the inside of me.

My heart jumps into my throat and starts to beat faster. I grab onto the wall for stability as waves of pleasure start to course through me.

His fingers quickly find their way inside, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

“I'm starting to feel dizzy,” I say, not sure if my legs will keep me upright much longer.

“I think this will help,” he says, pushing me over the side of the deck.

I was thinking something more like a bed, but as soon as he thrusts himself inside of me, I forget all about that.

With one of his hands firmly around my breasts, my legs are spread out wide and my body is bent in half on the deck.

With his other free hand, he finds my clit and starts to move in quick little circles. The pleasure that I feel makes me almost lose my mind.

I love the way that he manhandles me.

I love the way that he overpowers me and takes care of me at the same time.

My breath quickens and his thrusts speed up. With each quick movement, I feel like my body is splitting in half, but in a good way.

He glides in and out, filling me up with everything that is him.

I want to stay here forever, balancing on the edge of the abyss, but when he presses himself deeper inside of me, he simply pushes me over the edge and a wave of pleasure rushes over my body.

“Liam!” I moan as he squeezes my breasts and continues to go deeper and deeper.

My body goes limp, but he doesn't.

It takes him a few more minutes before he collapses on top of me. We stay here for a while, listening to each other's breaths.

19

Emma

After I take a shower and wash my hair, I put a little bit of makeup on. By the time I get dressed, my hair is almost completely dry.

The humidity is so low, just hovering over eleven percent, so Liam has a few humidifiers around the house. The one in the bedroom is running low on water so I unplug it and fill it back up.

When I come back into the living room, I see him sitting on the swing on the side of the house, right near the goats.

Then I hear something.

He's talking.

He's holding his phone close to his mouth and slightly pushing off the porch with his bare feet to give himself momentum.

I wonder who he's talking to, but when I get closer to the window, I realize that he's not on the phone at all.

Instead, he's writing.

There's a sliding door a little bit behind him and I crack it open to hear him better.

His words are slow and steady. There's a laptop on the seat next to him with the outline of the chapters.

His narration sounds a little bit different from the way that he normally speaks. There are unusual pauses when he thinks about the next thing to say, occasionally stopping in the middle of a sentence, but the flow of the story continues and I lose myself in it.

Liam describes the forest that the main characters approach from the clearing.

He describes the tall and moving trees that shield the sun.

The story picks up when a werewolf attacks the main character and sends her on a desperate search for shelter.

Suddenly, he stops talking.

He turns around and looks at me and the window.

My body goes rigid, but it's too late.

“Are you listening to me?” he asks.

I shake my head no and then realize that if I actually couldn’t hear him, then I wouldn’t answer.

He waves me over and begrudgingly I open the door.

“I'm sorry,” he says, “I just can't narrate out loud.”

“It sounds great,” I reassure him.

“No, I mean I can't dictate with someone listening.”

I shrug and apologize once again.

“It's not you. It's just something that happens. I get self-conscious or something. It's hard to explain.”

I give him a slight nod and shift my weight from one side to another.

“I mean, would you want me to read one of your articles that's not really ready to be seen yet?”

I think about that for a moment.

The answer is a categorical no.

Of course not.

“I know that I shouldn’t be listening,” I say after a while, “but it's just nice to see you at work. It's not every day that you get to come to some famous person's house and see how they create their art.”

He smiles and leans back against the swing. He moves his leg slightly, giving himself some motion.

“How's it going?” I ask, leaning on the side of the door.

“I'm a little bit distracted.”

Now it's my turn to smile.

“Does it have anything to do with me?”

“You would like that, wouldn't you?”

“No, absolutely not,” I say, shaking my head.

“I don't know,” he says after a moment. “It's just hard to concentrate. I keep trying. Usually I don't have a problem with this, but now it’s just sort of hard to gain momentum.”

“Well, what do you usually do when you get started?”

“Come out here or sit behind my desk, look out at the desert, and put on a YouTube video.”

“I'm not sure if I heard that correctly.” I tilt my head to one side, narrowing my eyes.

“I know that it sounds stupid or something, but actually, there are a few writers on YouTube who stream their work. Basically, they do these writing sprints and you can join in with them live or watch them when you are writing yourself. So, when I get started and I'm feeling a little bit out of sorts, it's good to just have someone there with you starting the sprint and commit to just writing twenty minutes at a time.”