Page 57 of Landing Liam

I rise onto my toes, unable to resist, and press my lips to his. At first, he hesitates, his body stiffening slightly. A flicker of doubt washes over me—was last night a mistake? Should we have been more careful? Maybe we shouldn’t have skipped the condom, even though I’ve never done something so impulsive in my life. But deep down, I know I trust him. Completely. That trust is what makes this all the more complicated.

When he finally kisses me back, his lips are firm and inviting, and a deep sigh escapes me as his arms circle my waist, pulling me closer. The tender way he holds me makes my chest ache. His touch feels like home, like he’s memorizing every inch of me, even though he’s already claimed it all.

But I can’t ignore the pit in my stomach. The story. The doping allegations. The guilt. The overwhelming realization that this might all fall apart if he finds out the truth. And worse, the thought that I might lose him before I even get the chance to fully know him.

Liam’s hands trail down my back, his palms warm and strong, leaving a path of fire in their wake. His touch is steady, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second, every curve of my body. I can feel the heat of his skin through the water as it streams between us, his chest pressing against mine, and it’s as if the rest of the world has faded away. The only thing that matters is this moment.

I melt into him, our bodies molding together like two perfectly matched pieces of a puzzle. It’s more than physical; it’s a connection that feels deeper, like we’re speaking a language only the two of us can understand. His fingers spread across the small of my back, pulling me closer, until there’s no space between us. My hands instinctively rise to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my palms. It’s strong, grounding, safe.

I tilt my head back to look at him, the water dripping down his face, clinging to his dark lashes and glistening on his cheekbones. His gaze locks onto mine, intense and searching, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. There’s something unspoken in his eyes, something that makes my heart ache and soar at the same time.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, barely audible over the sound of the water. His thumb brushes against my cheek, and the gentleness of the gesture makes my chest tighten.

“So are you,” I whisper back, my voice trembling slightly, not from fear but from the overwhelming tenderness of the moment.

His lips brush against my forehead, soft and lingering, and I close my eyes, leaning into the kiss. It’s not rushed or filled with urgency. It’s something else entirely—something that feels like trust, like care, like the beginning of something I can’t quite name yet.

We stand there for what feels like forever, the water cascading around us, our bodies entwined. It’s intimacy in its purest form—just being with each other, without words, without expectations, letting the silence and closeness speak for us.

Liam clears his throat and exhales heavily, his tone suddenly distant. “I have to meet the guys for an early breakfast.”

The shift is like a bucket of ice water over my head. Disappointment settles in my chest, heavy and unmoving. “Okay,” I say softly, trying to keep my tone neutral.

He steps closer and presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering just a little too long, as if he’s debating something. When he pulls back, I catch the way his jaw tightens, the muscles shifting under his skin. “The room is paid up till noon,” he says. “Take your time.”

There’s something about the way he says it that feels too final, like he’s already somewhere else. “How do you feel about dinner?” I ask, quieter now, unsure.

Liam hesitates, licking his lips. His gaze darts away, almost nervous. “I have dinner with my family.”

“Then after?” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I cringe inwardly. Do I sound desperate? God, I hope I don’t sound desperate.

“Maybe,” he answers, noncommittally.

My stomach churns. My mouth opens, but no words come out. Then it closes again. And opens. Finally, I manage to whisper, “So…” I trail off, unsure of what I’m even trying to say. The tension in the room feels suffocating. “I’m confused, I guess.”

Liam grabs a bottle of shampoo from the ledge and starts washing his hair, his movements mechanical, avoiding my eyes. He turns his back to me, and the cool tile behind me feels like my only anchor as I press against it, searching for stability. I’m unraveling, and he doesn’t even seem to notice.

When he turns back, his expression is unreadable. “Confused about what?” he asks, the sound flat and detached.

His question slices through me. I search his face for the warmth I felt earlier, for some glimmer of the man who made me laugh, who touched me like I was something precious. But it’s not there.

“About this,” I say, gesturing between us. “About what we’re doing. About what just happened.”

Liam’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t respond immediately. The silence stretches, and I feel myself shrinking under its weight. The vulnerability I’d felt safe sharing only moments ago now feels misplaced, exposed.

“Nothing’s changed,” he says finally, the words cutting and clinical, as if he’s discussing the weather.

The rock in my chest grows heavier, and I realize I might have been wrong about him. About us. “Right,” I whisper, the word barely audible over the sound of the water.

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t offer anything to soften the blow. He just rinses the shampoo out of his hair, his focus somewhere far away. And for the first time since I met Liam Thompson, I feel like I’m the one who’s out in the cold.

Liam rinses off, the water streaming over his strong frame, and then, without warning, his hand reaches out to me. The small gesture feels like a fragile thread, a lifeline I don’t entirely trust but can’t bring myself to let go of. My heart hesitates as I take it, the warmth of his palm grounding me even as he feels so far away.

He tugs me close, his arms wrapping around me in a way that feels both protective and distant. His lips press softly to the top of my head, a tender kiss that’s meant to reassure but instead leaves me aching for something more. Something real. Something certain.

Before I can say anything, he steps out of the shower, the cool air rushing in to replace his warmth. I watch him reach for a towel, his movements void of the intimacy we shared only hours ago. He doesn’t look back as he leaves the bathroom, his silhouette disappearing through the door.

The sound of the shower feels louder now, the water hitting the tiles echoing in the emptiness he’s left behind. My chest tightens as I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold together the pieces that feel like they’re slowly falling apart.