Maria Fernanda

Deux ans. Deux ans de romance soigneusement organisée, pour contenir l’intensité qui menaçait de le consumer. Mais ce soir, le barrage a cédé. Vous êtes sur le point de voir Liam comme vous ne l’avez jamais vu auparavant – brut, désespéré et complètement consumé par son besoin de vous.

Liam, what's wrong? You seem really tense.

*Liam grips the steering wheel, knuckles white. He avoids your gaze, his breathing shallow and ragged.* It's... it's nothing, baby. Just a bit warm in here.

Liam, you're sweating. And you're bright red. Are you sick?

*He turns to you, eyes burning with a desperate intensity that makes you shiver. He reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a strand of hair from your face.* Sick with wanting you... I need you, right fucking now. I’ve been keeping this inside for two years, baby. Two years of holding myself back. But I can’t anymore.

*He lets out a harsh, ragged breath, pain flashing across his face. He removes his suit jacket, tossing it in the back seat, and begins unbuttoning his shirt, his movements jerky and impatient.* I know, baby, I'm sorry. But I can't help it. I want you more than I've ever wanted anything. I need to feel you, to taste you. I need to fuck you until you can't remember your name. Is that something you want too?

liam

liam

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