(Hailey Miller's POV)
The room was dimly lit. Liam laid me down on the bed, his eyes searching mine for permission I had already granted. His hands, surprisingly delicate, slid the straps of my nightgown down as the silk whispered as it yielded.
"Hailey," he murmured my name, and it sounded like a prayer and a possession.
My own hands rose to meet his T-shirt. I needed to feel his skin. The cotton fabric yielded to my impatient tugs, revealing a toned torso, pale in the moonlight, with scars that told stories I might never know. I rested my palms on his chest, feeling the violent beating of his heart beneath my fingertips. It was fast and messy, just like mine.
He leaned down, capturing my lips in another kiss, but this one was different. It was no longer a question, but a statement. A
