Ice To Meet You

Part 2

"Liam..." my voice sounds like a fucking moan. Get a drip, Mia Harriet Dawson!
He doesn't respond. His hands are on my belly and I am so glad the parking lot is dimly lit or I would never be able to bear this kind of intimacy. I had so much food today! He is kissing my neck and am I supposed to do anything at all? Because all I have done is moan and this feels incredible, and all I want to do is throw my hair back and enjoy the moment. His hands move to the strap of my underwear and damn is he quick.

"It's called practice Mia!" Inner bitch explains, and she's right. He has had countless women in numerous positions—way hotter than me. Sophia... Amanda and those are just Instagram model's –err women I know. I am nothing compared to them. He will get bored of me and I will be tossed aside like all of them have been in the past. Even if I move past my completely valid insecurity—am I even ready yet?
"More like you are not shaved yet Mia!' Inner bitch gives her 2 cents and oh fuck — aren't you supposed to be shaved down there?
Shit! This had to stop like yesterday.
"Liam!" I yelp and he looks up, his eyes on me. They are blue — the lightest of blue I have ever seen on him. Holy gods of god—this is what Liam looks turned on, I just know.
His finger traces my cheekbones and he tugs the strand of hair crawling on my temples away from my face behind my ear. Oh God — I never want this to end, but he is going to judge me too harshly for the amount of pubic hair I have. Why don't I ever listen to Hannah? I am getting a Brazilian done asap.

"This has to stop," I breathlessly manage to say. I sound like a fucking tease wanting more validating even to myself. He has a confused look on his face and his brows are scrunched up together. I don't blame him—I don't understand me either. One minute I am ready and the next I am a pool of uncertainty and self-doubt.
"I can't..." I mumble, trying to convince myself as much as I am desperately trying to convince him that I don't want this to continue. He immediately removes his other hand from my back and holds both his hand up to his shoulders—palms up, like I am some police officer catching him committing a crime. He leans back and even though he is still looking at me, he is not touching an inch of me. I can tell I've thrown him off his stride. He pushes his hair back and I want to do that. I want to caress his wavy hair away from his face.
"Mia! Concentrate goddamit." Inner voice commands me.
"I just don't —"
"I get it! You like him and it's cool." Towards the end of the sentence, his British accent peaks through. He doesn't think it's cool at all that I asked him to stop. Oh, Kent!
I lean in towards him, closing the distance sprawling between us. How are men so stupid? Even uber smart and gorgeous and sexy haired men like him. He doesn't lean towards me; his face is motionless and his shoulders tense.
This time I don't resist the urge to reach out and caress his hair — they are as soft and silky as they look. Mia focus!
Before I can say anything, he shakes his head, brushing my touch off and leans away from me towards the window. I am clearly not his favorite person right now.
"I don't like him." I clarify and his eyebrows are motionless. It's like he's frozen his expression to hide any emotions from peeking through. Never before in my life have I felt a wall this cold and hard between someone and I. The distance between us is painful. Against my better judgment, I take my hand and reach out to touch his hair again. He won't reject me again — I hope. When did I become this fearless?
My touch doesn't change his composure but he hasn't moved away either — that's progress, right?
"I don't hook up Liam" I manage to spit out. Can he hear how uncertain my voice sounds? Does he know how easily my resistance can crumble? Can he sense the lack of firmness in my voice? DOES HE KNOW I AM DYING TO BE FUCKED HARD BY HIM?
Holy fuck — don't ask me where that came from because I ain't got a clue.
"Do you want him?" It will never cease to amaze me how stupid men indeed are. His eyes fixated on me and how can he even think I would want anyone over him?
I move my head from one side to the other, signaling a definite no.
"Say it.' He demands, his voice devoid of any emotion.
"I don't want him."
"Do you want me?" How can he even ask me such a stupid question? Of course, I do.
"Yes," The truth in those words leaves me scarily unhinged. A smile touches his face and I want to kiss those lips. Kissing is okayish, right? Inner voice am I allowed that? Where is she when I need her the most?