Twenty-one

 

Conner

 

Well, Shit.

“Conn—”

I hold my hand up. “Just wait.” I shake my head, trying to clear it. Trying to find a way to dispute what suddenly makes total, perfect sense. “Just… give me a minute.” I look at her, and she shrinks away a little like she’s afraid of what I might do next.

She goes wild, raising herself up on her hands again, pushing back on me, moving against the pressure of my cock. The closer she gets, the harder it is to hold on. I grip her shoulder, trying to keep her still but it’s no use. The walls of her pussy squeeze around me until my own orgasm is nearly impossible to fight off. “I need you to come for me, Daisy,” I say through gritted teeth. “Come for me now.”

That pretty pink stain on her cheeks tells me she’s remembering it too. My non-compliant cock jerks in response. This isn’t going the way it’s supposed to go. Not at all. I’m a one and done kinda guy. I’m not supposed to want her again.

And now I know why I do.

This is Henley.

That means all bets are off.

Jesus Christ.

I look at her hands, folded on the table between us. “Christ, Hen—” I drag a hand over my jaw. What hadn’t been there last night was there now. Platinum band, studded with diamonds. One in the center had to be sporting a carat weight in the double digits. “You’re married.”

Sweet mother of Jesus. My mom is right.

I’m going to hell.

She looks down at the ring on her hand like she can’t figure out how it got there. “I am not married,” she says, dragging her fingers across the table to hide them in her lap but I’m quicker. I lunge across the table, catching her hand, pulling it toward me until she’s nearly standing, leaning into me, full breasts pushed against the pale pink silk of her blouse. More lace, ivory scallops caressing the soft swell of them. The dark, sweet scent of her hits me again, and my mouth goes dry. All I can think about is the taste of her. What it felt like to be inside her. Surrounded by her. Consumed by her.

“I need you to come for me, Daisy,” I say through gritted teeth. “Come for me now.”

“I don’t know shit about diamonds, Daisy,” I say in a low tone, gaze aimed upward, mouth twisted into the grin that has become my armor. I press my thumb into the center of her palm, circling slowly because she has to feel it too, the helpless need I’m drowning in. The desperation she ignites in me. It’s the only way I’ll survive this, knowing that she’s suffering as much as I am. “But I know enough to know a guy doesn’t give hardware like this to a woman unless she says yes to something.”

“It’s not what you think,” she whispers before catching her lower lip between her teeth. Her chest hitches slightly, and I can hear the rasp of lace against silk, see the taunt push of her nipples through whisper thin fabric. “Jeremy is my best friend.”

Jeremy. Jeremy Bradford. I know exactly who he is. Met him once, a long time ago.

She’s marrying him.

Well, isn’t that fucking perfect?

“And what?” I let go of her and lean back as far away from her as I can get. I want her, which is ten different kinds of bad, but I’m also so fucking angry I want to strangle her. She disappears for nearly a decade and then waltzes back into my life and gets her kicks by doing a total fucking mind job on me? “You decided to come home and trick your high school sweetheart into giving it to you rough and dirty before you—”

She shuts me up by punching me in the mouth, hard and fast, with a left jab that snaps my head back. She’s standing over me, cheeks flushed, no longer a delicate pink but a deep, splotchy red that spreads across her cheeks to creep down her neck, across her collarbone. “Screw you, Gilroy,” she hisses at me, dark brown eyes spitting venom at me.

This is Henley. This is the girl I grew up with. The girl I love. She gave as good as she got and wasn’t afraid to use her fists to settle an argument.

“There she is.” I reach up, touching the corner of my mouth where her ring caught me and my fingers come away bloody. Can’t help but smile. “There’s the girl I remember.”

“I—” She looked down at her hands like they don’t belong to her. Like she’s afraid of what they might do next. The ring winks and flashes in the dim lights of the bar, and I realize she’s shaking. I don’t know if she’s angry or frightened. My guess is probably both.

Before I can say anything, she moves. Reaching down, she retrieved her purse from the bench beside her. “I’m sorry, Conner,” she says without looking at me. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Then she walks out the door.