Forty-two

Henley

Jesus Christ. Did I just say schedule?

I must have because Conner looks like he’s about two seconds away from either bursting out laughing or tossing me out on my ass. Both, at the same time, are a distinct possibility.

“Excuse me?” He reaches for me, head cocked, eyebrow arched. “What did you just say?”

“I just meant that I know you’re busy…” I drop my hand, my fingers still fidgeting even as I pull them off my earring. A nervous habit that drives my mother nuts.

Ladies are never nervous.

Yeah? Well, ladies never sexually proposition their old high school crushes either, but here we are. Swallowing a laugh of my own, I force myself to keep talking. “With your work here and all the time you spend at your dad’s bar, and I’m going to be working at the library—”

His fingers tighten around my arm. “Shut-up, Henley.”

It’s not what he says, or even how he says it that shuts me up. It’s the way he’s looking at me—stark hunger, mixed with something so painfully tender I can feel the ache of it in my bones. The look is gone before I can blink, replaced with one that makes me consider running.

“Conner—”

“I said shut-up,” he growls, taking another step toward me. And another and another until I’m scrambling backward, trying to keep the pace. “That’s not how this is going to go. You aren’t going to schedule me. We aren’t making appointments. I’m not going to service you.” He takes a final step that bumps me into the doorframe. “And I sure as shit won’t be fucking you for money.” Lifting a hand to brace himself against it, he leans into me, his free hand sliding into my hair, tightening almost painfully, tilting my head to expose my throat. I can feel my pulse thumping under his gaze, so hard and fast, I feel lightheaded. Like I’m seconds away from passing out.

“Then what?” I manage to the question out on a desperate breath. “What do you want?”

“I want anything.” He lowers his head, his warm, uneven breath against the skin of my throat. “Whatever I say. As much as I want. Whenever I decide. You aren’t making the rules.” He runs his tongue along the line of my neck, stopping at my ear. “Not this time.”

Not this time.

“Whatever you want,” I say softly, offering him something I have no right to give. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Be careful.” He tilts his head, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, every time he speaks. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Not to me.”

It’s a warning. A reminder that this is not the Conner Gilroy I remember. Not entirely. A rush of heat bolts through me, stiffening my nipples. Coasting down the length of my spine to pool between my legs. “Whatever you want.” I say it again, and I mean it, even though it’s not whatever he wants. It can’t be. Whatever happens next, it can’t be public, and he’ll want that. He won’t understand. He’ll want more. He’ll want—

He lifts a hand between us, hooking his finger around the top button of my shirt. “I want to watch you come.”

“What?” I blink up at him, watch his face as he casually works the buttons on my shirt, slipping them loose, one by one. He seems calm. Like he has all the time in the world.

“Is that a problem?” He enunciates each word carefully, each proceeded by the pop of a button. “I mean, I know you were a virgin, but if last night told me anything, it’s that you’re no stranger to being touched.” Something passes over his face, a shadow that would scare me senseless if I hadn’t already lost them. “I’m just trying to find our boundaries here, Daisy.”

“Boundaries?” The word sounds stupid coming out of my mouth. A few loose buttons, and a lopsided grin and I’m reduced to parroting.

“That’s what I said.” He pops the last button, sliding his callused hand past the opening of my shirt to trace his fingertips up the length of my torso. “I’ll even make it easy for you… I tell you what I want. You tell me if it’s something you’re willing to give me. A simple yes or no will suffice.” His hand closes over my breast, his thumb sweeping over its tip. “Honesty is paramount…” He applies pressure, his fingers plucking my stiff nipple through the lace cup of my bra. “so I can make an informed decision.”

“Oh…” It comes out on a breathless sigh. My mouth suddenly dry. “What was the question again?”

“I want to watch you come.” He says it to my mouth, on a low, rough tone that curls my toes. “Is that in bounds?” Pushing my shirt off my shoulder, he dips his head, grazing his teeth against my lace-covered nipple. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” I reach up, threading my fingers through his short, dark hair, holding his mouth against me. “Yes.”

Pushing my breast against his mouth, I let out a shuddering gasp when he takes my nipple between his lips, sucking me through silk and lace. Hard, rhythmic pulls rasping against my engorged nipple that catch my breath in the back of my throat, collects it there until I finally push it out a moan.

The hand between us slips lower, finding the front closure of my jeans. He lifts his head to pin me in place with sharp green eyes.

“I loved you once,” he says, flicking open the top button to my pants so he can ease them down over my hips, taking my panties with them. “So much, I was afraid to touch you.” He presses his lips against my jaw, his fingertips circling my belly button before brushing against the top of my mound. “I was afraid to take what I wanted, and I did want you, Henley—that was never the problem.” He dips lower, his long, middle finger skimming the throbbing seam of my pussy. “The problem was that having you around, being with you, was more important to me than getting off. That’s how much I loved you. How much I needed you.”

He sinks to his knees in front of me. “We’re not going to have that problem, this time around.” He unzips my boots and pulls them off. “This time, I can give in.” He reaches up and starts to peel my jeans and panties the rest of the way down my legs, jerking them over my feet before tossing them aside. “I can give you what you want.”

I mean to stop him. To ask him what he means but every rational thought I have spins away from me when he runs his tongue up the inside of my thigh. “Fuck.” His tone is gruff, strangled. “Open your legs.”

I do what he says. Give him what he wants. I spread my legs, a soft whimper escaping my lips when he wraps his fingers around the tops of my thighs, running the pad of his thumb up the center of me. “Jesus Christ.” He says it so low in his throat it sounds like a growl, this fingers digging into my hips, hard enough to bruise, chest heaving like he’s been running for days. Then he looks up at me. “Last chance,” he says quietly. “Last chance to change your mind.”

Something in his tone tells me he wants me to. He wants me to change my mind. He wants me to throw on my clothes and run for my life. To save us both.

But I can’t. I’m too selfish. I want him too much. I don’t care where he was a few hours ago. What he was doing. That it wasn’t with me.

I need this. Him. I always have.

I don’t say any of it. I don’t explain. I just shake my head, reaching out to thread my fingers through his hair, urging him closer. “I already told you—I’m not changing my mind.”

His neck stiffens under my grip for a moment before he sighs, the sound of it half relief, half resignation, whispers across my bare thighs.

“Then my answer is yes.”