Forty-three

 

Conner

 

I can do this.

I can fuck Henley without it meaning anything.

I can.

I did it last night. I can do it again.

Yeah, but you didn’t know who she was last night, did you, fuckstick? Last night you thought she was just some random you’d never give a second thought to. And you wouldn’t have if she’d had the decency to stay random. But now you know.

Yeah. Now I know.

Now, fucking her is all I can think about.

“Conner?”

She’s looking up at me.

Waiting.

“Fuck.” Before I can blink, I’m dragging her off the doorjamb and down to the floor until she’s flat on her back in my kitchen. Kneeling between her open legs, I stare down at her. Fiery red hair spilled out across the scarred hardwood floor. Cheek flushed. Lips slightly parted like she’s having a hard time breathing. Shirt open, exposing the creamy white skin of her belly. Her lace-clad breasts. Her glistening, wet pussy.

Mine.

That’s all I can think.

Mine.

“Was it that asshole at the bar?” I have no idea where the question comes from. All I know is that now that I’ve asked it, I have to know.

“What?” She frowns up at me, her dark glaze sharpening slightly.

“Dalton.” When I say his name, her eyes narrow. “Is he the one who’s been touching you?” It’s completely irrational. He’s just a guy she knows. Someone from home she ran into by coincidence. I know that. But what I know doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make a goddamned bit of difference, what’s rational. What’s sane.

It never did when it came to her.

“You said you and your fiancé aren’t—what was the word you used… intimate.” She blushes as I move over her, planting my hands on either side of her head, our faces so close I can see the faint smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. “You and Mr. Bradford don’t fuck, so it can’t be him, right?” I give in a little, sink a little lower to brush my lips against her cheekbone.

“I haven’t—I never…” She shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it. “I was a virgin before last night.” She says it to my shoulder, a soft flush spreading across her chest, crawling up her neck to stain her cheeks. “You were my first.”

Hearing her say it loud, confessing it to me should slow me down. Remind me that I need to go slow. Be gentle. Instead it ramps me up. Makes it hard for me think straight.

“There’s a hundred different ways to fuck someone, Daisy.” I make myself grin at her, like the thought of someone else touching her, making her come, doesn’t make me completely homicidal. “And only one of them claims your V-card, right?”

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, drawing my gaze to her mouth. “Right.”

This close I can see it. That goddamned freckle of hers that drove me batshit for months when I was a kid. Seeing it now, it takes everything I have not to give in and taste it.

“And we can both agree that last night was not your first orgasm, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good. So, my question remains…” I lean closer, bringing my mouth to within a breath of hers. “Who’s been making you come, Henley?”

As soon as I say it, another flush breaks out across her skin, this one deeper, so warm I can feel the heat of it against my skin. “Does it matter?”

It matters.

Oh, it fucking matters.

“Not really,” I lie, looking her straight in the eye. “Call it… professional curiosity.”

She looks away, tipping her chin upward to expose the soft skin of her throat and I have to close my eyes against the sight of her. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to keep my mouth to myself. My hands. I can feel my fingers start to curl into the floor.

“Me.”

Her whispered answer opens my eyes. I find her staring up at me. Full, soft mouth slightly parted. Gaze cloudy. Dull.

“What?”

“You asked who’s been touching me. Making me come.” She raises a hand between us, pressing it against my chest. “That’s my answer. Me. I have. A lot.”

Fuck.

Not the answer I was expecting.

“Show me.” I lift a hand off the floor and close it over the one she has pressed against my chest. Pulling her hand to my mouth I put two of her fingers in my mouth, sucking them, getting them wet with my tongue.

Dragging her hand down the length of my chest, I turn it. Shape mine around hers. “I want to see.” I cup her pussy, pressing her middle finger and mine past her slick folds to tease her entrance. “Show me how.”

“Conner…” Her lids slip shut, long, dark brown lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks. For a second, I’m afraid she’s going to tell me no. That she can’t. That she’s too embarrassed. Never done this in front of someone else before.

That’s okay. Neither have I. I’ve never done this face to face. Never watched a woman come before.

Before now, I’ve never wanted to.

But then she moves. Tilts her pelvis into the pressure of our hands, hers under mine. She murmurs something, deep in her throat as our fingers, pressed against her entrance, slide in deep. It sounds like my name.

“That’s it,” I say, the words coming out of my mouth wrong. They sound guttural. Like they’d been uttered by an animal who’s just learned how to talk. “Show me how.”

She lifts her hips, moving her finger in and out while I stroke her pussy in tandem, pushing the palm of my hand against the back of hers, tightening my grip on her, finding and matching the relentless rhythm she’s using to fuck herself, our fingers pumping slow and deep.

“You feel so good…” I say in that messed up tone, and I watch while her lips part and she moans, low in her throat. Dipping my head, I latch my mouth around her breast, sucking hard at the swollen tip of it through the lace cup of her bra.

“Oh, my god...”

Pressing harder, I grind her clit with the heel of her hand until she’s moaning uncontrollably, her hips rocking against her hand and mine, shoulders dug into the floor, back arched, breath coming in shuddering gasps. Thighs shaking around our hands.

Lifting my head, I angle myself over her so I can see her face. “Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself.”

I know, even before she says it. Her tongue tells me when it licks at the corner of her mouth. The freckle straddling the line of her lip.

My freckle.

“You,” she moans. “I think about you.”

Driven by that fucked-up animal inside me, I push her hand away. Take over.

I want to be the one to make her come.

Me.

Only me.

I slide two fingers into her, fucking her so deep and fast her eyes go wide before slamming shut. “Oh,” she gasps, reminding me how new she is to all this. Before last night, she was a virgin.

She waited for me.

Gave herself to me.

I don’t want that to matter.

I don’t want any of this to matter.

I can do this.

“Look at me, Henley.” I say it softly, nuzzling her neck, turning her head so I can see her face. As soon as she opens her eyes and looks at me, I brush my thumb against her clit, giving it soft, feathery strokes. “Let me see you.” I press against her, each stroke deeper than the last. “Give me what I want.”

Her jaw snaps tight, mouth open on a shuddering moan that wracks her whole body. Her hand shoots up between us, her fingers wrapping around my bicep. Palm pressed to the tattoo on the inside of my arm.

“Conner…”

She comes hard, the walls of her pussy clamp around my fingers. Hips raised to take each stroke as deep as I’ll give it to her.

And just like that, I snap.

Shooting down the length of her I wrap my hands around her hips and lift. Pushing her thighs apart with my shoulders I give her a long, languid stroke with my tongue and she nearly comes up of the floor, a low moan, locked in her throat.

It hits me like a shockwave. My cock instantly starts to throb, from base to tip. The small of my back tenses up. My balls tighten, contracting so hard they ache. I’m about ready to come all over myself, and all it took was the taste of her. “I knew it.” I groan against her between strokes, sliding my arms under her thighs to wrap my hands around the tops of the so I can open her wider. Drag her closer. So I can taste every inch of her. “Fucking delicious.”

I pull her even closer, the wide plank of my shoulders pressing into the cradle of my thighs so hard I can practically feel her bones start to bend. I can’t get close enough.

No matter how close I get, it’ll never be enough.

Lifting myself up, I rip my shirt over my head and toss it away. I need to feel the heat of her on my skin. I need—

“Ohmygod.” She’s shaking, strung out. About to crash. The orgasms I’m giving her are coming too close together. “Wait—Conner…”

I can do this.

Slow the fuck down.

If there’s anything I can do right, it’s this.

I lift her leg at the knee. I turn my head while I drape it over my shoulder. “I want you to come again,” I murmur, running my tongue slowly down the inside of her thigh until I hit the soft, wet center of her.

Her hands find my shoulders and dig in, trying to pry me loose. “What about you?” Even as she says it, her hips lift on their own, pushing herself against my mouth, rocking against the pressure of it between her thighs.

What about me?

Seriously, I’m so fucking high off the taste of her, someone’s going to have to scrape me off the goddamned ceiling. It’s addictive and dangerous, the feel of her against my tongue. The taste of her in my mouth. But then, she’s always been those things to me.

Addictive and dangerous.

“I want…” Coasting my tongue up her wet, quivering slit, nipped her pussy lips with my teeth along the way. I find her clit, circling it with the tip while she shudders and bucks, threatening to come undone with each stroke I give her. “I want you to come in my mouth,” I say between strokes. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Closing my mouth over her engorged clit, I start to suck—hard, relentless pulls that send her flying. Shifting my shoulders, I slip two fingers past her entrance, stroking her deep, while I suck her off.

Her fingers wrap themselves in my hair, pulling hard enough to loosen it at the roots and I growl against her, the sting of it shooting down my neck and spine to wrap around my throbbing cock.

“Conner.” She moans my name, her hips coming off the floor, begging for more. I slide my arm under ass, lifting her even further. Burying myself even deeper. Fucking her with my mouth. My fingers. I have to grind my hips into the floor, smother my throbbing cock to keep it in check.

And then she’s coming again, my mouth flooded with the taste of her, her hips bucking against my grip. Her hands in my hair, alternating between trying to push me away and pull me even closer while her pussy quivers and shakes under my mouth.

I bring her down slow, telling myself it’s because my mother raised a gentleman, but really, it’s because I can’t stop. I can’t take my mouth off her.

Finally, her thighs loosen their grip, and her breathing returns to normal. The hands in my hair relax, stroking the back of my head, her fingers soft. Gentle. Almost soothing.

It’s fucking killing me, the way she’s touching me. Like she actually gives a shit. Like what just happened actually meant something to her.

Which it didn’t.

She’s made it perfectly clear she’s just here for the sex. That’s all she wants from me. All I’m good for.

I can do this.

I finally raise my head to find hers turned, her gaze aimed down at me. “I better get a 5-star Yelp review for that one, Daisy,” I say, shooting her a cocky grin before I lever myself up off the floor.

I can do this.

I grab my shirt and pull it on, stepping over her and through the doorway and into the kitchen/living room combo. My place makes Cap’n’s old digs look like one of those luxury homes he and my dickface brother build. Taking a quick look around, I see what she’ll see. A rumpled futon, with a curb-find nightstand next to it. A beat-up leather club chair I liberated from my dad’s den, shoved in the corner. Pile of dirty clothes in the corner. A sink full of empties. A refrigerator full of beer and take-out containers.

And books.

Henley always liked my books.

At least I have that going for me.

I can do this.