Conor Thames 2

by R. J. Lewis

  There was tension. Maybe not from him because he looked so calm, but his eyes were sunken in, and his face seemed gaunt from sleeplessness, or maybe even hunger.

  “Have you eaten today?” I asked him.

  He took a few moments to respond before shaking his head slowly. “No.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  Another slow shake. “No.”

  Feeling like I suddenly had a purpose, I told him, “I’ll fix you something to eat real quick.”

  I didn’t wait for him to respond. I strode to the door, telling him I’d be a few minutes. The second I stepped out of the bedroom, I let out a long breath of air out. The nerves were eating me whole. I was jittery on my way down to the kitchen. I felt like my mind was going a million miles an hour.

  I didn’t even know what I was grabbing for when I opened the fridge and began unpacking it, throwing random shit on the counter while my mind blazed.

  He was here, and I was missing him already.

  My fingers trembled as I opened the bag of bread and began throwing down slices on the bare counter. I felt an intense wave of adrenaline surge through me as I thought of his wet body stepping out of the bathroom. My body warmed at the way he dropped that towel, at how big he was, at how focused his gaze was when he looked at me.

  It was his eyes that had me burning the most, I realized. Not his decadent body, nor his dominant ambiance, but his eyes, vulnerable and deeply focused.

  With shaky hands, I sliced some ham and shredded some cheese and put on a bit too much mayonnaise. It was a sad looking sandwich, but it would have to do. He was hungry, so I highly doubted he cared what he’d eat after eight years of prison food.

  Eight. Years.

  I lost a little balance just thinking about it.

  With the sandwich on a plate and a tall glass of orange juice, I strode back up the stairs and to the bedroom. I found him emerging from the closet. To my dismay, he was wearing a pair of black briefs he must have dug out from his pile of clothes. God, had I seriously forgotten to pull out a pair of underwear for him?

  Why did I have the feeling he’d dressed to make me comfortable? I wished I hadn’t acted so tense now.

  I tried to busy myself by putting away the random clothing strewn on the dresser as he ate on the edge of the bed, the plate in his lap, the glass of juice on the floor beside his feet. I sensed his eyes on me the entire time, and the few moments I mustered the bravery to look at him, our eyes connected, and my cheeks burned.

  “You alright, pup?” he suddenly asked.

  Pup. Like he’d never forgotten.

  I stopped moving this time and turned to him, smiling brightly by default. “Fine, Conor.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Relax, then,” he told me. “I don’t bite.”

  I stood still, forcing myself to look at him as his words went through me. I flushed deeply, unable to quiet the memory those words triggered. “You said that to me once, didn’t you?”

  His lips spread into a light smile. “I did.”

  “When was that?”

  “When we met,” he answered straightaway.

  “At the party?”

  “Yeah.”

  I made a show of narrowing my eyes. “With that girl draped over you.”

  He sounded amused. “It was after I kicked her off.”

  “No,” I disagreed. “Pretty sure she was still sitting in your lap.”

  He shook his head determinedly. “It wasn’t.”

  “I guess we remember it differently,” I cheekily replied.

  “Who would you rather believe?” he questioned, lightly. “The girl who’s probably catalogued a thousand more memories since then over the last eight years? Or the guy locked up, living the same day on repeat, with nothing to do but relive the memories up until the point of incarceration?”

  I went still, catching the seriousness in his tone, though his eyes remained light. I let out a long breath, nodding carefully in response. “Okay, I believe you.”

  He finished the sandwich and then downed the drink in record time. He wasn’t pale looking anymore. His eyes appeared brighter and his composure more relaxed, though his expression appeared thoughtful. Standing up, he took the plate and the glass to the dresser and settled them on top. Then he turned around to face me.

  I didn’t realize it, but every step he made, I’d managed to take a step too, only in the opposite direction. I wasn’t sure why, either. On some base level I wanted to be close to him, yet my body seemed to be behaving differently.

  He seemed to notice too.

  He took a step in my direction, and I took a step away, my heart hammering in my chest as it became painfully obvious.

  It might have been humorous from an outsider’s perspective. Might have even looked predatory on his end. Here was this man, hulking and strong, moving decidedly to me, and there I was, the frightened little prey, maintaining the distance as if he might lunge at me.

  “Frightened, pup?” he murmured low.

  “Aware,” I corrected in a whisper.

  Finally, he made his way back to the bed and took a seat, but this time, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching me intently. It was insane to think that he was sitting here, allowing that distance, yet at the same time his presence dominated the room regardless where he was.

  But that had always been Conor, hadn’t it?

  He seamlessly owned his environment.

  And even after all this time, I fell victim to his power. To his ability to cloud my senses and make me long for his touch.

  “Why does this feel different?” he asked me, solemnly.

  “Because it is,” I answered softly.

  “It feels the same, too.”

  “It does.”

  His eyes trekked my body slowly, lingering around my hips before he swallowed hard. “I’ve thought of this moment a lot.”

  I blinked slowly, whispering, “Me too.”

  He cut his eyes back to mine, looking curious. “How often did you think about it?”

  I blew out a breath, trying to smile but my lips weren’t working. “God, every day, Conor. Every minute, even.”

  “And here we are.”

  I nodded. “Here we are.”

  His expression softened as he gazed at me. “Do you still feel it, Char, that energy burning between us?”

  “Yes, I feel it.”

  “What does it feel like to you?”

  “Like… being touched by the sun.”

  He nodded, smiling sadly. “Burning and pulsing, and it hurts, too. Like a knife in the gut, right?”

  “A twisting knife.”

  “Then you know my agony.”

  I fought the emotion behind my eyes. “I do.”

  He seemed pleased by that. Pleased and…hungry. With slightly parted lips, his gaze grew ravenous as he looked me over again, taking his time to explore me. It was apparent he wanted me. I could see the desire clouding his expression, and it made every inch of me warm.

  “I longed for the moment I could feast my eyes on you,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I knew I’d come undone, but nothing prepared me still. I feel vulnerable with you, Charlotte, like I belong to you, like the distance meant nothing over the years. It’s…a disarming sort of surrender.”

  His words wrenched me. I felt the ache in his voice. I saw the way his eyes dimmed, like saying this out loud was a confession he hadn’t even made to himself. Looking shrouded in thought, his gaze lost focus.

  I wanted to go to him. I wanted to hold him to me, feel his head buried in my chest as I stroked his hair and whispered comforting words to him. But I couldn’t move. I watched him instead, my feet rooted to the ground, my soul tethered to his pain.

  Rousing himself out of his reveries, he refocused his gaze to me, to every inch of my body. I felt the heat return to his face, felt the air shift between us.

  “I want you,” he declared just then. “I want you really badly, Char
lotte. I want you in a way words can’t convey. I’m done waiting.”

  My eyelids drooped as his words seared me. “I’m done waiting, too.”

  “So then take your clothes off, Charlotte, and let’s end our suffering,” he softly commanded.

  I blinked, suddenly feeling skittish. Just because I dreamed about this moment, it didn’t make me feel all that prepared. I was trembling and afraid of being seen whole when I’d spent all these years only revealing myself to me and no one else. So, I stalled and pathetically questioned, “Why?”

  His answer was immediate.

  “You know why.” His voice lowered. “I need to see you, dove.”

  It took me seconds to process his demand, seconds to calm the fears I’d built around this moment, and then I stopped overthinking. I had to, for our sake. He needed my strength, and I needed him to feel safe with me.

  I drew a few breaths in before I felt my fingers tug at the hem of my shirt. I threw it over my head. The tips of my fingers shook as I let the shirt fall to the floor. My face heated as I pulled my pants down. His gaze was heavy; he was feasting on my bare flesh as I went, and I was feeling self-conscious.

  It’d been so long.

  I was practically a nun now.

  He didn’t have to tell me to keep going. I saw the demand in him as I stood there in nothing but my bra and panties. Slowly, I unclasped my bra and let that too fall to the floor. His eyes lingered on my breasts, and he blinked that slow way again. I glimpsed down his body quickly, catching his cock thickening through his briefs. He liked what he saw, it made him ravenous, and what a glorious feeling that was to know I still affected him all these years later.

  He nodded to me, demanding I keep going, motioning with his chin to let my panties drop, and I did. I climbed out of them, forcing myself to remain cool. Standing straight, my gaze flickered for a moment to a random spot on the carpet. I felt exposed and self-conscious. It took an agonizingly long time to finally look up at him.

  “Are you scared, dove?” he asked, studying me closely.

  “Nervous,” I admitted, resting a hand over my belly where I felt the most insecure about my body.

  He caught the movement, glimpsing at my hand briefly. “Me too.”

  Was he being serious? He looked like a god. He couldn’t have meant it in the physical sense.

  “Come here,” he told me, his voice hardly above a whisper.

  I shot him a doubtful look. “I might fall over coming to you, Conor. I’m wobbly everywhere.” And I was. My legs were shaking. I wasn’t sure what was happening to me. Maybe this was too much, too fast.

  He stood up and slid his briefs off him, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he closed the gap in three strides. Clearly, he had no trouble moving. Just as I looked up at him, he was all around me, picking me up in one quick move. I gasped in surprise; his hands gripped my thighs, and then he carried me to the bed like I was weightless, forehead pressed against mine. He sat us down on the edge of the mattress. He had me straddling him, his dick pressed against the wet spot between my legs. It was thicker now, the shaft rubbing gently at my entrance. He made no move to thrust into me. He held me to him, trailing his hands over every inch of my body, exploring me while his gaze remained locked on mine.

  After a while I relaxed. My trembling fingers glided down his hard chest, grazing past his nipples. I was careful where I touched, noticing old bruises across his abdomen. I felt a lump in my throat.

  It didn’t have to hurt this much.

  It didn’t have to feel this good to be touching him again.

  “Talk to me, dove,” he demanded tightly, observing me.

  “And say what?” I replied, sullenly.

  “Why are you sad?”

  I swallowed thickly, tearfully looking at him. “You tried to let me go.”

  His body tensed. “I did it for you.”

  “No,” I shook my head, wildly. “You wanted me to move on.”

  “I wanted you to be happy.”

  I took his face in both of my hands and shook him, trembling out, “I was only happy with you. I’m a void, Conor. You did what you said you would do from the start.”

  “Which was what?”

  “You told me I’d give you my heart and that I couldn’t live without my heart. You were right.”

  His expression hardened. “I was arrogant.”

  “You were right,” I repeated, tears streaming down my face. “You broke me.”

  His eyes glistened. “And you think I was any better? I had to kill part of myself to escape the pain, dove. I had to dig deep and rip it out of me and watch it die.”

  A sob escaped me. “You shouldn’t have shut me out.”

  “You don’t know what it was like in there,” he said, his voice broken. “You have to stop feeling to survive. You have to do things…things I could never look you in the eye and admit. I would never have been able to face you. I still almost can’t.”

  I gripped his shoulder tightly, afraid he’d pull away. “I would never leave you, no matter what.”

  He looked so sad, staring into me, begging me to heal him. “There’s been no one else all this time, dove?”

  “Just your shadow following me around all these years.”

  His fingers ran through my hair and then down my spine and back up again. “I’m not the same, Char,” he declared quietly. “I feel blackness in my heart. Apathy choking me like a snare. I can’t remember who I used to be. I close my eyes and it’s darkness, and I open them and there’s more darkness.”

  “And now?” I pressed, stroking his cheek. “Is it darkness and apathy with me here on your lap?”

  A tear welled in one eye, but it wouldn’t fall. He stared at my mouth while he spoke. “Just white blinding pain, pup.”

  “Good pain, or bad?”

  His hand squeezed my hip as he muttered softly, “Good.”

  Silence took over.

  He glided his hands around me, feeling me with a tender expression. We’d been broken for so long, and now we were broken together, and in a strange way it was our disrepair that lessened the pain. The touch of his skin spoke to that pain and made it bearable.

  I ran my fingers through his wet hair and his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. I pulled chunks of it and he moaned gently. The sound made me wetter. I rocked lightly against his length, feeling like I was going to combust if he didn’t fill me.

  He hadn’t even kissed me yet.

  “Conor,” I muttered, my voice coming out as a plea.

  He opened his eyes and I saw equal need in him. His hand came up to my front. He took my breast into his giant palm and squeezed gently. His lips parted as his fingers tugged at my nipple. He leaned forward and took it into his mouth, sucking lightly on it. Oh, God. My fingers dug into his scalp, keeping him there as he sucked and licked me. He journeyed to my other breast and his hand squeezed it tighter. His mouth circled the nipple and he sucked on it with the same attention as the first. His other hand ran down my ass, his fingers digging between my cheeks, adding pressure to the hole we’d never explored together.

  I squirmed, moaning as tingles ran rampant through me. He licked up my chest and up my throat before pulling back to stare at me. This time he watched my mouth, riveted, wanting. He brushed his nose tenderly against mine and then lightly pressed his lips to mine, staring at my reaction. I could hardly keep my eyes open. He brushed them again against my lips, as if trekking into unsafe territory. My mouth parted and my tongue darted out, tasting his bottom lip. He looked drunk. His eyes closed as he delivered another quick kiss, and then another.

  His tongue brushed against mine. Our kiss grew longer, more languid, more wet. He added more pressure to my hole, his index nudging into me as I rocked against him, feeling his thick shaft touch my clit. Our kiss deepened, and I was hot everywhere. My blood was whooshing in my ears, my body shook in anticipation.

  Swept up in the moment, I dropped my hand between us and wrapped it around his cock. It was sw
ollen, my fingers barely touched, and suddenly I remembered how heavy it was, how perfect it used to fit inside me, stretching me near the point of pain. I squeezed the tip, pumping him once, twice…

  His hand suddenly grabbed my wrist. He broke our kiss, looking dangerously up at me in that cold way again. My heart lurched in my chest, afraid at the look he was giving me. I let go of him immediately. Still gripping my wrist, he forced my arm behind my back, and then he grabbed at my other hand, doing the same. Both hands secured behind my back, he shut his eyes, panting as his brow creased. I watched him tremble for several moments. He was catching his breath, pressing his forehead now against my chest. His hot breaths tickled my skin, and then he did an odd thing. He pressed his ear to my chest, like he was listening to my heart.

  My heart, that poor muscle, was pounding. I’d crossed the line again, and I felt so fucking awful for not being cautious. I was worried the moment was over, that he would tell me to get off, and then what? I would have to aimlessly wander the room, unsure of what to say or how to act to make it all better.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He shook his head against me. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

  Pulling back, he met my gaze, looking sad when he noticed the fresh tears forming in my eyes. He still didn’t let me go; both his hands trapped mine firmly behind my back. He didn’t trust I wouldn’t do it again.

  He was terrified I would do it again.

  What happened to you? I wanted to ask.

  He caught my expression and his lips pressed firmly shut. He wasn’t going to say.

  Redirecting his gaze to my body, he took in every inch of me again with heavy eyes. I waited, letting him go at his own pace. He took a nipple into his mouth again, circling it with his tongue. I shook in his lap, my knees squeezing him.

  Suddenly, he let go of one hand and wrapped his arm around my waist. In another breath, he flipped us over on the bed, dragging me up the mattress. Seeming focused, he made sure both hands were over my head, gripped tightly in one of his. He needed control, and he questioned me with a look, checking to see if this was okay. I nodded at him, and he relaxed, returning his focus to my body. Hair fell over his forehead as he leaned down, thoroughly swiping my centre with his hot tongue. My eyes rolled to the back of my head at the jolt of pleasure flooding through me. He did it again, lapping his tongue up and down my slit, lingering longer on my swollen clit.