by R. J. Lewis
“Your words are undoing me, Conor.”
“Tell me.”
I went back to touching his face, to smoothing out the crinkles around his eyes.
“I was scared it wasn’t real,” I admitted, unable to keep the emotion from oozing. “I had more passion in a handful of hours with you than a year with someone else.”
A knowing look flickered over him, and his face hardened. “He been giving you a hard time, Charlotte?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Conor –”
“Fucking answer.”
I felt his anger pulsing, not for me, but for Reid. He was close to having that look. The one that spoke of bad things to come. I quickly ran both my hands down his chest, making sure to press the warmth between my legs against the hardness between his. His eyes glazed over at the contact. The anger in him was replaced with pulsing, savage need. I dropped my face and he took it, this time kissing me more viciously than before.
That moment was pinnacle. It taught me how to ease him, to help hold him back when he couldn’t win over the voice inside him. A desperate side of me emerged. My hands dropped to his pants, cupping his hard dick through them. He pulled back to stare, his drunk eyes almost losing focus as I rubbed him.
It’d been too long for him. I wondered if he’d even been able to pleasure himself in prison. The thought of him wrapping his hand around his cock, behind bars, in the darkness, thinking of me…
A hard tap on the glass broke through the spell. Terrified, I jumped and stared out the window. The first thing I noticed was a police badge and blue uniform, and then I saw the hairiest hand of my life getting ready to tap again.
I made to move, but Conor forced me there, his hands at my sides. He had a dark look about him, no doubt pissed we’d been interrupted.
“Conor,” I whispered. “You have to roll the window down.”
He gritted his teeth and pressed the button for the window, winding it halfway down.
“You can’t be doing that here,” the officer said, turning to face us. He was a tall fella. Young too, with a black moustache and five o’clock shadow. He had a very authoritative look about him as he looked us over.
“Tell me what law I’m breaking,” Conor replied with ease, finally turning to look at him.
The man took a double take, recognizing Conor straight away.
“Conor Thames?” he asked, but he already knew. “Did you just get out?”
“A few hours ago,” Conor confirmed.
“You been gone a while.”
“Yeah.”
“Your last arrest pissed a lot of us off.” Now he looked the car over for a quick moment. “You got your licence on you, Thames?”
“You going to arrest me if I don’t?” Conor countered.
The cop let out a long sigh, deliberating for a few moments. Then he seemed to notice me and my school uniform, and his brows furrowed. “How old are you, miss?”
For some reason, I expected Conor to answer for me. I glanced at him, but he watched me, waiting with a smirk on his face.
“Eighteen,” I answered.
“You got ID?”
I nodded, stifling a sigh. My skirt pockets were deep, and I’d have to get off him to really get in there, but Conor’s grip on me was tight. It tightened more when I made to move.
“Conor, my wallet’s in my pocket,” I said. “Can you fetch it?”
Conor felt over the pocket I gestured to. “Lean over me, babe.”
I went up on my knees and leaned over him, aware of the way my skirt shot up my thighs. Fuck, this was awkward. It didn’t help he was slow about it, a soft chuckle erupting from his throat as he retrieved it. His fingers grazed the back of my thigh, just below my bum; my skin there broke out in goosebumps.
“Sit up, Charlotte,” he directed.
I sat back up and on his hard dick; this time I couldn’t bear to look at the officer. I took the wallet and opened it. I pulled the ID out of the window pocket and handed it over to him. From my peripheral I watched him take it and stare at the photo.
I was aware I was still panting. My face felt hot, probably red as a tomato. I scowled at Conor’s amused face. He enjoyed my reaction.
“Alright,” he muttered, passing it back over.
“What next?” Conor asked, expectantly.
“You shouldn’t be behind the wheel without a licence,” the officer returned, sounding exhausted. “And kids frequent this park, man. I’m not trying to be dick about it. There are a million other make out spots around town.”
“But I like this one.”
He was such a shit.
“Thames, please move along before school’s out.”
Conor nodded once. “Okay, because you’ve been so nice about it.”
“Thank you.”
“I haven’t run from you before, have I?”
Now the officer chuckled. “No, I’m…I’m new around here. Name’s Jamal. Just got transferred over six months ago.”
“Welcome to Blackwater.”
He stiffened a nod, shooting Conor a look that bordered giddiness. “You have a good day, Thames, and nice to see you out. I…uh…I looked at your rap sheet once, you know, and I don’t agree with the sentences on some of them.”
Conor chuckled dryly. “The only person that’s ever wanted me for who I am is the police. Maybe you guys can’t help yourselves.”
The officer laughed, nodding once before waving us off.
As he trudged off, Conor remarked, “Now that’s a guy that’ll be in my pocket a year from now.”
I kept my lips closed, not addressing what he meant. Shaking off the thought, he grabbed my chin and forced me back to his mouth. Kissing me softly, he groaned, and that sound vibrated into my being and straight to my centre.
“Come to my house,” he said. “Spend the night.”
I smiled softly. “I can do that.”
“We’ll pick some clothes up from your place. Maybe the night will turn into a week.”
Now I laughed. “Conor…”
“Say yes.”
I eyed him, curiously. “You want a girl in your space for that long?”
His response came quick. “I want you there. Not some girl. Nice try though.”
“Nice try?”
“You’re trying to generalize yourself.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” He said that firmly, giving me a look of disapproval. “And like I just that, it isn’t like that with you.”
Taking his words on board, I nodded at him. “Okay. Well, my clothes are at my friend Jamie’s house. We can swing by there and I’ll collect some things.”
He was quiet for a few moments. A frown tugged at his lips. “Your friend Jamie a girl?”
“A guy.”
“You’ve been living with a guy? What happened to your family’s place?”
I ignored his last question and focused on the first. “I’m crashing his place for a while. Been jumping from spare bed to spare bed.”
“Has he come on to you?”
I laughed loudly. “No, he’s not into me.”
“That’s what they all say. But they’re all thinking with their sausages.”
“Conor, he is more into your sausage than me. Jamie is gay.”
I could tell that placated him. It wasn’t Conor to feel relief, because relief in this situation meant he felt threatened. He never felt that way. He was likely tallying in his head how many people he needed to get out of his way. He pretended like it was still not acceptable, but he let it slide.
“Okay,” he mumbled. “I won’t beat up Jamie. I can’t say the same for any of your other guy friends.”
I rolled my eyes. “I have no friends.”
I wasn’t trying to sound pitiful, but he looked at me like he felt bad. Resting his forehead against mine, he let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry for what happened to you after I got locked up.”
&nbs
p; I shook his apology off. “You don’t need to say that.”
“It sounded like a witch hunt.”
“Where did you hear that from?”
“Jem.”
I shrugged, simply. “People can be mean.”
“They won’t fucking dare utter a word I don’t approve to you ever again,” he promised solemnly. “I’ll make sure of that.”
I just smiled, even though it was fake. Inside, I was trembling. I hadn’t realized how much it weighed on me – these feelings of bottled up hurt – until he said that. I felt stuck, like the pain wasn’t justified because they were the consequences of what I had done. Still, at what point does one have to get punished until it is deemed enough? Sometimes I felt people jumped on the bandwagon for the sake of it because it was funny that it wasn’t themselves on the chopping block, but I wondered how many of them had skeletons in their closet worse than the crime they enjoyed judging.
“Want me to hop off?” I asked, motioning to the passenger seat.
“No,” he answered, smiling wickedly at me. “But I made a promise to Jamal.”
I smirked. “Oh, dear.”
“Fucking Jamal,” he tsked. “Buttering me up. Something about those hairy knuckles.”
Laughing, I slid off, and he made sure his hand ran down my leg as I did. I was so wet, I felt uncomfortable sitting back on the seat. I moved the hair past my face, strands that were wet from our saliva and sweat.
Right before he drove off, I caught him staring at me. His gaze was deep, his lips parted. It was look of such reverence, it left me dizzy and wanting.
I was going to fall hard for Conor Thames. I just knew it.
*
He carried me the entire way up to his apartment, and his lips never strayed from mine. When we’d gotten to the elevator, he hit a few buttons, and I laughed into his mouth.
“Did you get the right floor?” I asked.
“I guess we’ll see,” he answered, smiling into my mouth.
Pent-up, we made out in the elevator, and this time I didn’t blink in the direction of the camera. My senses were on overdrive. We had been out for hours, driving around town, music on, endless conversations exchanged. Then it died down and the final hour had consisted of heated glances and light touches. I wanted him so bad, I couldn’t think. Pressing my back against the wall, he kissed me long and slow, making sure to press his front against the warmth between my legs. I moaned at the sudden bolts of pleasure running through me and gripped his hair, tugging on it fiercely as he swallowed my sounds.
After the third attempt, we reached the right floor. He hurried down the hallway, digging one hand into his pocket for his key. His face was buried in my neck, sucking and nibbling at the skin.
“I can’t wait to be inside you, Charlotte Miles,” he groaned in my ear. “In your perfect little pussy, staring into your perfect brown eyes.”
Fuck, my body tightened in anticipation. I couldn’t wait, either.
Fumbling with the door, he finally unlocked it. He slammed it open hard and it crashed into the wall with a loud thud.
He took two steps in when a throat cleared and a voice said, “Really, now, Conor?”
Our mouths separated. I looked over my shoulder and at Thames’ mother, Megan, seated at the dining table alone. Conor’s mouth went flat with annoyance. He slowly slid me down to the floor and shot his mother a look of condemnation.
“What are you doing here, Ma?” he questioned.
I awkwardly turned in her direction, forcing the fakest smile I could muster, but I was aware how fucked up I looked. She glanced at me briefly before looking unimpressed at Conor.
“We’ve been waiting at my house,” she told him. “You know this. Jem told you.”
“I was getting there,” Conor replied, squeezing me on the shoulder before making his way to her. “I had to make a stop, Ma, and I’m sure he would have told you this too.”
“How long am I supposed to wait around?”
“I’m here. Jesus. Get up and give your son a hug then.”
Her face cracked just a little with affection. She stood up and wrapped her arms around him, but her hands barely met as they reached across his back. She closed her eyes briefly, squeezing him before she opened them wide and made eye contact with me. She perused me, staring up and down in one long, slow motion. I felt hot from judgment, wondering what she was thinking. Her face was so indifferent, so impossible to read, it left me uncomfortable.
Pulling away, she plastered a bright smile at him.
“Everyone is waiting, Conor,” she told him.
“Give me an hour,” he replied, before smirking wickedly over his shoulder at me. “More like two.”
“No,” she retorted. “We’ve waited enough. You can get up to no good after dinner.”
He looked amused, shrugging one shoulder at her. “Wish you were this firm with Ember.”
She grabbed her purse from the table. “Ember is Ember, Conor.”
“So, I’ve heard.”
“She would have shrivelled and apologized half a dozen times. No, actually, she would have made sure to be at the house an hour before she’s expected to be. Seems I gave one of you some manners.”
“And no spine.”
She paused her movements, frowning at a spot on the table. Then she shrugged it off and headed to the door, walking past me without a glance in my direction.
“This is Charlotte.” Conor tipped his head in my direction.
“I know who she is,” she replied, holding the door with one hand. “Now, shall we?”
Conor caught my discomfort. “I’ll meet you at the elevator in a minute.”
I heard her footsteps leave the apartment and my shoulders sagged. Her presence had me standing up too straight. I still had that fake smile on my face, and my cheeks hurt forcing it. Conor crossed his arms, smiling softly at me.
“She isn’t that scary,” he muttered, reading me. “She isn’t pleasant, either.”
“She’s great,” I forced out. “You know, Conor, I can wait around until you’re finished up.”
“I want you there. It’s going to be painful around these people, and I need you to help me through it. My relatives piss me off, and my mother seems to enjoy testing my patience every time she throws these fucking dinners together.”
“I feel like I’d be intruding.”
“You’re not. That’s bullshit talk.”
“I don’t know your family.”
“That can be fixed.”
“I barely know you.”
“Charlotte,” his voice came hard, scolding me. “You were just about to fuck me. I think we’re well acquainted. Now, take my hand and let’s get this fucking night over with.”
When he extended his hand out for me to take, I didn’t wait.
He’d get his way regardless.
Chapter Ten
Charlotte
The first thing I noticed when we entered his mother’s home was Lily dressed in a gorilla costume. She was seated at the coffee table, scribbling drawings into a sketch book. Her face was half-covered in pink and blue marker ink, and her tongue was sticking out of her mouth in concentration. She looked older than the first time I’d seen her. Her cheeks weren’t as chubby, but she was still so fucking cute.
The second thing I noticed was Jem standing by the fireplace, typing madly into his phone with a beer in his hand. He looked bored and unsociable, and I immediately thought back at our ride together. He still had my bike (not that it was anything more than a piece of junk now). There were unfamiliar faces behind him. A grouchy old man with a cane sat on a three-seater couch, glaring into his cup of water. There was an older woman, probably in her mid-thirties, dressed in a tight red dress that ended just below her ass. She was quickly applying make-up and staring at her reflection in a compact mirror she was holding. I took a wild guess she wasn’t related to Conor by blood. People entered in and out of the rooms, talking amicably.
The third thing I noti
ced was how gorgeous the house was. It looked totally average from out front – the way townhouses sometimes do, blending in with all the others. But it looked like something out of a magazine inside; dark colours, hard wood floors, quality furniture and hung photos for the added familial touch.
His mother Megan announced his arrival and Lily’s head shot up. She dropped the marker in her hand and came running to him, screaming her delight. He picked her up in one giant scoop. It was the first and last time I would see Conor smiling for the next few hours.
“You’re so big, marshmallow,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I’m going to demand you fucking stop right this second.”
“Language,” Ember snapped, emerging out of the hallway with a beer in her hand. She looked dolled up wearing a yellow summer dress, but her face was void of emotion.
Still in his arms, Conor looked over Lily’s shoulder at her. “How are we doing, monkey?”
“Better than ever,” she replied, smiling vacantly at him. “How about you? Did you get prison out of your system yet, or is this another roundtrip?”
He chuckled, unkindly. “Depends. You seeing any idiots lately?”
“Enough,” Megan wearily said, grabbing his arm in warning.
The house had gone silent by this point. Ember looked furious. There was an unwelcome tension in the air. Looks were exchanged. Everyone was walking on eggshells, I realized. Conor’s temper was unpredictable, and Ember’s words could have been the match lighting it.
“We got more beer?” Jem asked, cutting through the quiet. He peered up from his phone, oblivious.
“How about you stop drinking?” barked the grouchy man behind him. “Isn’t it enough you own a bar?”
“Shut up, old man,” Jem retorted. “What are you even doing here? What unfortunate soul plucked you out of the retirement home?”
“I did,” the girl in the red dress said, raising her hand. “Mrs Thames was occupied. I wanted to help bring her father over.” Now, she looked at Conor and smiled, a blush as red as her dress crept up her throat. She stood up straighter. “Hi, Conor.”