Taking Connor

by B. N. Toler

  I cry harder. Why does he think he has to always protect everyone else? When I manage to look up, I see Dusty leaning against the garage, arms crossed, looking away from us. He knows what happened too. Well, he knows most of it. That makes four of us. Four people with one giant secret that Connor feels like he has to carry alone. I hug him tighter.

  “Demi Stevens!” A woman shouts, and I jerk my head up. A flash blinds me momentarily, and I blink a few times before realizing it’s a photographer. “Demi, do you know what happened to Mr. Jenson?” the photographer yells. Three more people run up beside her and start snapping pictures. Reporters? Really? Dusty rushes over and begins pushing everyone back as they shout questions to me.

  “Are you and Connor Stevens involved?”

  “Are you lying to protect Connor?”

  “Get the fuck back you assholes,” Dusty shouts. I can’t move. I’m frozen as I watch the debacle.

  “We’re going to stand up now, baby,” Connor whispers. “We need to move.” I nod in compliance, and he manages to get both of us on our feet. When he looks down at me, he pulls my robe closed tighter, then noticing it’s basically see-through, he juts his head toward the house. “Let’s get you inside.”

  Numbly, my body still shaking, he leads me inside and seats me at the kitchen table. He grabs a blanket from the living room and wraps it around me. Then he goes back to the porch and calls for Dusty. Pulling out the chair beside me, he moves it close to mine and sits, pulling me to him. Connor kisses my temple as Dusty enters and takes a seat on the other side of the table. No one speaks for a moment.

  “Reporters?” I mumble.

  “They showed up this morning,” Connor answers.

  My tear filled gaze meets his. “I killed him,” I finally manage.

  He squeezes me, before moving his hand to my head. “I killed him,” Connor argues.

  “No, no you didn’t. I killed him.” I reiterate.

  He kissed my temple again, long and hard, fisting my hair in his hand. He’s hurting. He’s hurting because he wanted to protect me from this. He hoped I wouldn’t remember, but I did.

  “They have no proof of anything,” Dusty adds. “The only thing the prosecution can come up with is Connor’s previous convictions.”

  “In a small town, that’s all they need,” I argue.

  “Demi,” Connor says, his voice deep and stern. “I’ve got this. Trust me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  I jerk away from him as tears stream down my cheeks. “Do you really think that’s what I’m worried about?”

  He sucks in a deep breath, and his eyes go soft. “You don’t remember anything,” his tone is firm. It’s not a question. He’s telling me I don’t remember anything.

  I stand up and pull the blanket around me. “If you think I’m going to sit here and play stupid while you take the rap, you are so wrong,” I warn.

  He stands and pushes his chair under the table. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do,” he tells me.

  My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “How do you think I could ever let you do that?”

  “Because I said so.”

  “I’m going to harass the reporters,” Dusty says, before standing and heading back outside.

  “I don’t care what you say. I’m going to call Jim right now and tell him everything.” I drop the blanket and head toward the living room when he grabs me and pulls me back, wrapping his arms around me, my back to his front. He kisses the back of my head, then moves his mouth to my ear.

  “Demi,” he breathes. “I need you to trust me. I need you to let me take this.”

  I struggle in his hold, but it’s no use. He’s too strong. “The hell I will,” I growl as I continue to try and wiggle my way out which only makes his hold tighten.

  “You will.”

  “Why? Why would I sit back and watch you take the fall?” I cry.

  “Because I love you goddammit!” he yells as we crumple to the floor. He pulls me down, so we’re laying on our sides as I sob. “I love you so fucking much. I WILL NOT let you go down for this.”

  I cry harder.

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s going to be okay,” he whispers as he places sweet kisses on my shoulder. I struggle again and this time he lets me get up. I jump to a stand, he slowly moves up, so that’s he’s sitting, looking up at me.

  “It’s not okay! How dare you tell me you love me and then expect me to watch you go to jail and leave me. Do you think I want to lose you? Do you want to leave me? Do you think I could ever sit here, free, while you rot in prison?” I don’t let him answer. I run upstairs and slam the bedroom door behind me, flinging myself on my bed. I cry for what seems like an endless amount of time before my hurt and grief pull me under into a deep sleep.

  When I wake up again, it’s dark. The lamp from the street shines through the window illuminating the room faintly as I lay there, restless, my stomach grumbling from hunger, as I haven’t eaten all day. Silence rings through the house so loud it’s almost deafening. I wonder if Connor is in the house, somewhere, silently brooding, waiting for me to come back downstairs. Or if he’s in his apartment. I’m so angry with him. How could he even think I would let him own this thing we did alone? But as angry as I am, I’m filled with a feeling I haven’t felt in so long.

  Love.

  I love him.

  I love him for how selfless he is. How willing he is to throw himself in the flames and burn alive to protect me. I’m so consumed with emotion, with need for him, I don’t wait another second. I head downstairs in search of him and find the house dark and empty. When I walk out on the back porch, I can see the lights are on in his apartment. Quietly, hoping to avoid being seen by any reporters as I’m still in the same white silk robe, I tiptoe up the stairs to his apartment. I don’t knock, but open the door quickly and walk in. Connor is sitting in his recliner, a beer in his hand, the radio faintly playing So Help Me Girl, by Joe Diffie in the background. His head whips around at the sound of me entering, and he moves to stand, but I hold my hand up, stopping him. He’s almost naked, only wearing a pair of white boxer briefs.

  “I love you, too,” I blurt out and his eyes close as if he’s just experienced the most profound relief; as if he’s been in pain, but suddenly medicated. Walking around the couch I approach him and stand in front of him.

  “We will figure this out together. One way or another, Connor. We’re a team now. I need you. I need you so much the thought of losing you now steals the breath right out of me.”

  He leans to the side and places his beer on the coffee table. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises.

  As I untie the sash of my robe and let it slide off my shoulders, wafting to the floor and pooling at my feet, I stare down at him, my eyes locked on his, I tell him, “I know that, baby. And I won’t let anything happen to you either.”

  He sucks in air through his teeth as his gaze lazily roves up and down my body. I don’t move even though every nerve in my body is screaming to feel him. I wait and let him see me, all of me. When he stands, he’s only a few inches in front of me as his hand cups my face, his thumb grazing back and forth over my cheek. My chest rises as my body recognizes his touch. His hand slides down slowly, his fingers dragging, gently digging into my flesh until he reaches my breast and cups it roughly. A small moan escapes me. As his thumb flicks my hardened nipple, I watch him. I watch how his gaze turns darker, his mouth parts, how his body rocks toward me ever so slightly as if he’s fighting the urge not to crash into me. Watching a man so virile, so strong and rugged, hold back; practice the discipline of fighting urges so he can drag out a moment and milk it for every beautiful drop of meaning he can is awe inspiring.

  Connor Stevens awes me.

  When his eyes move back to mine, we watch each other. He’s looking at me now; he wants to see how his touch affects me. I arch my back slightly, so my breast pushes into his hand. Again, it’s a silent conversation. We don’t need words.
He knows I’m telling him I want more—need more.

  Suddenly I’m yanked up, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands cupping my ass. Still, we stare; his eyes never leave mine as he moves. In a few short steps, he’s reached his bed and slowly, he sits me on the edge. Dropping to his knees on the floor, he kisses me before nibbling his way down to my breast and sucking my nipple in his mouth. I groan. He continues his descent as his hands spread my knees. I fall back and pull my feet up, placing my heels on the edge of the bed and opening myself to him. The first flick of his warm tongue over my clit, my hips thrust up, but his large hand finds the lower part of my belly and pushes me back down, holding me there as he assaults me in the most violently beautiful way with his tongue and mouth. My hands fist the comforter as I pant and moan, rocking slightly into his mouth until my body feels as if it comes apart and breaks into a million tiny pieces of ecstasy.

  My legs feel loose and Jell-O-like as he stands. “Roll over and lay on your stomach,” he instructs me. Slowly, I force my limbs to move and obey his command. He crawls on top of me, kissing his way up the back of my thighs, giving one of my ass cheeks a hard bite that makes me gasp, before making his way up my back. The tip of his erection is pressing against my opening, slipping back and forth through my wetness, teasing me. I arch my ass up to aide him, and after a moment he pushes inside of me. When he’s fully seated, he gathers my hair and fists it, pulling my head to the side as his mouth finds mine, letting his body weight rest on me. I’m completely at his mercy. He withdraws slowly and pushes back in again.

  “Do you really love me?” he whisper-growls in my ear as he nips at my lobe.

  “God, yes. I love you. I love you so much,” I pant, my heart ready to burst with emotion, my body riding high on the sensation of him inside of me.

  “Then let me be your man, Demi,” he says, his pace picking up slightly.

  “You are, Connor. You’re my man,” I promise, my voice rising an octave as he drawls me closer to release.

  “Then let me handle this,” he continues before kissing my neck, the scruff of his day-old beard coarse against my delicate skin. “I need you to let me do this.”

  “You need me to give up on you?” I manage between pants.

  “No,” he murmurs in my ear. “Not give up on me. Just give in to me, Demi. Let me take care of you.”

  I attempt to push up in a move of defiance, but his weight is too much, and the position of my arms is awkward preventing it. I open my mouth to protest, but he thrusts inside of me, hard, hitting the deepest part of me, that place that lies somewhere between pure ecstasy and pain; that delicious spot. I cry out, my mind waging war on my body; fighting to get him off of me or beg him to never ever stop.

  “Connor,” I plead, unsure of what exactly I’m pleading for. But something tells me he knows. He’s breaking me; forcing me to fight the ingrained part of myself that would never let someone I love do something that would hurt themselves, especially for me, and instead submitting—handing over my free will in the name of love.

  “That’s it, baby. Let it go,” he coos as he pulls out slowly and thrusts back in, hard, hitting that spot once more. I shriek and can’t understand why I can’t seem to fight him. I want to. I want to argue and yell and scream at him for asking me to sit back, for using his body to manipulate me, but the fight in me gets caught on a sob. I’m crying, sobbing really, as he moves in and out of me, kissing me sweetly, his hand fisting my hair, gripping me in a firm but gentle way. The moment is brutal in the most profoundly exquisite way. I’m agreeing to his terms. I’m agreeing to let him do something that he has no business doing. And I’m agreeing to it because I’ve given myself to him. He owns me. And while it breaks my heart to lose my voice in this argument, giving myself to him this way is the most freeing feeling I have ever felt. He needs me to give myself to him this way. To trust him. And I love him so much, I’ve just handed it over.

  I can feel his body tense as he moves faster. He’s already wrenched my orgasm from me, the wetness slick between us, and he’s close to his own. His breath hitches and tiny grunts escape him as he pounds against me and between my sobs, I tell him I love him. I tell him how good he feels. I tell him to let go with me—that I’m here—that I’ll always be here. When he releases, he groans loudly as if it feels so good it hurts as he throbs inside of me, then collapses. Through ragged hot breaths, he kisses my shoulder and cheek that is wet with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, slipping to the side and pulling me against him, my back to his front. “I don’t think you’ll ever know how beautiful that was; how much that meant to me.”

  I nod, weeping quietly as I gather his fist in my hand and kiss it softly. He’s not talking about the sex, all though it was amazing and beautiful. He means how I succumbed; how I let him take his place in my life as my man. “No one has ever given themselves to me like that, Demi,” he continues. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I promise.”

  In his embrace, I continue to weep, and he holds me, his arms strong around me. When I calm down, my breathing normal, I ask him in a husky voice, “Tell me what happened to Blake? Tell me about killing the man that hurt him.”

  Connor presses his mouth to my shoulder and stays there, and I can tell he’s trying to decide if he should share this secret or not. “Blake was eleven. I was fifteen,” he begins. “Grams was a good woman, but her love always has come with unlimited forgiveness and her daughters took full advantage of it. My mother came back more often than Blake’s. And every time she did she’d bring some fucking loser home with her.”

  I squeeze his hand and kiss it, letting him know I’m here; that it’s okay to share this with me.

  “Richard Malone,” Connor says the name, his voice stern. “He was a drug dealer that wore enough cologne to gag you. Fuck,” he groans. “Just the thought of it has me fighting a gag.” He pauses for a moment and clears his throat. “Taking care of a kid recovering from heart surgery was no easy job. Poor Gram’s did her best. One day, Blake was sleeping, and she needed milk and bread. She thought she could rush to the store and get back before Blake woke up. Richard came over looking for my mother, and when he knocked on the door, Blake woke up and let him in. He was too doped up to really sense danger at the time.” He stops and rolls to his back. I quickly turn and lay my head on his chest as he rubs his head with his free hand. “I skipped school that day. I was always doing something stupid, and I got caught by Grams, who happened to be on her way to the grocery store,” he chuckles for a brief second before letting the humor drop. “She sent me home.”

  I look up and see Connor’s eyes are clenched closed as he replays what happened that day. “I walked in and heard Blake crying, but it was so soft. He was so tired and drugged he couldn’t even cry out or scream. He was too weak to fight . . .” Connor chokes out the last word, his voice thick with emotion. “I walked in,” his voice cracks again as he continues, “and that motherfucker was . . . goddamn,” he groans as he pulls his arm from under me and sits up resting his arms on his knees and hanging his head.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I whisper. “I’m here.”

  “I pulled him off Blake and got a few good punches in before he managed to grab Gram’s cast iron lamp and hit me over the head. He didn’t knock me out, but he did knock me on my ass and that gave him enough time to pull his fucking pants up and run.”

  My chest feels hollow. My poor Blake. The horror he endured. My stomach knots at the thought he never confided this in me, as if he thought I would think less of him or something.

  “By the time I was able to see again and move, Blake had slipped in his own vomit trying to get to me. I had to carry him in the shower and clean him off. He couldn’t get everything on his body wet at that time. He was sobbing so quietly, and I could tell crying hurt. I mean, what had just happened to him hurt, but the actual act of crying pained him, but he couldn’t stop. My head was bleeding, blood was running in my eyes, but I managed to get him clean and dress
ed and back in bed.” He holds a fist to his mouth as he stifles his sob.

  “He grabbed my hand and begged me not to tell anyone, wouldn’t let me go until I promised not to tell. He said everyone would think he was a freak or look at him funny. I was a stupid fucking kid. I should’ve told. But I was a stupid kid, and I promised him I would never tell.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Connor,” I try to comfort him, but he pulls away and whips his head around.

  “It was every bit my fault,” he argues.

  “How so?” I ask as if it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

  “Because that piece of shit tried to do it to me two weeks before,” he admits, dropping his head again. My heart squeezes. “Came over offering to take me out for a burger. Halfway there, he grabbed my hand and put it on his crotch. I almost killed myself jumping out of the car. If I had told Grams, someone, anyone, it wouldn’t have happened to Blake. He couldn’t even cry for fucking help, Demi.” He lets out a laugh, but it’s humorless. He’s laughing in anger, how upset he is with himself, how he can’t believe he let it happen. “But I was so wigged out, fucking grossed out . . . I was too embarrassed to tell anyone.”

  “I can’t talk about it anymore, Demi.”

  “Okay,” I whisper as I kiss his back. “Can you tell me what happened when you saw him again?”

  Connor raises his head and stares straight ahead. “I was passing through Arizona, heading to Cali. I stopped at a Walmart to buy some deodorant, of all things,” he snorts. “I was standing in line, checking out, when I saw him. I didn’t even think about what I was going to do, I just went after him. I caught up with him in the auto parts section, he was looking at floor mats.” He runs a hand down his face and continues.

  I asked him if he remembered me and I could tell he did; he had fear in his eyes like I’ve never seen. I wasn’t some little punk-ass kid anymore, ya know. I was a man—big fucking man and it scared the shit out of him.”