by Megyn Ward
I replace my cock with my hand again because I’m not ready for it end and I don’t trust myself not to fuck her. Straddling the crotch of her panties, I slide two fingers inside her pussy so deep she gasps before I pull out, each stroke opening her slit wider. Stretching her so she can take me in. Fucking her with my fingers, I can feel how tight she is. The grab of her pussy, the way it contracts around me. Pulling me deeper and deeper with each thrust.
“Is this what you want, Daisy?” I say, pulling my fingers out to rub them against her clit on the backslide, making her moan. This time I don’t make a return trip, instead I skim them along the quivering seam of lace between us.
“No…” she says, even as she tilts her hips toward the desk, her drenched slit against my hand, working herself against it, trying to get my fingers back inside her.
“Then what do you want?” I say, running my fingers up the seam of her pussy, pushing that wet, black lace against her core. I drop a hand on her hip, use it to guide her, grinding her against the ridged line of her panties.
“Oh, god…” she moans it softly, her breath coming in quick, quiet pants. “I want you…” eyes squeezed shut. “I want your cock inside me.” More foul language, she whispers it right before catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Please—”
I don’t usually go for all this who’s your daddy bullshit. I’m all business. I give them the hardest orgasm of their lives, take what I need and I move on, but something about the way she says it… I don’t move her panties to the side. I don’t pull them down.
I rip those fuckers to shreds.
Tearing the barrier of them away from her slit, I grip her ass cheeks, spreading her wide. She gives a small gasp, the sound of it morphing into a long, shuddering moan when I slam into her, my cock plunging into her quivering pussy, so deep and fast I’m seeing stars.
Holy shit.
Suddenly, I’m the one who can’t breathe. She’s tighter than I thought. Almost too tight. My balls instantly tense up, the tingling at the base of my cock telling me that I’m on the verge of coming. She moans, grinding herself against me, urging me to move. Silently begging me to fuck her.
I don’t. I can’t. One stroke inside her and I’m done.
Instead, I reach around her hip, taking her clit from the front, giving it tight, hard strums, plucking it, relentlessly driving her toward orgasm.
She goes wild, raising herself up on her hands again, pushing back, moving against the pressure of my cock. The closer she gets, the harder it is to hold on. I grip her shoulder, trying to keep her still but it’s no use. The walls of her pussy squeeze around me until my own orgasm is nearly impossible to fight off. “I need you to come for me, Daisy,” I say through gritted teeth. “Come for me now.”
Like I flipped a switch, I can feel it, trembling up her thighs, tightening in her belly. “That’s it,” I say, grinding her back against the base of my cock while her pussy clenches and pulsates around me. “Come for me.”
“Oh!” she screams it, hands fisting on the desk, crumpling papers and scattering pens, something heavy hits the floor. I think it’s her purse. Neither one of us care, panting, her hips bucking against mine. “Oh god—”
A heavy-fisted pounding hits the locked door. “Times up. Get your ass out here,” Declan shouts at me from the other side. He sounds pissed.
Too bad. I’m not even close to finished.
Not giving her time to recover, I reach down, grabbing her by the collar of her open shirt, yanking her into a standing position. Fitting her against me, my hand streaks up her torso, pushing up the lace cup of her bra until I find soft, yielding flesh, the nipple at its center stiff and swollen under my fingers. I roll it, tugging at it while I run my tongue up the taut cords of her neck, nudging the skin-warmed pearls strung around it. She even tastes expensive. Delicate, like honey and roses but there’s something else, something darker, deeper. I don’t know what it is, but when the taste of her hits the back of my tongue, it snaps whatever shreds of self -control I’ve managed to hold on to.
“Ah, fuck,” I groan against her throat, my hand tightening around her breast, my other hand, still between her thighs, swirling against her juice-slicked clit. “You’re gonna come for me again, Daisy.”
She shakes her head, her head tipped back against my shoulder, her silky auburn hair rasping against the stubble on my chin. “I can’t…” she whimpers, even as I feel the tremble start to build along the curve of her spine and her hand clamps around my wrist, urging my fingers to work her clit even faster. “I can’t…”
“Yes, you can.”
I fuck her hard, my hips pumping against her from behind so fast I can feel my balls clap against her cleft, hear her knees banging the keg I’ve got her pinned against. I stop fighting it, letting myself feel the tight, urgent grip of her pussy around my shaft. Her swollen nipple pushed against my work-roughened palm. The juice-slicked glide of my fingers along her slit.
“Conner…” My name a hoarse shout torn from her throat as her pussy clamps down on my cock again. My own release barrels down on me, and this time I let it.
Declan’s banging for real now, jiggling the doorknob against the lock, shouting something about calling Da for the spare key but I’m too far gone to care.
My hand locks around her breast, pinning her against me as her arms reach up and back to tangle around my neck, pulling me even closer, thrusting her breast against my palm, the other one bouncing with each hard stroke. Her fingers in my hair, tightening. Urging me to move faster. To take what I want.
To have her.
With a rough shout, I give her a final stroke, pressing my hand against her pelvic bone, angling her so she can take every last inch of me. The orgasm hits, my testicles contracting a second before my cock starts to spasm. Still holding her tight against me, I can feel it jerking inside her pussy, filling the condom I’m wearing. I bury my face in her hair, breathing in the smell of roses and the sweet scent of honey, my hand splayed across her chest, over the rapid knock of her heart.
“God damn it, Conner,” Declan bellows at me, banging on the door again.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend he’s not there, pressing my lips to the side of her neck. No kissing. That’s one of my rules, but I come perilously close to breaking it. For some reason, the way her skin feels against them seems more intimate than everything else I’ve done to her.
Declan kicks the door. “I’m not kidding around asshole. Open—”
“Fuck off, Declan,” I bellow back, the sound of my voice quieting him for a few moments. “He’s not kidding,” I say to her, feeling oddly exposed. How many women have I done this with? If I sat down and made a list, it would take me days to write all their names down.
I let her go, stepping back and I have to grit my teeth against the sensation of sliding out of her creates. She feels so good I want to dive back in. “He probably has his cell phone—”
That’s when I realize she’s not saying anything. She’s not trying to engage me in small talk. She’s not trying to give me her number. Ask me to see her again.
She’s as done with me as I am with her.
Usually, a chick like this is my Holy Grail but something about the way she’s dismissing me tightens the back of my neck. Makes me angry.
I watch her smooth her skirt back into place before fixing the collar of her shirt. “What’s your name?”
The hands working her buttons go still for a moment before they resume, fitting the last of them through its loop. “Daisy,” she says, turning around to look at me, her eyes dark and unreadable. “Thank you, Conner—it was lovely.”
Before I can say anything else, she’s pushed past me. I can hear her thumbing the lock and opening the door, the dull roar of the pub sharpening to a fever pitch.
I stuff my cock back into my pants and turn just in time to see her skirt around Declan. “Excuse me,” she murmurs to him and then she’s gone.
Seventeen
Henley
/>
2009
March
“He probably wants to say sorry forstanding me up Friday night,” Jessica says. I can hear her behind me, the smug smile in her tone, whispering and giggling with the other girls while they shoot side glances toward the hall. I turn my head slightly, aiming a casual glance out the window.
Conner is standing in the hall outside our class. I can see him, framed perfectly in the pane of narrow glass set in the door, leaning against the wall, hands dug into his pockets.
He catches me looking and grins. That same knowing grin he gave me at his house Friday night when he mom came to get us for dinner. Like he knows exactly what he does to me. How he makes me feel.
Shit.
Thinking he’s smiling at her, Jessica spins off into orbit, chattering a mile a minute about how much he likes her. By the time class is over, she’s married him and had a dozen kids.
While everyone is scrambling out of their seats, I take my time. It’s my lunch period, and since Tess has a different schedule, I’ll do what I do every day. Spend it alone, in the library.
Standing, I gather my books and drag myself into the hall. They’re still there, Jessica and her friends, surrounding Conner, while she pouts and preens over being stood up.
“Hey,” he says, shooting me another smile as I walk by.
I give him an awkward wave, my arms full of books, head down, just trying to get out of there. It doesn’t bother me that he was waiting outside our class for her. It really doesn’t. So, I tutored him and hung out in his room afterward.
And then had dinner with his family.
And then he walked me home.
I told him he made me nervous and he said I made him feel the same way.
It was three days ago, and I haven’t heard from him since, which is just as well. Like I have time to—
“Why are you walking so fast?”
I look up to find Conner practically jogging beside me. Class is about to start, but the halls are far from empty. People are looking at us. I shoot a quick glance over my shoulder to find Jessica standing where he left her, surrounded by her friends. She looks as confused as I feel.
I stop walking. So does he.
“What are you doing?” I say, doing my best to fight the deep red flush that’s creeping up my chest.
“Well, I’m trying to walk with you, but you’re not making it very easy,” he says, looking slightly perplexed. “Where’s your backpack?”
“I couldn’t get the zipper back together,” I say, shifting my books from one arm to the other. People are passing us in the hall, hurrying on the way to class. Almost all of them give us a second look. Knowing people are looking at us—wondering what Conner Gilroy is doing with me—making it hard to fight the flush.
“Because I broke it.” The cocky grin is gone in an instant. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” he says, reaching for my books. “Here, let me—”
“You didn’t break it. It was already broken,” I say, pushing his hand away. “You should probably get to class—you’re going to be late.”
“I don’t have class,” he says, reaching for my books again.
“Yes, you do,” I say impatiently, pushing his hand away. “You have Chemistry with Mr. Barnes.” As soon as I say it, I realize what I’ve done. I’ve just admitted I know his class schedule. Like I’m some sort of crazy stalker.
“I think Mr. Barnes will be fine without me,” he says, flashing me his dimples. “In fact, he’d probably appreciate the break.”
He uses my moment of stunned blindness to his advantage, successfully getting his hands on my books and pulling them half out of my grasp before I recover. I tighten my grip and shake my head.
“Conner, stop.” I hear a locker slam shut behind me, followed by the squeak and slap of sneakers against the worn linoleum floor. The hallway is quiet. It’s just him and me.
“Afraid I can’t do that,” he says, looking down at the books we’re grappling over, before looking straight at me. “Let go, Henley.”
Something about the way he says my name loosens my grip and pushes me a step back. I watch while he tucks my books under his arm. Victorious, he gives me another smile. “Where are we going?”
We.
“I’m going to the library,” I say, casting a long look at my books.
“You don’t eat lunch?” he says, his brow slightly furrowed. Like the thought of it bothers him for some reason.
“I have some studying to do.” What am I supposed to say? I don’t have lunch money? My mom refuses to fill out the application for the free lunch program because that would make our status as poor white trash official somehow? I’d rather poke myself in the eye with a sharp stick. “You should go to class, Conner,” I say, reaching for my books.
He shifts, keeping them away from me. “Why can’t I go with you?” he asks, perplexed again.
“You don’t want to study with me, Conner,” I blurt out. “I don’t know what you want, but that’s not it.”
“You’re right,” he says, taking a half step in my direction. “I don’t want to study with you.”
“Then what?” I say quietly, shaking my head. “What do you want from me?” Maybe if he tells me what he wants, I can just give it to him, and he’ll leave me alone.
“Well,” he says, cocking his head slightly like he’s considering what to do with me. “I want to talk to you, for starters.”
“About what?” Even as nice as he’s been, I can’t help but feel skeptical. I keep expecting Jessica and the rest of the school A-listers to pop out of the janitor’s closet to laugh at me.
“About Gatsby—” He starts walking down the hall with my books. “the guy’s an idiot.”
I stare after him for a moment before scurrying to catch up. “He’s not an idiot.” I shake my head, following beside him. “He’s in love.”
“Like I said, he’s an idiot.”
“Being in love makes him an idiot?” For some reason, hearing him say it makes my heart ache a little.
“Well, it didn’t fuckin’ help—” Conner rolls his eyes. “he blew all that money, trying to get the attention of a chick who wasn’t even worth it.”
I think about Daisy Buchanan, Gatsby’s love interest in the book. She was beautiful and rich and privileged. Gatsby loved her so much he made his fortune and spent it throwing lavish parties, every night, just to get her attention. In hopes that someday, she’d show up at his door. “You don’t think Daisy was worth the effort?”
“Hell no,” he scoffs.
“Daisy is supposed to be the ideal woman,” I say, suddenly feeling like I’m on solid ground again. I can do this. I can talk about books as long as I can ignore the fact that I’m doing it with Conner Gilroy.
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “According to who?”
“I don’t know,” I say, suddenly embarrassed. “Guys.”
“Guys.” He repeats the word, shaping it around a laugh. “You have a pretty low opinion of us if you think that’s what we like.”
“I don’t think,” I say, shaking my head. “I know.”
“You don’t know half as much as you think you do,” he tells me, shooting me a healthy dose of side-eye.
“Name one guy you know who’d take brains over looks, Conner,” I grumble. “One guy who’d date someone like me over someone like Jessica.”
We reach the library, and he opens the door, pulling it wide so I can pass through while he’s holding it. “You’d be surprised, Henley,” he says as I walk past him. “You’d be surprised.”
Eighteen
Conner
April
Henley has a freckle on her lip. More than one actually, but there’s one in particular that keeps distracting me. It’s near the corner of her mouth, straddling the line of her upper lip. Every once in a while, the tip of her tongue sneaks out of her mouth to lick at it while she’s reading.
Lately, I’ve been wondering what it tastes like.
“Conner?
”
I jerk my gaze upward to find her scowling at me. “What?”
She sighs, jiggling the book in her hand. “Can I borrow this?”
“Sure,” I say, with a shrug, watching while she shoves it, and the rest of her books, into one of those reusable grocery bags. One of the straps is loose. If she makes it home without it breaking, I’ll be surprised. “Why don’t you buy a new backpack?” I blurt out. “You have the money.”
She stops shoving long enough to cut me a quick look. “This works fine,” she says, her brows lowered slightly. “Besides—” She stands, lifting the grocery bag by its straps. By some miracle it holds. “I’m saving my money for something else.”
I can’t help but look down at her feet. “New shoes?” On them are the same pair of shoes she’s been wearing for the past two years. They’re nearly worn through on the bottom and at least 2 sizes too small, the seams separating from the push of her toes.
An ugly red rash breaks out across her chest to shoot up her neck and nest in her cheeks. “My shoes are fine too.”
“Shit.” I immediately start to backpedal. “I didn’t mean—I just…” Any other girl, I know exactly what to say. How to act. What’s expected. It’s easy—like everything else in my life.
No challenge. No uncertain outcome. No possibility of failure.
Being with Henley, trying to figure her out, is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to get enough of her.
“Forget it,” she says waving her hand at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek. I hurt her feelings. Embarrassed her.
“You’re leaving?” I say, looking at the digital alarm clock on my nightstand. “Why?” It’s barely six o’clock. In the three weeks she’s been coming over, we’ve established a routine. We study for an hour, and then we hang out until dinner. After dinner, I walk her home. Every night.
“I have to get home,” she says, slinging the straps of her cheap bag over her shoulder, turning toward the door. “My mom is coming home early from work, and if I’m not there when she gets home, she’ll freak.”