by Megyn Ward
“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.
Forty-four
Henley
This isn’t what I came here for. Not exactly. I wanted to tell him about Jeremy. The truth. I wanted to make him understand.
This time I can give in.
I can give you what you want.
I stare at the ceiling while struggling to get my breathing under control. I can still feel his tongue. His mouth. His fingers. The buzz of it all, humming in my ears. Tingling down my spine. I’ve thought about, what it would feel like to be with him. I’ve had years to fantasize and imagine. I’ve touched myself a thousand times, pretending that it’s him between my legs. His mouth. His cock. His hands.
None of those fantasies even begin to come close to what he just did to me.
“You thirsty?” he calls to me from somewhere above my head, his question followed by the sound of bottles clinking. “I have beer and… beer.” So normal, so casual, it stains my cheeks. He’s playing gracious host while I’m lying, practically naked, on his kitchen floor, having just orgasmed so hard I don’t know what day it is.
Life is decidedly unfair.
I scramble to my feet and find him leaning against the short length of counter that looks to be the same as when Tess and her Dad lived here. Matter of fact, it all looks the same, save for Conner’s personal belongings. Clothes and books. A sparse-looking futon. A floor lamp that looks like a house fire waiting to happen. A wide leather chair I instantly recognize.
We used to sit in it together in his father’s den—me, curled up against him, my head on his shoulder, legs tangled with his, while he read to me. He gave me a ring in that chair. Put it on my finger and asked me to be his.
I don’t know why seeing it now makes me so mad. Maybe because I’m standing here naked while he casually sips his beer, looking at me like what just happened was all in a day’s work. Maybe because he was finally able to fuck me.
Me, Henley O’Connell, not some random rich girl in a bar.
Maybe because I know what that means.
It means he doesn’t love me.
Not anymore.
He holds out the unopened beer in his other hand, offering it to me.
“Beer?” It comes out sounding judgmental and rude. “It’s six o’clock in the morning.” My gaze slides to the left. I can see a pile of bottles in the sink. Mostly beer bottles but there are enough empty fifths mixed in to give me pause. Make me think about my father.
He drops his hand, sets the beer he’s offering me on the counter with a shrug. “I can make you some tea, Daisy,” he says, drawing my attention. “But I’m fresh out of crumpets.” Despite his easy tone, I know he’s reading my mind. Knows what I’m seeing and what I’m thinking.
And he doesn’t like it.
“You can shove your crumpets up your ass, Gilroy,” I snarl at him. Turning on my heel, I shoot across the kitchen, past him, toward the bedroom. I don’t realize he’s behind me until I feel his hand latch around my arm and spin me around. As soon as we’re face to face, he lets go.
“I was kidding,” he says lifting his beer to his mouth again to take a drink, lips quirked in a smartass grin. “Do I look like the kind of guy who buys crumpets?”
Tess is wrong.
We don’t need time. No amount of time will fix what’s broken between us.
What I broke between us.
“Jesus,” Snatching my pants off the floor, I jam one leg in and then the other. “Is everything a joke to you?”
“Pretty much.”
He’s never going to forgive me. Never let me in. And what am I even doing? I can already feel myself sinking into him. Solid ground crumbling under my feet. I can’t let that happen again. I can’t give him what he wants.
I never could.
“This was a mistake.”
“Daisy…” He laughs somewhere over my head. “On that, we can agree.”
“I changed my mind,” I say, jerking my jeans upward. “Let’s just—”
When I straighten, he’s not grinning anymore. He drops the half-empty bottle and comes at me, no more than a step and a half across the narrow hall, and he’s in my face, so close I can feel his chest brush against mine, with every breath he takes. “Let’s just what?” he says, those shards of black in his eyes sharpening to a razor’s edge. “Cut our losses? Call it quits? Forget it ever happened?”
Yes.
Yes to all of it.
It would be better. So much easier to walk away now. I got what I came for. I could go home. Back to my safe, easy life. Lunch and shop. Chair committees and organize benefits.
Plan a wedding.
Live a lie.
When I don’t answer, he reaches for me, his hands sliding over the silk of my shirt. Pulling it closed, he starts to push its buttons through their loops, one by one. “None of that is going to happen,” he says, his gaze lowering to concentrate on his hands. “Because this is happening—you and me,” Last button fastened, he looks up at me. “And this time, it’s not going to be over until I say so.”
“Until you say so?” I can feel my eyes narrow, hackles instantly raised.
A muscle in his jaw twitches once. Twice, before he answers me. “That’s what I said. Want me to spell it?”
“No. What I want is for you to shove your say so straight up your ass.”
“Such language for a lady.” His lips quirk, but there’s nothing humorous about his expression. “What would your mother say?”
“Fuck you,” I seethe through clenched teeth even as shame burns its way through my gut.
“I always loved that sassy mouth of yours.” He tips his head forward so he can whisper in my ear. “But we both know I’m right. You’re not going anywhere.” His fingertips skim across my belly, lower and lower until they’re between my legs, brushing against the juncture of my thighs, stroking the seam of my pussy through my jeans. “You can’t.” He slips his free hand into my hair to cradle the back of my head, his mouth skating across my cheekbone. My jawline. “Because I’m it. I’m the one. The only person who can do this to you. Make you feel this way… and you know it. That’s why you’re here. Why you climbed in my window.” He applies pressure between my thighs, loosening the hinge on my knees. Making me gasp. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I can’t.
“Conner.” I orgasmed twice only minutes ago, and I can already feel it building again. A tingling heat seated low in my belly. The resolve I felt just seconds ago evaporates, replaced by the sort of breathless desperation that should scare me. Would scare me if I had any sense.
He’s right.
All I want is him.
All I need is this.
“Fantastic—now that that’s settled…” His fingers slip higher, pressing my clit through fabric and flesh, giving me slow, tight sweeps that set me on fire. “Why don’t you do us both a favor and use that mouth of yours to tell me what’s bothering you…” He whispers while the fingers between my legs stop circling to move even higher. He raises his head, looks me in the eye while he pulls the zipper of my jeans up. “Instead of saying things you don’t mean.”
Dizzy. I’m dizzy and shaking, my hands latched around his biceps. Fingers digging into hard muscle. “You’re not going to like it.” I say it to his cheekbone once the room stops spinning.
“I don’t need to like it, Daisy—” Fingers grip my chin, tilting it until I’m looking him
in the eye again. “I just need to hear it.”
I stare up at him, pressure building behind my eyes. Prickling at their corners. “You drink a lot.”
“I do.” That’s it. That’s all he says. No excuses. No justification. No reassurance that it’s not a problem. That he can stop if he wants.
His blunt honesty knocks something loose inside me. Makes it easier to say what comes next. “I don’t like it.”
How many times did I say as much to my father? Tell him how much it scared me to see him wasted. How many times did I find him unconscious and think he was dead. How many times did I beg him to stop.
Clean up.
Take care of himself.
Take care of us.
Me.
It doesn’t really matter how many times I said it. One time or a million, it was never enough to make a difference.
Conner’s watching me with that calculating way of his. The one he used to get when he was trying to figure me out. “Do you want me to stop?”
Yes. I want to say it but I can’t so I nod, my heart lodged in my throat.
“Okay.”
The word confuses me. Steals my breath for a different reason altogether.
“Okay?” I croak, my face crumpling because I don’t understand. “Okay?”
He frowns at me. “That is what I said.”
“Just like that?” It can’t be that easy.
“Just like that.” He takes a step back, slumping his shoulders against the wall. “Anything else about the way I live my life that you find objectionable?”
I mean to say no but the word comes out sounding different. “Kaitlyn.”
He smirks at me. “Who?”
“The girl.” I bite the words in half and spit them out. “You took her into your office tonight.”
“Oh, her…” He shrugs, stacking his arms across his chest. “What about her?”
“I don’t like that either,” I tell him, using the same casual, easy tone he’s been using on me all night.
“Her specifically or is your objection to other women in general?”
Of course, he’s going to make me say it. Of course, he’d want to hear it. “In general.”
His mouth parts and he cocks his jaw, giving me a look caught somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “That so?”