Page 56 of Conquering Conner
Twenty-eight
Henley
2017
When I open my eyes, Conner is awake and lying next to me, propped up on his elbow. The shirt I borrowed from his drawer is pulled up, exposing my back. I’m not wearing panties.
And he’s looking at me.
“Don’t let those sparkly vampire novels fool you.” I narrow my gaze on his face, doing my best to scowl at him, despite the way his eyes on me makes me feel. “It’s considered creepy to stare at people while they’re sleeping.”
He cracks a smile.
“I’m not staring.” He leans toward me to whisper in my ear. “I’m counting.”
I’d like to count them someday.
My freckles.
Conner is counting my freckles.
I can’t help but laugh. “Still the weirdest guy I’ve ever met.”
I feel the lift of his mouth against the shell of my ear. “Still not ashamed of it.”
I have a feeling there’s not much he is ashamed of, but instead of pointing it out, I close my eyes. “How long have you been up?”
“I don’t know...” His mouth moves lower, following the curve of my jaw. “A while.”
Worry slams into my gut like a wrecking ball. “You didn’t sleep?” I open my eyes and pull back, turning enough to look at him. “You closed your eyes… I thought—”
“I slept.” He flattens his hand against my back and presses me flat again. Catching the hem of my shirt, bunch up under my arms, he pulls it higher. Over my head and down my arms until it’s off and tossed over the side of the bed. “Four hours.” He trails his fingers along the nape of my neck. Between my shoulder and down my spine. “That’s more than I usually get in a week.” His callused hand skims over the curve of my ass, taking the sheet that’s pooled around my waist with it. My hips lift off the mattress, instinctively pressing into the rough warmth of his hand, even as I feel my face fall into a scowl. A real one this time.
“That’s not enough, Conner.” His name catches on a soft gasp when I feel the brush of his fingertips against me from behind. “You need to go back to sleep.”
“That’s not going to happen.” He drops his hand from under his head, sliding down until he’s lying on his side, his face inches from mine. “I’ve been lying here for hours, wide awake and bored out of my skull.” The fingers between my thighs reach lower, skimming the seam of my wet pussy and my gaze drops to his mouth. “And you know what they say about idle hands…”
Instincts take over again and I draw my knees underneath me, opening them wide enough for him to push into me. When he doesn’t, when all his does is tease me, his fingertips stroking my entrance, I let out a frustrated sigh, shaped around his name.
“I want you to look at me, Henley,” he murmurs. “Not until you look at me.”
When our eyes connect, he gives me what I want, sliding two of his fingers so deep inside me I moan, long and low in my throat.
“This…” He breathes the word, the push of it hard and guttural against my neck, his gaze still locked on mine. “I should have been doing this, every fucking day I had you with me.”
I tilt my hips into the pressure of his hand, pushing myself against him. Taking him in deeper. Until I’m whimpering and gasping with each stroke he’s giving me. “Conner…”
He slips the hand that’s still between us under my hips, his fingers finding and slicking over my clit in slow, lazy circles. Suddenly, I’m trembling on the edge. “I’m going to come…” The words tumble out of me even as I feel my thighs begin to shake. The rush of heat snaking down my spine to pool, low in my belly. “Wait—”
“I want you to...” He pushes his shoulders off the bed, his abs contracted to raise his mouth to mine. “Fuck.” He groans like he’s the one who’s about to come. “Henley...” He skims his tongue along the line of my upper lip. “I should’ve been kissing you. Touching you. I’m so—”
I don’t want him to say it. I don’t want to talk about regret. What we should’ve done. What we shouldn’t had said. I want this. What he’s doing to me now. I to feel him moving inside me. To feel how much he wants me.
Raising myself up onto my hands, I angle myself over him, so I can take his mouth with mine. Pushing my tongue between his lips, he groans again when I find and keep the rhythm he’s set between my legs. I kiss him with my eyes open, watch his expression flicker and dim with every stroke of my tongue against his. Lifting one of my hands I let my fingertips glide over his pecs. His tightly packed abs. The soft skin below his bellybutton, to hook around the waistband of his flannel sleep pants so I can pull them down around his hip. Tearing my mouth from his, I wrap my hand around his cock. “I don’t want you to be sorry, Conner.” My thumb sweeps across the head of his cock, gathering the pre-cum leaking from it. “I want you to fuck me.” I give him a long, slow stroke. “Yes or no.”
Something in his gaze flickers, something that tightens around the back of my throat like a fist. Something that causes prickly heat to rise behind my eye but before it can register, I’m on my back, staring up at him, his hips pressed into the cradle of my thighs. The head of his cock straining against my throbbing entrance. “Yes.” He stokes into me, slow and deep. “Yes.” Making room, he slips a hand between us, his thumb finding and teasing my clit. “Yes.” Bracing a hand against the wall above my head, Conner gives me what I want. He fucks me, each pump of his cock inside me harder and deeper than the last, his thumb a sweet, unyielding torture as it sweeps over me, again and again, until I’m writhing and moaning beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist. Pelvic tilted against his. Nailing digging into his shoulder blades. I feel them sink into the flesh of his back and I immediately ease up when he hisses out a curse.
“Do it,” he growls at me, his command punctuated with the sound of his hips slapping against mine, hard and rough. The moans and whimpers crowding and pushing out of my mouth. “Fuck… I need you todo it.” He closes his eyes for a second, his shoulders rolling and pressing against my fingernails. His cock, hot and heavy, pounding away inside me. His jaw clenched tight. His thumb, relentlessly stroking my hot, swollen clit. When he opens his eyes again to look down at me, the green of them are nearly black, shot through with gold that looks like hellfire, the heart of them wild, almost feral. So far from the boy I fell in love with it scares me, even as it tips me over the edge.
