My stomach drops, heat rushing through me so fast I have to grip the wall to stay steady. And I nod because my voice would give me away.
When Elle appears out of the crowd, flushed and laughing, Connor’s already taken a step back, casual, like he’s been leaning against the wall this whole time.
And I… I’m trying to remember how to breathe.
23
CONNOR
“There you guys are!”
Elle’s voice cuts through the haze of bass and neon as she weaves her way toward us, cheeks flushed, hair a little wild. She’s got the loose, happy look of someone who’s just taken one shot too many, her hand waving like we’ve been hiding on purpose.
Manuela’s spine snaps against the wall, and she tugs her dress down like maybe it’ll erase what just happened between us in the shadows. My body still feels like it’s on fire, and I’m praying to any god up there that it’s dark enough to disguise the obvious problem pressing against my zipper.
“She isn’t feeling so good,” I say quickly, stepping in before Elle can say more. “I was going to walk her home if that’s cool with you.”
Elle squints at Manuela, tilting her head. “You do look flushed,” she says and then grins, sloppy and sweet. “Take care of my girl, okay?”
“Always,” I say before I can stop myself.
Elle throws us both a wink and disappears back into the crowd, where Jack is waiting for her with one hand splayed out to continue dancing.
The crowd swallows her up, but my pulse is still racing. Manuela’s eyes flick to mine, then to the exit. No words needed. We’re already moving.
Every stepof the short walk uphill to the house feels like winding a coil tighter and tighter. The night air is crisp and chilly, and it smells faintly of the rain we had this week. Manuela walks just ahead of me, the hem of her dress swaying against her thighs, and I swear I’m two seconds away from losing it right here on the street.
The villa is dim and empty, the only sound the low hum of the refrigerator and the pool jets outside. We go inside, and once we reach the stairs, she pauses with her hand on the banister, like maybe she’s about to say goodnight.
Not a fucking chance.
I crowd into her space before she can get the words out, pressing her back against a door to a closet. Maybe it’s a closet, I don’t care. Her lips part on a sharp inhale, and then we’re kissing—hungry, reckless, too far past pretending restraint is possible.
Her hands fist in my shirt, dragging me closer until I can feel every line of her body against mine. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, and she tastes like gin and lime, like something I could drown in if she let me.
“Upstairs,” she murmurs, breaking just enough to breathe. Her normally blue eyes are dark, daring.
The climb is frantic, almost clumsy. I trip over the last step and laugh against her mouth, breathless and too far gone to care.
Inside my room, the door barely clicks shut before she pushes me against it. Her mouth finds mine again, desperate, hungry. My hands go to her hips, sliding up, tracing the zipper of her short dress.
“Slow,” I rasp, though I’m not sure if I’m saying it for her or me. My pulse is everywhere—throat, fingertips, cock straining against my pants.
Her lips graze my ear. “Then make it slow.”
The zipper gives way inch by inch, revealing warm skin, the strap of her bra, the dip of her spine. She shivers under my hands, and I bite back a groan because I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone like this.
She turns, tugging me with her toward the bed. When she falls back on the mattress, blonde hair spilling wildly across my pillow, it steals the air from my lungs. I climb over her, not touching yet, just looking, memorizing the curve of her smile, the rise and fall of her chest.
“You’re unreal,” I murmur, and it slips out before I can stop it. Like my tongue is finally relaxed around her and I can actually say what I think, the moment I think it, instead of what is expected of me. This is what she does to me.
Her laugh is breathless. “Less talking, more fu?—”
I cut her off with a kiss, slower this time, dragging it out until she arches up into me. My hands run through her soft skin—thighs, waist, ribs, the swell of her perfect tits through the lace of her bra. She moans softly when my thumb brushes her nipple, and I swallow the sound like it belongs to me.
Her hand slides down, tugging at my belt. “Connor,” she whispers, urgency in the way she says my name.
I cover her hand with mine, pressing it to my chest. She has to feel what I’m feeling, how my body is out of control for her, heart thumping around my chest ready to take flight. “Not yet,”I say as I breathe her in, that floral scent still stuck to her hair. “I want to take my time with you.”
