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I pushed myself up to standing and wiped any sign of tears away. I could only hope my eyes weren’t too red-rimmed. I looked through the peephole and my stomach clenched for a whole new reason.
It wasn’t just anyone on the other side of the door. It was Connor. I should’ve known; we hadn’t spent a night apart since our meeting with Sadie over a week ago. I thought I’d done a good job of keeping my growing feelings hidden from him, but that was easy since we were mostly busy having a lot of sex.
He knocked again and I knew I needed to open the door, but if anyone would catch on to my emotional state, it was likely him. Every time he came over, his gaze would sweep over my face like he was cataloging every inch.
I opened the door and the smell of my favorite takeout—something I’d shared with him last week—wafted up from a brown paper bag in his hand. My stomach grumbled. “Did you bring dinner?”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gruff as he ignored my question. He remained standing in the hall, his broody gaze locked on my face as if staring hard enough would tell him all he needed to know without me whispering a word.
I shrugged. “Just a bad day.” I tried to feign a smile. “But it’s better now as long as there are potstickers in that bag you’re holding.”
“They’re your favorite.” He remembered.
“They are,” I said thickly, whatever smile I had mustered disappearing like it had been swept out to sea.
He paid attention to my favorites. He held me every night. He showed up. Hell, how many times had I wished Peter would show up when I was having a bad day? Instead he’d go hang out with his friends because he thought I was being a bummer.
My heart yearned for something I was afraid was impossible. Connor couldn’t really be mine. We were just in each other’s lives for a season and someday—probably soon—that season would be over and I’d be left feeling adrift and alone once again.
I shouldn’t let him stay. I should take that bag of takeout—because let’s be real, I wasn’t about to pass up a chance for my favorite Chinese food—tell him it had been fun but we should end this, and let him be on his way.
I didn’t do any of that.
Instead, I got on my tiptoes and kissed him. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, or a quick peck on the lips. It was a kiss filled with tenderness, longing, and gratitude. Because after this spectacularly crummy day, just being near him was enough to make me feel better.
He set the food down on the small table where I’d left my keys and wrapped me in his arms as we kissed soft and slow. When I finally broke the kiss, he wouldn’t let me pull any farther away.
“What was that for?”
“I’m just glad you’re here.” It was the truth, but only the tip of a very large iceberg of why I kissed him.
“Me too.” And then his lips were back on mine, still soft and slow. The kiss was almost drugging in the way it made me feel light and airy.
His mouth moved down, nipping at that space between my neck and shoulder that always seemed to be a direct line to my clit. I squealed when he lifted me up without warning, carrying me down the hall to my bedroom.
He set me down by the edge of the bed and stared down at me with a glimmer in his eyes. Without breaking eye contact, I lifted my arms up straight. That stupid sexy smirk appeared on his face as he pulled my shirt up and over my head, dropping it on the floor. His pupils dilated as he wrapped his hand around my back and unclasped my bra. His gaze finally broke from mine, falling to my breasts. They were on the smaller side, but fit my frame well. My dusty-rose colored nipples were erect and eager for attention.
Connor’s tongue licked across his bottom lip, mesmerizing me to distraction until he dipped his head and took one of my tight buds into his mouth. He sucked hard, and I inhaled a sharp breath as my hands automatically went to his head.
Holy shit.
“Do that again,” I croaked.
He kept his mouth on my breast, even as he tipped his head so he could look up at me from his awkwardly hunched position. He sucked again, watching my face the entire time, and my legs shook from the pleasure that coursed through me from the pull on my nipple.
I whimpered when he pulled away, but any further complaints died in my throat when he laid me out on the bed so I could relax while he played with my breasts.
He cupped his large hand around one breast while his mouth covered the other one. He nipped at it with his teeth, and the spike of pleasure made me thrust my hips in the air.
“Hmm,” he hummed against my breasts. “I should’ve played with these sooner. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive.”
“Neither did I,” I mumbled, my brain fuzzy with lust. There was a lot Connor had taught me about my body in the short time we’d been together.
He pulled off with a pop and then his fierce gaze locked on mine. “You’ve never played with them yourself?”
I shook my head.
I don’t know why. I’d masturbated, but playing with my breasts hadn’t really been in the front of my mind. My focus had always been a quick release. It was almost mechanical, and the way he was looking at me now made me wonder if that wasn’t normal.
