Getting up to investigate the drawings, my stockinged feet more slide along the hardwood floors than walk.Man could use a rug.
I reach to open the sketchbook when I take a closer look at the loose drawings. They’re less half-finished and more like Felix’s drawing. Impressions—as if the figure on the page wouldn’t sit still long enough to be fully executed. The figure being me.
My heart softens, and I have to blink a few times to keep from tearing up. Rendered in charcoal, illustrated me seems to refuse to fully look at the viewer. Her hair is a wild thing that swirls around her, only allowing peeks of a smile or the haunting stare of grey eyes. She is beautiful. Vibrant. And completely unattainable.
Connor’s warm hand rests heavily on my shoulder, shattering my resolve. My tears drip down my cheeks and stain the charcoal, looking like small wet stars within the heavy strokes.
“Is this how you see me?” I ask, twisting so I can see his face.
He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. His uncertainty that has permeated the entire evening now rests in his amber eyes. There are shadows that plague his gaze. A fear of rejection so potent, it’s like a freezing wind that isolates him from everyone. From me.
Straining on the tips of my toes, I reach up with one hand to cup his face while holding his hand to my cheek with the other.
“I’m right here,” I insist, squeezing his hand and pressing it hard against my face. In a harsh whisper, I repeat, “I’m right here.”
He leans into my touch, but his lips are pressed tight together, caging whatever words might escape. His breath quickens, sweat drips down the side of his face, and a longing so profound pours from him that my knees nearly buckle.
“Reina,” he breathes, his hand slipping from beneath mine to pull me closer.
I stumble from my tiptoes, my hands falling to his chest, and he catches me. His skin feels like fire, burning so hot it can be felt through the fabric of his shirt. Speaking of, a dark grey shirt drops near my feet—a clean shirt originally clutched in Connor’s hand.
With both hands free, he reaches low, grabs me by my thighs, and lifts me off the ground, encouraging my legs to wrap around his waist. I clutch at his shoulders as his hands grip my ass and back.
When I look into his eyes, my heartbeat flutters in my chest and awareness tingles along my skin. The truth of why his touch is different, why tonight is different, stares back at me. When he said he needed me, it wasn’t just to protect the pack.
Please don’t let this be the Call. Please want me for me.
Connor’s eyelids droop, weighed down by desire. He presses his lips against my cheek, kissing away my tears, and his feverish words are whispered against my skin. “Lo siento, no pude evitarlo. Traté de luchar contra la necesidad, pero tu alma llama a la mia.”
Anguish colors these words I don’t understand. It feels like he’s ashamed to admit that he needs another person in this way.
Knowing what it feels like to be filled with the desperate need to be held, to be truly cared for by someone that loves me, I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him as tight as possible.
I murmur into his ear, “It’s okay,mi lobo. There’s no shame in it.”
He shudders and his grip tightens on my body. He kisses the tears on my other cheek, then his lips trail down along my jaw. Now, it’s my body that’s burning with his lips so close to mine. My pulse is a beating shout of my own desire that I swear he can hear.
I don’t know if this is a heat of the moment thing—a yearning born from all that has happened today—or if this will become something more, but right now I choose not to care. I choose to live in the present and worry about tomorrow when it comes.Just please don’t say it was nothing. Don’t call it a mistake.
Connor’s mouth hovers over mine, those few millimeters that separate us charged with anticipation. I nuzzle my nose against his and feel his smile.
“Eres el amor de mi vida,” he confesses, causing me to wish for the millionth time that I understood Spanish, and then, he presses his lips to mine.
There’s nothing delicate about this kiss. Like a dam breaking under immense pressure, it’s fueled with a passion that drowns the senses. Only having done this once before, there is a part of my brain chewing on its fingernails, hoping I’m doing this right, but most of me is busy learning the taste of Connor’s mouth. It’s a sweet, clean flavor, like natural spring water warmed by the summer sun.
He staggers back, clumsy with distraction, and falls with a bounce when the bed catches him behind the knees. I giggle, never having witnessed Connor misstep before. He smiles against my lips, and I can feel the joy radiating from him. In this moment there is no shame. No uncertainty. No guilt. He’s happy kissing me. He’s happy holding me in his arms.
After adjusting myself so I’m straddling Connor’s lap, noticingallof him appears happy in this moment, I clasp his face between my hands and place a hard possessive kiss against his lips. His hands slide up my back, digging into my flesh, while he nips at my bottom lip, gently teasing it between his teeth. I open my mouth to him and he groans. He slows the kiss down from mashed teeth against lips, his tongue now taking its time exploring the taste of me.
The part of my brain chewing on its nails recognizes that this is not unfamiliar territory for him and worries that he won’t like it anymore once he realizes I have very little experience. Like only kissed a boy once. It examines what my tongue is and isn’t doing, fears I might be drooling, and questions where my hands should go. Then it panics that I’ll literally know the second he doesn’t like it anymore, because new empathy powers. I do my best to mentally wave it away, focusing on the fact that not only is Connor an amazing and special person, he’s also bone meltingly attractive.
Be in the moment, dummy! Hot boy kissing you and making happy groaning noises. At least I think they’re happy. Ugh.One thing I’ll give Nolan’s bite, it makes my brain shut the hell up.
Connor’s hands slip up into my hair, cradling the back of my head, and he pulls back to look into my eyes, his gaze searching my face.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m fucking it up already.
“Do you want to stop?” he asks me seriously, his uncertainty back.
