Page 70 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

“You suddenly shy, Con? I’ve seen it before—unless you’ve gotten much bigger. In which case, it must be something to behold.”

Sighing, he released me, and I pulled down his shorts and briefs together. Eagerly drinking in the sight of his erection, I skimmed my hands down his slim hips and...gasped.

“Conor Flynn, you got a tattoo. The man afraid of needles. The one boybander who refused to get the Roman numeral 52 inked on his body.” I caressed the side of his hip. “Did you get something silly? Is that why it’s hidden?”

He shifted to the side, and I dropped to my knees to get a good look at his ink. When I made out the design and the word below it, I covered my mouth with one hand, tears springing to my eyes.

“Y-ou got the Claddagh...with my initials beneath it.”

I knew his grandmother had a Claddagh ring—two hands holding a heart topped with a crown, which symbolized friendship, love, and loyalty.

“Why my initials, Con?”

“Because you’ve always had my heart, Nollaig, and my friendship and loyalty...even when I thought you gave up on us.” He lowered himself, kneeling in front of me. Taking my hands in his, he pressed kisses against my knuckles.

“I was gonna do you from behind, swinging from that bar, but now I just wanna feel your skin against mine as I slide into you. I wanna make you come all over my cock as I look into your brown eyes and watch the gold sunbursts light up with desire...for me.”

He nudged me back against the lower bunk and lifted me onto the mattress. With the upper bunk right above his head, he had no room for gymnastics—but I didn’t mind. I needed him close, needed to feel his heartbeat against mine, needed to taste the tang of his skin, needed to inhale his scent that not even the chlorine could mask.

He climbed on top of me, and I opened my legs for him to settle between my thighs. His hard cock pulsed against me, and I reached down to cup his sac as he kissed me. I ran my fingernails along his sensitive skin, and he trembled above me.

My nipple peaked against his tongue, as he circled it slowly, kneading my other breast with calloused fingers. My nails dug into his backside, and I shifted so that the head of his dick nudged the opening of my vagina.

He dipped in slowly, wetting the tip, drawing out again, and skimming his cock along my pussy. Teasing me. Torturing me. Each time he slid in further and further until I clamped my legs around his hips, holding him still, holding him inside me.

My voice raspy, I said, “I thought you were in a big hurry after all this time. You act like you have all night, but you have a show to do.”

He braced his arms on either side of my body. “This is my biggest performance of the night—the only one that matters.”

“Then I suggest you get on with it, or I’m going to tell the world that Conor Flynn, the last Five2 holdout, has a tattoo on his ass.”

“That’s not my ass, you cheeky bird.” He pinched my nipple. “You want every inch of me right now?”

“We don’t have all...ohh.”

He thrust into me fully, and I closed around him, my muscles taut and expectant. I didn’t ever want to let him go. I was almost afraid to come and descend from this high. I dreamed about his touch for so long, this almost felt unreal.

Almost.

As his tip touched my core, it lit all my nerve endings on fire. The tingling that started in my toes raced up my legs, unraveling me in its wake. I couldn’t hold on now if I wanted to—and I didn’t.

At my release, liquid warmth flooded my body as it turned heavy and languorous, my legs falling open to accept him completely.

Conor must’ve felt me melting around him, as he gasped and froze deep inside me. His body shuddered once, and then he pumped his hips as he filled me with his cum.

In mid-thrust, he wedged his knuckle beneath my chin and tilted my head back, staring into my eyes, the blue of his own darkening to midnight. He kissed my mouth, sucking my tongue to match the rhythm of his cock as he squirted the last of his load inside me.

He wasn’t kidding when he said I’d be feeling him seep out of me for the next week.

I shifted beneath his body, heavy on top of me, and he slid to my side as much as he could in the small bed. He scooched his body beneath mine so I half-sprawled on top of him.

“You can stretch out on me, baby so I don’t crush you.”

Tracing the tattoo on his hip, I asked, “When did you get this?”

“When we finally got back to England after the Australia and LatAm tours.”

My fingers lazily combed through the hair where his cock nestled. “That was probably a year after we...parted. You were still thinking about me?”