Page 130 of Make Me Mean It

“Fuck me,” I pant, and Connor’s eyes snap to mine as I tighten my grip and pull until there isn’t any space left between us. “Please, Con.”

I catch his mouth, kissing him hard, swallowing whatever sound he makes as my other hand finds the back of his neck and keeps him there.

“Just fuck me already.”

Connor gives a rough, breathless laugh against my mouth, and my gaze slips between us to the shape of him straining against his jeans, thick and obvious beneath the denim.

My mouth goes dry, anticipation tightening through me until whatever patience I had left disappears completely. “Fuck, Con. Now.”

My hands are already at his shirt, grabbing at the fabric, trying to get it off him, but apparently I’ve forgotten how fucking clothes work. My fingers catch in the hem, then each other, frustration burning hotter when I can’t get him naked fast enough.

Connor catches both my wrists before I can reach for him again, pinning them still when I try to wrench free. An irritated sound catches in my throat, but his grip doesn’t give.

“Baby, breathe.”

Fuck. Between the quiet command and that fucking name, the fight drains out of me, my wrists going slack in his hands as I finally drag in the breath he’s asking for.

Connor leans down and kisses me, slow enough that it feels completely wrong after everything else. His mouth moves over mine without rushing, dragging me back into my own body when I hadn’t even realised how far out of it I’d gone.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against my lips, and I kiss him, trying to drag him back into me, but Connor slips out of reach and grabs the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

His hands move to his jeans, working them open before he pushes them down his hips, and I watch the entire time without even attempting to hide it. My mouth goes dry as the reality of what I was begging him for seconds ago settles through me all over again.

Fuck.

Still want it.

Maybe even more now.

I push myself up onto one elbow, my tongue swiping over my bottom lip while my eyes track down the length of him.

“Fuck.”

I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his cock, and Connor’s breath catches sharply above me. He’s hot against my palm, hard enough that my fingers barely close around him.

I drag my fist slowly up his length, taking my time with it, and Connor’s lips fall open, his head tipping back. A low groan catches in his throat, rough and restrained like he tried to keep it in and couldn’t quite manage it.

My attention snaps straight to his face.

“Shit, you’re hot.”

Blue eyes find mine, surprise flickering openly across his face. For a second he just stares at me, like somehow that is the thing tonight he wasn’t prepared for.

Colour starts spreading across his chest, crawling up his throat and into his cheeks, and fuck, that might be even hotter. Connor Reid kneeling over me with his cock in my hand, blushing because I called him hot.

A laugh threatens at the back of my throat, but it dies when Connor’s eyes narrow, his jaw setting as the embarrassment disappears from his face. The dark look he gives me sends a sharp twist through my stomach, and I barely get, “Con—” out before his palm plants against my chest and pushes me flat onto the mattress.

My hand falls away from him as my back meets the bed, and Connor keeps his palm spread over my chest, holding me there while he looks down at me.

I should hate being pinned beneath anyone, and I know damn well anyone else trying it would probably end up with a broken fucking nose. Connor plants one hand against my chest and somehow my body does the exact opposite, relaxing beneath the pressure, another thing he gets from me that nobody else does.

He shifts between my legs, and I let them fall wider, hands finding his sides as his weight settles over me and his mouth catches mine again.

Then his arm moves between us, and I feel him positioning himself.

The first press against me wipes everything else from my head. My body tenses beneath Connor.

His hand slides over my stomach, warm palm spreading flat against me.