Page 131 of Make Me Mean It

“Look at me, baby.”

My eyes snap to his and stay there, caught on how fucking blue they are. Connor watches me carefully, the heat in his expression still there even though he’s gone completely still above me, making no attempt to push farther while he waits for the tension in my body to ease.

Then the smallest smile pulls at his mouth, soft enough that warmth spreads through the middle of my chest at possibly the worst fucking time.

“Relax for me, beautiful.”

My teeth catch my bottom lip as I drag in a slow breath, then another, Connor’s thumb stroking steadily across my stomach the entire time. I focus on the movement, on the warmth and weight of him over me, on those blue eyes that haven’t left mine since I tensed beneath him.

Beautiful.

Somehow, it fucking works. My stomach slowly unclenches and my thighs loosen around him, enough that when Connor starts moving again, I can breathe through the pressure instead of instinctively tensing against it.

“Fuck.”

My hands clamp around his sides as the stretch builds, burning enough that I feel every careful movement. Connor takes his time, watching my face while I adjust beneath him, and the patience somehow makes the whole thing feel even more intense.

My breath comes out in short, uneven bursts. I can feel my body resisting him and then giving.

“Jesus, Con.”

My back arches off the mattress.

Connor leans over me, both hands planting beside my head, caging me beneath him.

It should make me feel trapped, but somehow having Connor everywhere does the opposite. His chest is warm and solid above mine, his hips between my thighs while he slowly fills me, keeping me pinned beneath the weight of him in a way that makes me finally fucking settle.

My cock is caught between our stomachs, every small shift of Connor’s body dragging friction over it, and my legs wrap around his waist. I hook my ankles behind him and pull, needing him closer, deeper.

Connor’s eyes squeeze shut as a broken breath tears out of him, his hips jerking forward with the movement and taking me the rest of the way.

My mouth falls open.

Fuck.

The fullness hits all at once, enough to steal my breath as my fingers dig into his sides.

“You feel too fucking good,” Connor groans.

His hips twitch against mine, wanting to move, but he catches himself before he can, arms going rigid beside my head while his breathing turns rough against my face. I can feel how badly he wants to, how much effort it’s taking him to stay exactly where he is while he waits for me.

“Move.”

Connor’s eyes open and I grab his biceps, pulling him closer until there’s nowhere for either of us to go. “Fuck, Con, move.”

He still holds himself there, jaw tight, watching me like he needs something more before he’ll risk it, and whatever pride I had left disappears beneath the need clawing through me.

“Please.” My voice cracks around the word. “I can’t—”

Connor’s hand leaves the mattress, his thumb brushing over my cheek before his palm settles against my jaw, holding my face while he presses his forehead to mine.

I can feel how hard he’s breathing.

How badly he wants to move.

And somehow knowing Connor is hanging onto his control by a fucking thread because of me makes my cock jump between our stomachs.

Connor’s eyes squeeze shut briefly, like holding himself still is taking everything he has, but when they open again they find mine.