Page 132 of Make Me Mean It

I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me like this, and I barely have time to deal with that before Connor starts to pull back, my fingers digging into his arms.

Every inch drags against me on the way, and my nails bite into his skin.

By the time Connor pulls almost all the way out, the loss of him has me clenching around his head, and then he pushes back in, stealing the breath from my lungs. The sharpness from before is gone, leaving nothing but heat and pressure and that overwhelming fullness as his hips settle between mine again.

He does it again just as slowly, still treating me like I might fucking break if he moves too quickly, and I manage maybe two thrusts before whatever patience I had snaps.

The next time Connor pushes forward, I lift my hips to meet him and take him deeper. I do it again, catching the rhythm, pushing up when he comes forward and following when he pulls back until my body is moving with his.

More.

Fuck, I need more.

“God,” Connor mutters, and my head sinks into the pillow as another thrust knocks the breath out of me.

His eyes never leave my face. I can feel it even with my eyes half closed, those fucking blue eyes tracking every reaction I fail to hide, every time my mouth falls open or another sound gets dragged out of me. It should make me want to cover something, swallow the noises before he can hear them, but instead the knowledge that he’s watching makes heat coil through me.

Connor’s thumb catches my bottom lip, pulling it free from my teeth before his mouth takes its place. I moan straight into the kiss as his tongue finds mine, his hips rolling forward harder at the same time and making my fingers dig into him.

“Only for me,” he murmurs against my mouth.

Heat twists low in my stomach. “What?”

“That look.” His lips brush mine with every word, barely giving me room to breathe. “The sounds.”

He drives into me harder and my body jolts beneath him, Connor’s groan spilling hot against my mouth.

“They’re mine.”

I should laugh. Tell him to fuck off. Remind him that he doesn’t get to claim a fucking thing when he can barely admit he wants me once we’re out of bed, but the words never make it anywhere near my mouth. Heat tears through me instead, curling my toes into the sheets as I drag him into another kiss.

Connor keeps moving, deep and steady, and somewhere between one thrust and the next I stop being able to hold onto much of anything except him.

Which is probably why I notice immediately when his rhythm changes.

The next thrust doesn’t come as deep. The one after barely comes at all, Connor slowing until the movement between us disappears completely.

My eyes fly open.

“What the fuck?”

My body clenches around him, and a broken sound catches in my throat when he still doesn’t fucking move.

Connor just looks at me, eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that sends my stomach dropping even while my cock pulses desperately between us.

“Say it.”

Oh, fuck him. I know exactly what he wants, and apparently whatever dignity I had left disappeared somewhere around the time he stopped moving, because I’m already nodding.

“It’s yours,” I breathe.

Connor’s hips drive into me, my back arching off the mattress. “Fuck!”

He barely gives me time to come down before he pulls back and pushes into me again, ripping a moan straight through whatever else I might’ve said.

“It’s yours,” I manage, grabbing at him as another thrust knocks the breath from my lungs. “The sounds. The look. Whatever. It’s fucking yours.”

Connor groans against my mouth, his hand closing around my jaw as he drives into me deeper, and my head empties beneath the force of it.