Page 96 of Make Me Mean It

“Just shut up and fuck me,” I growl, the words scraping out with far too much need.

“Fuck,” Connor mutters, his hand closing around my throat.

His thumb settles over my pulse point, his lips curving up.

His other hand drops between us and finds the button of my jeans, flicking it open with an ease that makes my breath hitch. I stare at him, trying to reconcile this Connor with the one who spent the last five minutes asking if I was sure every thirty fucking seconds.

Now one hand is wrapped around my throat while the other works at my jeans, and the certainty in every movement sends my pulse hammering harder beneath his thumb.

He presses his thumb deeper over the frantic beating of my pulse point, flipping me.

My chest hits the wall, Connor pressing in behind me. He shoves my jeans beneath my ass, cold air sweeping over newly exposed skin before the heat of his body replaces it.

Two fingers press against my lips, and I open, my mouth closing around them as they slide over my tongue.

“Suck.”

My tongue curls around his fingers, drawing them deeper, heat winding tighter through my stomach with every slow drag of my tongue.

His zipper sounds behind me, followed by the rustle of fabric, and then he moves closer.

The first press of his cock between my ass cheeks knocks my breath loose around his fingers. My hips push back into him, chasing the solid heat until the blunt head slides between them.

“Fuck,” I mumble around his fingers.

Connor’s palm cups my jaw, keeping his fingers in my mouth while his breath burns across the back of my neck and his hips stay pressed firmly against mine. I can’t fucking move without feeling him somewhere.

“Enough?” Connor asks, tapping one finger lightly against my tongue.

I nod, his fingers slipping from my mouth.

“Just fucking do it.” I push back into him again, trying to close the last bit of space he insists on keeping between us.

The head of his cock catches against my dry rim, Connor’s answering hiss barely leaving him before his palm cracks across my ass. I jolt into the wall with a moan, heat spreading fast beneath the sting.

“Shit,” Connor breathes behind me.

His forehead drops between my shoulder blades, his hand sliding around my hip, spit still slick across his fingers as he reaches between my cheeks and spreads me open.

My legs spread wider, giving Connor more room as I suck in a breath and hold it. His finger circles my rim, pressure building with every pass until my palms press harder into the wall.

Then he pushes inside.

“Con-”

His name catches in my throat as I fold forward.

My body clenches around him at the unfamiliar pressure. My hips twitch forward, then back, unable to settle while I try to adjust to the stretch.

Connor’s mouth finds the back of my neck, slow kisses moving over my nape while his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against him when my legs start to shake.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs against my skin.

My fingers curl against the brick.

Connor pushes deeper, my forehead dropping to the wall.

Another slow rock of his finger and the discomfort begins to ease, heat taking its place until my hips shift backwards.