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It feels divine, so dirty and right.
“Oh God, yes,” I cry when he circles my clit. “It feels so good, Con.” So fucking good. “Just me and you, yeah?”
I watch him, concentration etched into the lines of his face as he nods. He’s fighting some mental war, I see it in his eyes. But at the same time, he’s hungry for more.
Hungry for me.
“I want it, Conner,” I urge him. “I want to feel you inside me.”
“Shit, K, yeah. Just let me...” He takes a deep breath, slowly pressing his cock against me. He doesn’t push inside, just stays there.
My body is paralyzed. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to break whatever spell he’s under. He needs this. Conner needs to be one hundred and ten percent in control.
My core throbs, desperate to feel him. But he doesn’t move.
“Conner?” I ask, silently praying he can see this through.
“Just give me a minute.” He breathes out through his nose, letting the tip slowly sink inside me.
A whimper of relief spills from my lips, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his fist against the car window.
“Fuck,” he yells. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
I grab my shirt and blazer and slink off his lap, curling myself into a ball on his chair.
“It’s okay,” I say softly.
“It’s not okay. Nothing about any of this is okay. He raped you. He fucking raped you, and every time I try to...”
“This was a mistake.” The words gut me, but I realize it’s the truth. I just didn’t want to believe it.
Conner isn’t ready.
Maybe he’ll never be ready.
“Let’s just go to
yours.” I try to disguise the heartache in my voice. “We can watch a movie or something?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll take you back to the dorms.” He doesn’t look at me as he adjusts his clothing and seat and starts backing out of the concealed road.
“Conner, please...” I lay my hand on his, but he knocks it off.
“Just don’t, Kennedy.” He sounds so defeated. “Just don’t.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Conner
The second Kenny's feet are on the ground, I floor the accelerator. She barely has time to close the door. I don't look in my mirror as I fly out of the parking lot. I can't. I can't see the look of disappointment, of pity, that I know is going to be on her face.
"Fuuuuuuck," I scream, my palm slamming down on the wheel.
Why can't I get fucking past this? Why can't I just be the man she needs?
Emotion clogs my throat as anger swirls around me like a thick fog.
I don't have a destination in mind. I just drive, hoping that at some point my need to go and rip someone's skin from their bones starts to fade. I know it won't matter even if I did that, because it would be some innocent guy I got my hands on, someone who doesn't deserve the wrath for what that cunt did to my girl.
