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Leaving my beat-up old trainers by the door, I saunter through the apartment barefoot. A table light switches on as I reach the kitchen, and I jump a foot in the air.
“Oh my god.” I clamp a hand over my racing heart in a plea to calm it. “What are you doing sitting in the dark?”
“Where have you been?” The thread of danger in Conor’s gravelly tone raises the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. His face is half cast in shadow, the low light making his irises appear darker and more menacing.
“At the cafe. I told you I was working the long shift today.”
Slowly, he rises from his chair and prowls toward me. Danger radiates through the room, and the temperature seems to drop as goosebumps race along my skin. Nerves have my throat turning dry, and I take a step back on instinct.
“I-I don’t understand what the problem is,” I stutter. For the first time, I feel genuine fear in Conor’s presence. Adrenaline courses through my body as fight or flight mode takes over. “I told you I was at work.”
His lack of response only heightens my fear as I continue to retreat until my back hits the wall. A strangled squeak slips past my lips when he snaps his arm out, his hand wrapping around my throat and squeezing.
Leaning in close, he growls, “The problem is, I came home and you weren’t here.” He crowds me against the wall. Draped in shadows, he’s a fearsome sight. “What’s the point in having you live here if you’re never here?”
I knew this argument was coming. It’s been bubbling beneath the surface ever since I returned to work. I’m pretty sure the manager is punishing me for taking several days off because I’ve been put on either the early morning or late shift ever since, and today I was covering both. Conor has grown more distant since my increased absence, and I know he’s resenting my unsocial hours interfering with our time together.
Things would be so much easier if I worked the same hours he did, but that’s not the case. I’m not opposed to looking for a new job, but finding one takes time.
Attempting to de-escalate the situation, I reach out to run my fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, baby. I know I’ve been working a lot, but I’m here now.”
“Maybe I found someone else to keep me company tonight.”
His words are a slap to my face, although I maintain my composure. He’s angry, and I’m sure he will regret saying that when he’s calmed down. Pushing back my anger, I slide my hand down the front of his white tee until my palm is pressed against the hard bulge in his sweats.
“Come on, baby,” I urge, squeezing his shaft. “Don’t be like that. I’ll make it up to you.”
Silently, he arches a challenging brow. His gaze dips to my lips, and I know what he’s quietly demanding. Lowering to my knees, I pull on the drawstring of his sweats until they drop to his feet. Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I wrap my hand around his velvety soft skin and begin to pump.
With each stroke, his anger dissipates, and by the time I slide my lips along his length, his chest is heaving and he’s got one hand pressed against the wall for support.
I take him in as deep as I can before rocking back, except after repeating that a couple of times, he growls and clamps his hand to the back of my head. I’m forced to swallow all of him. His head blocks my airway as drool hangs from the corner of my lips as he fucks my mouth.
“You’re to swallow every last drop,” he demands in a strained voice as his cock swells in my mouth before exploding down my throat. I swallow all of it, using my fingers to scoop up the bits that escaped and sucking them off my finger.
Breathing heavily, he strokes my hair reverently. “Such a good girl,” he praises, making me sit up straighter as I preen.
After he’s tucked himself away, he pulls me to my feet. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to go off like that. I just miss you when you’re not here.”
Sighing, I wrap my arms around his waist and press my face against his chest. “I know.”
“I liked coming home to you cooking dinner and fucking you before I’ve even undone my tie.”
“I like that too,” I assure him. “And that can still be the case on days I’m not working.”
I hear his irritated exhale, only thankfully, he doesn’t argue as he takes my hand and tugs me down the hallway to our bedroom.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“You did what?!” I gape at Conor in shock.
“I told them you quit.” He says it so casually that I have to replay the words in my head, convinced I must have heard him wrong.
“Why would you do that?”
He waves a lazy hand. “They were working you too hard. You should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you?” I practically screech. “That was my job. My only source of income. You had no right to quit on my behalf, especially without talking to me first.”
