Mr. Swoony (The Nest #3)

Chapter 32

Thirty-Two

Eloise

Conor kisses me, walking us backward through the sitting area to his bedroom. His cologne still lingers in the room, and there’s something intimate about being in his space, even if it is just his hotel room.

He swivels me around, keeping his hands on my hips to steady me, then his fingertips inch up my side, finding my zipper. As he slides it down, freeing the snug fit from my body, his lips fall to my shoulder. “You have no idea how much I wanted this moment the minute you stepped out of your room earlier. The thought of being the lucky bastard to shed this from your skin had me hard the whole night.”

“We barely stayed at the party long enough.” I wrap my arm around him, my fingers weaving through his hair, not wanting him to pull his lips from my skin.

Conor’s mouth drifts up to the nape of my neck, his calloused fingers grazing up my bare arm, lowering the spaghetti strap from my shoulder. I slip my arm out, helping his quest.

“You should be down there for Jagger’s speech.” Even I can hear the complete lack of give-a-shit in my voice.

“I’m right where I should be.” He does the same with the strap on the other side and goose bumps follow his touch. “I should have made you do a striptease for me. Wasn’t that on your list?”

I moan, unable to answer the question he already knows the answer to because he’s pushing the fabric over my breasts and down my waist, past my hips before it puddles at my ankles.

“Fuck, Eloise.”

I whimper when his hands and mouth leave my skin.

I feel him step back, and I start to turn to find out why he’s stopping, but his hands grip my hips so I stay in place. “Stay right there for a second. Your ass in this thong… Jesus. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

How long have I yearned to hear a man devour my body with his words? For him to tell me how hot I get him, how he can barely control himself, and the restraint is killing him? I’ve never had a man talk to me like this.

“Can I turn around now?” I’m not asking because I’m embarrassed for him to see my body, because I’m not. He’s made it more than clear that he likes what he sees. But I want to see him now.

His hands leave my hips, and I circle around. If hearing his words of desire wasn’t already a major turn-on, watching his gaze rake over my body while I stand there wearing only a strapless bra, panties, and heels makes my core clench with need.

He steps back, resting his ass on the desk and biting the pad of his thumb. “Take off the bra.”

I reach around and unhook my bra, holding the cups with my other hand to keep it in place. “I think you need to take something off now.”

His flirty smile creases his cheeks, and he sheds his jacket, tossing it on the chair in the corner. I tilt my head and raise my eyebrows.

“Not enough, huh?” He unbuttons his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. “I get it. You’ve wanted to see me for a long time too.”

I pretend to hate his cocky demeanor when, in reality, I love it.

He pulls his shirt from his pants and strips it off his chest. I’ve seen Conor without his shirt, but knowing that tonight I’ll be able to run my fingers down the peaks and valleys of his chest and abs, sprinkle kisses along his bare skin—it steals my breath.

“Your turn.” He lifts his chin at me.

I release my bra, and it falls to the floor.

Conor groans. “Perfect. I knew it.” He’s whispering more to himself than me, I think.

My body heats with what I’m sure is a blush over every inch of bared flesh. I nod toward his lower half, and his hands manipulate the belt, sliding it out of the loops, tossing it to join his shirt on the chair.

“Pants too.”

He toes out of his shoes. “So eager to see my cock.” There’s that cocky grin again.

I don’t respond, and he doesn’t wait for an answer before he strips off his pants and throws them toward the chair, but he misses, and they fall to the floor.

His erection presses obscenely against his black boxer briefs, and I find that I can’t turn away. My gaze is too greedy.

After shedding his socks, he pushes off the desk and closes the gap between us. “How have I been able to control myself until right now?”

His fingers hook into the sides of my thong, and he lowers to his knees in front of me, staring up at me. He leans into the apex of my thighs and breathes in my scent while his finger runs along the damp silk fabric, and he hums with appreciation.

“Conor.” I’m nearly breathless now that the time has come.

“I know.” Inch by inch, he lowers my thong down my legs, his gaze not chasing the fabric, but remaining on the most intimate part of me. “Finally.”

His vision draws away to get the flimsy fabric over my heels. I step out of them, and he throws them over with his pile of clothes. Then his palm lands on my calf, and his other hand slips off my heel. He does the same with the other one.

His palms slide up the outsides of my legs, and he blows a breath of air on my core before he places a sweet kiss on the top of my mound and stands.

“Get on the bed,” he whispers as if someone might overhear us.

I step back until I feel the edge of the mattress against the backs of my thighs. My ass falls to the soft mattress, and again, Conor goes to his knees, his hands wrapping around my legs to grip my ass, pulling my pussy to his face.

“I need to taste you.” His finger runs down the length of my opening, and he slides his finger into his mouth, moaning at the taste of me.

I’m not sure what sound slips out of me, but Conor’s wicked grin says he’s enjoying my reaction.

“It’s time we cross something off your list, don’t you think?”

“What if I don’t…” I voice my worry because I don’t want Conor to think that if I can’t come, it means I didn’t enjoy it. No matter what, I know I’m going to love Conor’s mouth on me. But I’m usually just too in my head to relax enough to climax.

“Then I’ll do it again. And you’ll tell me what works and what doesn’t.” I open my mouth, but he shakes his head. “I’ll sit here on my knees and have a twelve-course meal if I have to, but I’m not leaving this room until you come on my tongue, Eloise.”

I nod, tension still present in my muscles from the pressure of feeling like I have to come. How many times did I lie on the bed with Tristan and wish I could orgasm? How many times did I pretend I did? I don’t want that to be my first experience with Conor.

He inches forward, his tongue following the same path his finger just did. His fingers flex on my ass, and he tugs me closer, his mouth ravenous as though his last thread of restraint has broken, and he can no longer take his time.

Conor groans in approval against my heated flesh as his mouth devours me. Slowly, the tension in my legs fades away until I’m no longer having to suppress the urge to close them. After a minute or two, it becomes impossible not to greedily grind against his tongue. My core heats, and I clench the bedspread, trying not to fall back onto the mattress, because watching Conor take small peeks up at me, gauging my enjoyment, is a show in and of itself.

The strokes of his tongue become more urgent, more consuming, and suddenly I’m not thinking about whether or not I can finish, but about how long I can keep Conor between my legs. The tip of his finger plays with my entrance while his tongue circles my clit.

“Oh, god,” I pant, my hands threading through his dark strands.

He doesn’t try to look at me, but he thrusts his finger inside me and sucks my clit simultaneously as I writhe under him. He doesn’t relent, continuing his rhythm and pushing another finger inside me. I buck and tighten my hand in his hair, but Conor doesn’t even seem to notice.

He’s feasting on me like a man possessed, like a man who can’t get enough, and seeing him enjoy this as much as I am shoves me to the edge of the precipice. I’ve never felt this kind of anticipation before. I see now how people become addicted to this feeling, this adrenaline from what’s coming.

He slows his pace a bit and curls his fingers, reaching a spot inside me that no one has before, and my hips rock upward of their own volition.

“Conor!” It’s a plea for more and a warning that the feeling is almost too intense for me to handle all in one.

He removes his mouth from me, watching. “Fuck, Eloise. I’m going to be addicted to your taste from here on out. I hope you’re enjoying this because I’m going to have a hard time not having my face between your legs every time we’re together.”

I whimper, and he doesn’t wait for me to say anything, swirling his tongue around my clit and continuing a slow in and out motion with his fingers.

“I can’t hold on.” I arch my back, unable to stay still. “Oh shit.”

My fists clench the bedspread, and I press my ass to the bed, trying to stay in place. I don’t want this to end.

He peeks up to watch me, feeling me hitting the edge. Seeing his gorgeous caramel eyes staring into mine with so much desire and approval undoes me. Every muscle in my body clenches, and I come on a scream, bucking against him.

My eyes slide shut from the euphoria filling every cell of my body. The bedspread slides out of my grip, and my back falls to the mattress as I pant, trying to catch my breath.

Conor slowly withdraws his fingers, gives me one last long lick, and rises to his feet. “I feel like fucking Superman right now.”

I peek one eye open and giggle. “Don’t get too cocky. We’ll have to see if you can do it a second time or whether it was beginner’s luck.”

The hard ridge of his dick presses against his boxer briefs. “I told you, Eloise, twelve-course meal.”

He palms his dick over his boxers, and I slowly sit up and get up on my knees, placing my hand over his. “Let me repay the favor.”

Taking control, he switches our hands so mine is on the bottom, and he tightens his palm over the back of my hand as I rub his dick. “We don’t have time for that. You squeezed my fingers so tight, I need to feel your pussy clenching around my dick.”

I have a feeling I’ll be reliving this night for the rest of my life.