Chapter 27
Lennon
Connor has woken, yet again, chock full of the joys of life.
His cheeks are flushed and there’s something about him that reminds me of the way girls look when they’ve had their hair professionally blow-dried.
It’s odd. He’s still wearing his pajamas, though, so I don’t think he’s showered—never mind had his hair blown out.
“How was the sun?” I mumble through reams of hangover and regret.
“Dunno,” he says, affecting a casual tone that’s so unlike him it hits my auditory system and skips like a stone over a flat body of water. “I gave it a miss so I could sleep in.”
As he says it, the corner of his mouth tics. It’s slight, but accompanied by the tone of his voice and the fact that he isn’t looking me in the eye, it makes me think he’s lying.
Or if he isn’t lying, he isn’t telling the whole truth either.
My mind races to fill in the blanks.
Where it lands is decidedly murky. Where it lands is a place where Connor stands in my room and says, “I wouldn’t say big, but it is well-rounded.”
He says it over and over.
He says it in reference to his sex toy collection.
As soon as the thought becomes conscious, I become aware that it’s been there, in the periphery of my mind, since the day he said it. I didn’t realize it, but I’ve been using a lot of my energy to stop myself from thinking about it.
Now I can’t help it.
I’ve seen my own post-nut reflection enough times to know that what clings to Connor Lockwood this morning is the distinct air of a man who’s just blown his load. Hard. And possibly more than once.
He asks how I’m feeling and chatters about ordering breakfast tacos. I try to reply sensibly, but inside, I’m fighting for my life. A veritable tide of questions rises and crests. They flow to the forefront of my mind and swish around on the tip of my tongue.
All of them are questions about Connor’s sex toys.
What constitutes a collection of toys? How many are we talking? More than three, or more than five?
What does he have? A Fleshlight? A dildo? Butt plugs? A vibe?
What the hell does “not big, but well-rounded” even mean?
He orders the tacos, rambling about what a life-affirming combination bacon and guacamole is, as I Venmo him money mindlessly.
A million images assault me.
In all of them, Connor is naked. There’s skin everywhere. Freckles too. He’s stretched out on his bed, smiling, with his cock in his hand. There’s a butt plug and lube on the sheet next to him. No, not one plug. Two. They’re different sizes. One is bigger than the other.
He uses the smaller one first.
His smile flickers and fades as he reaches between his legs, nudging the tip in before pushing it inside himself.
“…what do you say?”
I land in the living room with a bump. There’s a question in Connor’s eyes that gives me the impression it’s not the first time he’s asked the question.
“Huh?”
“Are you in or out?”
“I, uh, I’m in.”
The question evaporates and is quickly replaced by what I can only hope is a disproportionate amount of excitement.
Shit. What the hell have I just agreed to?