Chapter 43
Lennon
It’s still the weekend. Saturday, I think.
We’ve been back from the store for hours, and in that time, we haven’t left the bedroom.
I’m wrapped up in Connor, and he’s wrapped up in me.
I’ve already come a couple of times. So has he.
We’ve used our hands and mouths, and even though last time I came so hard I saw black spots on the ceiling for at least half an hour, the need hasn’t gone away.
It’s thick and heavy. A blanket that weighs me down and makes me hot. I’m sated, but something’s scratching at the base of my skull. Nails dragged repeatedly over sensitive tissue, inflaming a primitive part of my brain. A message carved out in a language that takes me a while to decipher.
It’s want, I finally realize, and specifically, it’s want more. It’s that Connor’s here with me, naked and sexy as hell, and though I’ve already swallowed him, I want more.
I’ve had his hands and his mouth and his moans, and I want more. I want an unnamed thing. Something I haven’t had before. A concept I like the idea of, without having put it into words or thoughts in the past.
He’s everywhere. On top of me, underneath me. I’m in his arms, then he’s in mine as we roll around kissing and trying to find a way to get closer to each other.
He’s under me again, and as I hold myself up over him, my hand finds its way between his legs. For a while, I play with his cock and balls, and it’s so satisfying I almost forget I want more.
I cup his balls, testing their weight, and slide two fingers behind them. His skin is smooth there. Warm. Sensitive if the way he sucks his breath in is anything to go by. I trace the seam of him all the way down, until I reach a dip.
A decadent dip.
A hot, intoxicating dip that captivates me.
He’s on his back, eyes tracking me lazily, waiting to see what I’ll do next.
He watches me with a half-smile, a curious sort of interest. I stroke his opening again, and his head tilts back, but his eyes stay on me.
He’s calm, body laid out in surrender one second, and the next, the world turns.
Up becomes down, and down becomes up, and I find myself on my back with him on top of me.
A rough, guttural sound reverberates out of him as he takes my wrists in his hands and pins me down.
He uses significantly more strength than I was expecting.
The change in him is sudden and complete. Breathtaking and shocking.
The change in me is the same.
Arousal rages through me, and I really do mean rages. I go from being normal to being on fire instantly. It’s a rampant heat that could burn cities to the ground. A blaze that could scorch buildings and leave nothing but ash in its wake.
A heat with enough force to flatten me.
And it does.
I can’t move. I can’t, and I don’t want to because Connor is different now. Connor, who’s always the same, looks different. There are flames in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw. His entire body has tensed, muscles rippling in the wake of his attack.
A dark heat trickles from him into me.
I respond to it as if it were made for me. As if I was made for it.
Tension bleeds out of me, not a little, a lot. All of it. All of it leaves me, and like that, I’m soft and pliable, bled out completely in its wake.
Connor reaches between us like I did moments ago and slides his hand down my shaft and over my balls.
Pleasure takes hold and dances up and down my shaft, and then my balls.
He holds them for a tantalizing second. Palming them.
Cradling them so securely that it gives me the beat I need to breathe and let myself catch up with what’s happening.
Connor watches and waits, the flames in his gaze lapping at me and burning me harder.
Then he reaches lower.
He doesn’t penetrate me. He just teases me, lightly stroking my asshole with the pad of his finger. It’s unexpected and expected at the same time. In an abstract way, I realize I’ve wanted him to touch me there for a while. A long while.
In reality, it’s more personal and sensitive than I was expecting. It’s harder to allow, but also easier because it feels so damn good.
It’s a lot, and not nearly enough. It shatters something brittle in me, around me, and drowns the rest of me in lust. Thick, pure liquid lust that spills into every crevice, every space, every cell in my body.
I vibrate with it.
Shake with it.
I look at Connor in mute frustration. Confusion. Desperation.
Of course, because he’s Connor, he sees it and slows things down.
He takes me into his arms, catching me, and holding me, as I somersault through open space.
When I land, when I’m safe and contained, I open my eyes and look straight into him.
Into the middle of him. Into the heart of who he is as a person.
Flames still dance at his edges, but he’s himself again. His good self. His sweet self.
“I think we should talk about what happens next,” he says, releasing my wrists and transferring his weight onto his elbows. He’s directly on top of me, but not heavy. His erection grazes mine. A suggestion, an offer, not a demand, or even a request.
It sets me at ease and strips me of the last of my bravado.
“What do you want to do?” I ask in a soft voice that sounds nothing like mine.
At least, it sounds nothing like mine usually does.
Nothing like the voice I usually speak with.
It sounds a lot like the voice I think with.
The one in my head. The one I go to some length to ensure other people don’t hear.
“I’m vers, so I’m easy.” A shard of amusement curls his lips.
He finds it funny to call himself easy. My lips quirk too.
There’s a joke in there somewhere about being pan and vers, but when he looks into my eyes, he smooths my hair out of my face, and I forget everything except how it feels when he touches me.
“I like it both ways, so we can do whatever you want.”
He says it like something he’s said before, likely more than once. Likely, many times. I know instantly that that’s what sex is for him. A way for him to please others. To make them feel good. To give them what they want. To mold his desires to theirs and let their pleasure become his.
That’s not what I want at all.
I want to mold my desire to his.
My body to his.
“I don’t want that.” My voice is still soft and wispy, but certain. “I want to do what you want to do. Not what you think I want to do. I want you to tell me what you want. What you really want, and I want to do that.”
I’m in uncharted waters, and I’m aware of that. I’m offering a lot. Things I’ve never done before. Things I haven’t offered to anyone. Things I’ve never considered offering to anyone else. It’s not the answer he was expecting, and it catches him off guard, making his jaw hitch.
I shift beneath him, bumping my cock against his. “What do you want, Con? Tell me, and it’s yours.”
There’s a push and a pull in our gaze. A question. An answer. A very slight hesitation in kind eyes that are usually certain. “I-I want to fuck you.”
There’s a blue-green flash when he says it. His arms stiffen, pushing him up and buying a little more space between us. Space that’s supposed to sober me. Space that’s supposed to give me a hit of fresh air and make me snap out of it.
It doesn’t.
His words linger between us, taking on a life of their own.
I reach up and take his head in both hands, his hair silky between my fingers. I pull him down until I feel his breath on my cheeks and a whisper of his lips on mine. My tongue finds his and moves against it. A slow dance. A long kiss.
“I want that too,” I moan into his mouth.
It’s true. I mean it. That’s what I want, for him, but not just for him. It’s what I want for me too. The concept of it, the image I have in my mind, and the way his body feels on top of mine bring a distant murmur roaring to the surface.
I want it.
I want him.
I want him to fuck me. I want to lie on my back and open my legs, and I want him to do what he wants with me. I don’t care if it hurts, or if I’m embarrassed, or if I don’t really know what I’m doing.
He wants something I have, and I want to give it to him.
“You do?” he cries, dropping his weight onto me and crushing me in a hug so exuberant it’s impossible not to laugh.
He’s an idiot, but he’s the best kind of idiot because he’s sliced through the tremor of nerves I was feeling and replaced them with something light and playful.
“I do,” I chuckle.
His face is buried in my neck, and he plasters kisses wherever he can land them.
I’m ticklish, and this kind of boisterous devotion flips my switch.
My laughter devolves into a helpless giggle.
A giggle that teeters on hysteria before melting into a low groan when Connor rests his full weight on me and rocks his hips against me.
He’s as hard as I am, and the promise of what’s about to happen is thick in the room. In the air. In my lungs. In my veins.
“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he whispers between kisses. “I’ll take such good care of you, Lennon, and I’ll make sure it’s good for you.”
His lips are on my neck, near my ear, and then his tongue finds my earlobe. A hot-and-cold shiver sends goose bumps down one side of my body. My mind drifts, landing in a quiet place. A calm place. A place without words, where an open-mouth kiss and a soft sigh mean I know you will.
He works his way down my neck and chest, planting kisses as he goes.
Soft kisses and hard kisses. Kisses that tease and kisses that electrify.
Kisses with lips and tongue and enough pressure to swallow rational thought completely, leaving nothing but a thundering heart and waves upon waves of simmering arousal in their wake.