Chapter 27
CONNOR
The confession hung in the air between us like smoke after a fire—thick, lingering, impossible to ignore.
I'd laid it all out for her. Every ugly scar from St. Paul's. Every choice that had shaped me into the man I was now. And she'd stayed.
Not just physically, but in the way that mattered—her eyes steady on mine, her hand warm against my chest, her presence a quiet anchor in the storm I'd unleashed.
We hadn't moved from the bed. She was still curled against me, her body soft and yielding where it pressed into mine, her breath even and calm. The room felt smaller now, more intimate, as if the truth had drawn the walls closer.
Or maybe it was just us. The space between our skin vanishing under the weight of what I'd shared.
I expected questions. Recoil. That careful distance people put between themselves and damage they can't fix.
But Mila didn't pull away.
Instead, she shifted closer, her thigh draping over mine, her fingers tracing idle patterns across my abdomen. The touch was light, almost absent, but it ignited something deep in my gut—a slow-burning need that had been simmering.
The confession had stripped me bare in a way that felt more vulnerable than any physical nakedness. And now, with her still here, still touching me, still looking at me like I wasn't ruined—I felt something crack open inside me.
Not breaking.
Opening.
"Connor," she whispered, her voice a soft caress in the quiet.
I turned my head, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark pools, reflecting back not pity, but understanding. Desire flickered there, too, subtle but undeniable, mirroring the heat building in me.
I didn't say anything. Words felt inadequate now.
Instead, I rolled toward her, my hand sliding up her arm, fingers grazing the curve of her shoulder before tangling gently in her hair.
I pulled her closer, our lips meeting in a kiss that started tender but deepened quickly, her mouth opening under mine with a sigh that sent fire racing through my veins.
This wasn't about release. Not yet.
This was about worship.
About showing her with my body what my words could never fully convey—that she was everything. That loving her meant revering every part of her, slowly, deliberately, until she felt it in her bones.
I broke the kiss, trailing my lips along her jaw, down the column of her throat. Her pulse fluttered under my tongue, quick and alive, and I lingered there, sucking gently until a soft mark bloomed—a temporary claim, faint and intimate.
She arched into me, her breath hitching, but I didn't rush.
I wanted her to feel the build. The slow unraveling.
My hands moved to the soft plane of her stomach. I kissed her there, open-mouthed and reverent, tasting the faint salt of her skin.
She was warm, yielding under my lips, and I took my time, tracing circles with my tongue around her navel, dipping in briefly before moving lower to the dip of her hip bones. I nipped gently at the sensitive flesh there, feeling her shiver, her fingers threading into my hair.
"Connor ..." she breathed, the sound half plea, half wonder.
I looked up at her, our eyes locking.
Hers were hooded, lips parted, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The sight of her like that—open, wanting—stirred something primal in me, but I held it back.
This was for her. About her.
She was bare before me, and I paused, just looking.
Taking her in.
The curve of her breasts. The dip of her waist. The soft swell of her hips—every line, every shadow a masterpiece. She was beautiful, not in a polished, untouchable way, but in the realness of her, the way her body told stories of life lived fully.
"You're incredible," I murmured, my voice rough with awe.
She reached for me, but I caught her hands, kissing her palms before pinning them gently above her head.
"Let me," I said. "Just let me love you like this."
She nodded, her breath catching. When I released her hands, she kept them there, surrendering to the moment.
I started at her feet again—not rushing, but savoring.
I massaged one sole with my thumbs, pressing into the arch until she sighed, then lifted it to my mouth, kissing the instep, my tongue tracing the delicate curve. She twitched, a soft laugh escaping, but it turned into a moan when I sucked her big toe into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it.
Her eyes widened, surprise mingling with heat. "That's ... new."
I smiled against her skin. "Good new?"
"Yes," she breathed.
I did the same to each toe, slow and thorough, feeling her body relax and tense in turns, her breaths coming faster. Then I moved up her calves, kissing the muscle there, my hands kneading gently as I went.
When I reached the backs of her knees, I lingered, my tongue tracing the sensitive hollows until her thighs parted slightly, inviting.
But I didn't go there yet.
Instead, I rolled her onto her side, curling behind her, my body spooning hers. My mouth found the nape of her neck, kissing the soft skin there, my tongue tracing the vertebrae down her spine one by one.
She arched back into me, her body pressing against my growing hardness, but I held her hips still, not letting friction distract from the worship.
My hand slid around to her front, but not to her center—instead, to the soft underside of her breast, lifting it gently as my mouth continued down her back. I kissed the dimples at the base of her spine, then lower, spreading her with careful hands.
My tongue traced that hidden seam again, light and teasing, circling without pressure, tasting the intimacy until she was whimpering, her body trembling.
"Connor—please—you—"
"Not yet," I whispered, my breath hot against her.
I turned her onto her back again, settling between her legs but not entering her. Instead, I focused on her arms—lifting one, kissing the inside of her wrist, then up to the crook of her elbow, sucking gently at the pulse point there until her free hand clutched the sheets.
She was panting now, her body flushed, eyes dark with need.
I moved to her collarbone, tracing it with my tongue, then down to the valley between her breasts. I kissed the soft skin there, avoiding her nipples, letting the anticipation build until she was arching toward my mouth.
God, her taste.
When I finally took one breast in my hand, lifting it to my mouth, I sucked the underside deep, my tongue pressing flat against the curve. She gasped, her hips bucking, and I felt her wetness against my thigh.
I switched sides, worshipping the other the same way.
Her breaths came in short gasps now, her body trembling on the edge.
I moved lower, kissing her belly, my tongue dipping into the soft folds down low, tracing patterns that made her hips roll. My hands parted her thighs wider, but I focused on the creases, tasting long paths that skirted her center, building the ache.
She was soaking now, her arousal coating her inner thighs, and I tasted it there—slow attention that made her moan my name.
"Connor—I need—"
I knew what she needed. But I wanted her to feel it build slower, deeper.
I slid two fingers inside her—not thrusting, just resting there, curling slightly to press against her inner walls while my mouth continued its worship of her thighs, her belly, her hips.
The pressure built gradually, her body clenching around my fingers, small tremors starting.
Then I added a third finger, stretching her gently, my palm pressing down on her lower abdomen to intensify the internal sensation.
She came then—slow and rolling, like a wave building far out at sea and finally crashing to shore. Her body shook, moans turning to cries, her hands fisting in my hair as she rode it out.
But I wasn't done.
I withdrew my fingers slowly, bringing them to my mouth, tasting her fully while she watched, her eyes hooded with renewed heat.
Then I positioned myself, sliding inside her inch by inch, but not thrusting. Instead, I held still, deep, my body weight pressing her into the mattress.
She grabbed the base of my cock with both hands, and I let her.
I rocked slowly—not in and out, but grinding in circles, the base of my body pressing against her in a way that stimulated without direct friction.
She gasped, her legs wrapping around me, heels digging into my back.
We moved like that—slow, undulating, building the pressure internally until she was trembling again, her body clenching around me in waves.
When she came this time, it pulled me with her—rooted, shattering, my release spilling as her inner walls pulled me deeper.
We stayed joined, breathing hard, my forehead against hers.
The world outside could wait. Merrick could wait. The past could wait.
Right now, there was only this. Only her.
"I love you," I whispered, the words profound in their simplicity. "Completely."
She smiled, tears in her eyes, her hands coming up to frame my face.
"And I love you," she replied. "Without almosts."
I kissed her again—softer now, sweeter, the kind of kiss that felt like a vow.
We lay tangled together afterward, her head on my chest, my arm wrapped around her, our bodies still humming with the aftermath.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt at peace.
Not because the danger was gone. Not because the past had been erased.
But because she knew. All of it. And she'd chosen to stay, anyway.
That was worth fighting for.
Worth protecting.
Worth everything.