Chapter 14
Connor
I breathe in the warm air as I head back to the dorm. My Tort Law professor is out sick. Just got the email fifteen minutes ago. Sucks. I actually enjoy the class, more so than practice.
But the fucker also posted an asynchronous assignment. I could’ve used the free time, maybe take a nap since Ryan kept me up most of the night. That fucking snoring needs to stop. Maybe I’ll drag his ass to get checked for sleep apnea.
Wait. Ryan?
Ugh. Fuck me.
Still can’t believe he told my parents to fuck off. For me. I didn’t even bother stopping the smirk.
Love when the grizzly bear comes out.
But he’d also taken my hand in his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He took my hand. The man whose body locks up whenever I touch him took my hand.
Maybe that’s why I didn't pull away.
Because it mattered. To him. And maybe after how this all started—definitely after he put my parents in their place—I owe him.
We didn’t talk much after we left. Just went back to our dorm, did our own thing. But it was comfortable. Peaceful. And strange as fuck.
I walk into Young’s Hall and up the stairs. Eli loves this building with its old architecture. I’d rather be somewhere more modern with a fucking elevator.
After fishing out my key, I slide it into the lock and push the door. But it doesn’t budge.
I try again.
Nothing.
What the fuck?
This time I use my shoulder, but it doesn’t help. I pull my phone from my pocket, then tap open the camera app. Ryan’s not there. I rewind the feed a bit, and he pops up on the screen.
Oh.
He’s in the bathroom.
I look at the screen again. The angle sucks, but nothing visible is blocking the door.
I close the app and send Ryan a text.
Me: Locked out. Let me in.
Henneman: Give me a sec
Huh.
I tuck the phone into my pocket and lean against the wall. A moment later, the door opens. Ryan stands there with a towel wrapped around his waist, water trailing down his chiseled chest.
Fuck. Me.
I push past, but a rubber doorstop catches my attention. “Is that why I couldn’t get in?”
“Uh, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, face turning red. He looks everywhere but at me.
“Next time, just text me when you're showering.” If that’s what he needs to do to feel safe, I’ll work around it. “You need to finish? I can go to Knight's.”
“No, I'm done.” The flush deepens, spreading to his neck and chest.
I walk to my bed, drop my bag on the floor, then settle in, resting my back against the wall. I grab my laptop from the nightstand and open it. Might as well work on Professor Martinez's assignment.
Of course, it’s a personal injury case he worked on.
I can’t blame the man for being egotistical. It was a landmark case, taking four years of litigation. But they won a $200 million settlement for the families. It would’ve been incredible to be on that legal team.
Maybe that's what I want.
Not the NHL.
Or maybe it’s that I’d love to see the same look the CEO of that company had on my father’s face.
Ryan walks past, still in a towel. Wait. His calf . . . it’s tattooed? The design’s an intricate mix of swirls and patterns that extend from his ankle over his knee, but beneath, only slightly visible are faded white scars, like those on his hands.
Does it go higher?
Heat pools in my groin, my dick hardening.
Fuck.
I grab my pillow and place it over my lap, then refocus on the assignment. But his towel slips when he bends to open one of the dresser drawers.
“Oh, fuck.” My voice is deep, raspy.
Those light blue briefs cling to him like a second skin. And the tattoo does go higher. It’s a full leg sleeve on a very thick, very muscular thigh.
My dick’s so fucking hard. I reach under the pillow to squeeze it, trying to relieve some of the pressure.
“Shit.” Ryan scrambles for the towel.
And that’s when I see them, completely visible now.
So many scars.
Thick, raised lines. Some straight, others jagged and angry, running from mid-thigh down to his shin. There are places where the skin bunches and puckers, and a few shiny patches.
He covers himself up, shoulders hunching forward. “Sorry, I—”
“What the fuck are you apologizing for?” Fuck. Didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh. I take a deep breath and try again. “Why do you have so many scars?”
Ryan sinks onto the edge of his bed, clutching the towel. He goes very still, then tears well up in his eyes. “Car accident.”
“When?”
“Eight years ago. It’s when my family died. How they died.”
“I'm sorry.” The words feel inadequate, especially after the shit my parents said to him.
Ryan grabs his blanket and covers his legs. “I know they're disgusting to look at.”
“Pretty sure your 'disgusting' leg, and those briefs, just gave me a fucking hard-on. So stop talking shit about yourself.”
He blinks, staring like I’m some alien from another planet, then his gaze drops to my lap, and the blush from earlier covers his face again.
My goddamn dick twitches.
Because he looked.
His nipples bunch into tight points, and I damn near groan at the sight. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to wrestle my body back under control.
“Is it me?” Ryan's voice sounds small, uncertain.
I open my eyes and look at him. “What?”
He stares at his hands like they hold answers. “Are you pissed because you're attracted to me . . . or just men in general?”
I close my laptop, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and then take a deep breath. “Both.”
Ryan curls in on himself, brows furrowed.
“Don't fucking do that.” I rake my fingers through my hair, tugging hard enough to sting. “It's new. Timing's shit. And we were just talking about your parents. Fucking shitty time to have a boner.”
“Oh.” The single word carries so much pain, I want to demolish something.
“What about you? You don’t seem rattled about our . . . kiss and stuff.”
“I'm bi. Figured it out in middle school.” He picks at the blanket, biting his bottom lip.
“Do you want me to leave?”
No response.
“Ryan?”
He shakes his head but doesn’t look up. His Adam’s apple bobs, goosebumps covering his skin.
“What’s going through that head of yours?”
He snorts. “You don’t want to know.”
I quirk a brow. “Tell me.”
Silence passes, and then he takes a deep breath, his entire upper body moving with the act. “You . . . you make me hard too.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I did not need to know that, to hear that. My dick was just starting to calm the fuck down. Guess that’s over.
My goddamn eyes drop to his goddamn crotch.
He shakes his head. “Sorry, I know you’re not interested.”
I launch off the bed and stalk toward him. He jumps up, eyes wide, color draining from his face and I stop, glued in place.
Shit.
Don’t know what happened to him and I won’t ask. Won’t push. If he wants to tell me, that’s his choice.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I take a step back. “Didn’t mean to charge over.”
But he stands and comes closer until our chests practically touch. “I don’t want to be afraid. I . . . It’s . . .”
His head drops forward, but then he sucks in a breath and groans. I look down, wanting to know what caused that reaction. Yeah, fuck. Should’ve guessed. The bulge in the front of my jeans is obscene. My damn dick is practically trying to punch its way out.
Ryan clears his throat as he looks up, those deep amber eyes that look like melted honey meeting mine. “Can . . . Can I kiss you? I want to kiss—”
I press my lips to his. Not demanding. Not hungry. Though I fucking am. And it’s taking every ounce of control to keep myself in check. But I need to, because I don’t want him to fall apart because of me again.
We stand there, lips pressed together. It's awkward as hell. Our eyes are open and we’re looking at each other. But it's blurry. He looks fucking cross-eyed this close.
Then his eyes flutter shut, and his tongue drags across the seam of my mouth. I let him in. My knuckles press into my lower back, gripping the waistband of my jeans to keep my hands off him until he’s ready.
I push deeper, tongue sliding against his, taking his mouth like it's mine to claim. He tastes like spearmint toothpaste, and I want to lick every inch of his mouth until all he tastes like is me.
His tongue fights back this time, not like that first desperate kiss where he didn't know what to do. I suck it into my mouth, and he makes this broken sound that goes straight to my dick.
Ryan’s huge hands cup my face, his fingers spanning from my jaw to behind my ears. He tilts my head back, angling me where he wants, and fuck, my neck strains with how far up I have to reach. Six inches never felt like so much until right now. I’m practically on my tiptoes so I can reach his mouth.
My teeth catch his bottom lip, biting down until he gasps.
I lick into that gasp, fucking his mouth with my tongue.
His entire body shudders, his broad chest pressing against mine, one of those tree-trunk thighs pushed between my legs.
I rock against it as he kisses me like he's drowning, desperate and consuming.
He pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead to mine. “Connor . . .”
A groan rips from my throat, my hips still rocking. “I'm so fucking hard.”
He huffs a laugh under his breath. “Can tell. You’re fucking yourself stupid against my thigh.”
My head jerks back, eyes narrowing. This motherfucker. “Your dick's literally throbbing against—”
He slams his mouth back onto mine, pulling me tighter to him. I moan, bucking against him. His lips travel to my neck, teeth and tongue grazing my skin. My arms are shaking from gripping my waistband so tightly.
“Touch me. Fuck. Ryan. Touch me.”
He goes still, then pulls away from me. His amber eyes search my face, then drop to my arms. His brows furrow.
“Didn’t want to set you off again.” I take a deep breath, then exhale, shaking my head. “You’re not ready. Forget I said it.”
“No. I want to.” His eyes meet mine. “Just want to make sure you want to. You said . . . you said it was too much. On your plate.”
Is this asshole really throwing my own words back at me?
Okay, so maybe they are true. Or were true. Fuck if I know anything right now. Only that Ryan wants to touch me, and I need him to.
“I’ll keep my hands wherever makes you comfortable. Just get yours on my dick. Now.”
A raspy breath, almost like a growl, escapes him. He shoves me backward until my thighs hit his desk.
My breath catches as he lifts me onto it. “Fuck.”
He steps between my spread thighs, grabbing my wrists and placing my hands on the edge of the desk. “They stay here.”
“Got it.”
He towers over me, one hand grips the back of my neck, not gentle, while the other slides down my chest, over my abs, thumb grazing over my erection, causing my hips to buck. “This what you want?”
“Stop talking.” I lean forward, trying to kiss him, but he pulls back, smiling. “Ryan, I will end you if you don't—”
He grabs my balls over my jeans and squeezes.
Oh, fuck.
My toes curl, thighs tensing.
He lets go, pops the button on my jeans, then unzips them. “Lift.”
I do.
He pulls both my jeans and boxers off, and my dick springs free. I look down, swallowing hard. My crown’s so swollen, and red, and shiny with precum.
“Sure you want me to?”
I nod. “Just my dick. My balls. But nowhere else.”
“Okay.”
His large hand wraps around my length, and I hiss through my teeth, head dropping back against the wall a bit too hard. “Fuck, Ryan.”
I white-knuckle the desk edge as his hand moves up and down. His grip is different from mine—gentler, more exploratory, like he's mapping every ridge and vein, learning the weight and shape of my dick in his palm.
Ryan's thumb brushes over the head, spreading the precum that's already leaking. He licks his lips, breathing heavier. “Fuck, you’re so hard.”
“And you need to stop teasing and jerk it.”
He leans down, claiming my mouth as his grip tightens, his hand moving faster. Up and down, thumb circling the sensitive head on each upstroke.
“Tighter. Harder.” My nails dig into the particle board of the desk as he gives me what I need. “Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t stop. Just like that.”
I’m breathing like I just skated a whole fucking period, my legs spreading wider as I fuck up into his fist on each downstroke.
“Stay still.” He bites my neck, his other hand gripping my hip. I try to thrust, but he pushes me down and squeezes my dick hard. “Don’t make me pin you down, Connor.”
I growl, trying again, needing to move.
“Connor, it’s mine to take care of. Let me. Please.”
Motherfucking fuck.
I grit my teeth, forcing my body to remain still. “Then take care of it.”
He smirks, gaze dropping, and he flushes, lips parted, as he stares at my dick while he works it.
Fucking gorgeous.
“Just like that. Oh, fuck. Feels so good.”
When I wriggle, the hand on my hip tightens, and he growls, his eyes flicking to mine and narrowing.
I hiss out a breath, toes curling, muscles clenching. “Ryan . . . close . . . you’re going to make me come.”
He looks back down. So do I, but to the outline of his erection in those dark gray joggers.
I want to see it, want to touch it.
My stomach tenses, balls drawing up when I notice the wet spot on them. “Oh, fuck . . . Ryan . . . fuck.”
“Come for me, Connor.”
Everything in my body coils tight, toes curling, thighs shaking as my orgasm hits. “Ryannn!”
Cum shoots onto my stomach and chest. He keeps jerking me like he wants every last drop wrung out. When I'm squirming and oversensitive, he reaches into his joggers and starts stroking himself using the same hand covered in my cum.
“Take it out. Show me.”
His eyes widen.
“I won’t touch, but if you’re using my cum as lube, fucking show me.”
He pulls his waistband down, taking his dick out. It's just as large and thick as the rest of him. And coated with me.
Mine.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, Fuck.” One hand braces against the desk as he works himself. “Oh, fuck . . . Connor.”
His mouth drops open, a strangled groan escaping as he comes. On me.
Rope after rope hits my body, landing on my stomach and my dick.
My hips lift, chasing it.
Wanting it.
When his orgasm ends, Ryan straightens, blinking and looking me over. “I didn’t mean to . . . I’m sorry.”
“Don’t fucking apologize.”
His eyes meet mine. “Was . . . was it good?”
“Yes. Are you okay?” Last thing I want is for him to spiral, for what we did to break him.
“Y-yeah.”
I shift to get off the desk. “Do you need space?”
“Do you?”
I snort. “I’m fine. Just need a shower.”
And I am.
I liked it. His hand. Those calloused fingers. The way it felt when he squeezed just right. God, I wasted too much fucking energy freaking out after Raiyne gave me that blowjob, denying I might be into men.
Not anymore.
But it’s more than that. Ryan didn’t have a panic attack. He’s smirking. Blushing. Like he’s proud of himself.
The corner of my mouth curves up before I can stop it.
Shit.