Chapter 31
Every square inch of you
I wake up on the second day of our holiday with Connor’s arm slung over my waist. Since our conversation last night, Connor has been in constant physical contact with me in some way.
A hand on my back, our fingers interlaced, an arm holding me tightly.
And it seems even in sleep he’s managed to keep me close.
We didn’t have sex once we got back to the hotel.
He kissed me endlessly and stroked the skin of my arms, my legs, my back, until we were both a panting mess, but Connor suggested we take our time with our relationship.
At first, this confused me, seeing as we’re already living together and share a bed, but then the logical part of my brain took the reins from the lusty part, and I realised I was relieved that we hadn’t gone any further.
I want our first time to be amazing, so I want to make a special effort for it, which means sexy lingerie, none of which I have with me.
Or own at all, for that matter. I’ve considered buying some plenty of times over the years, but I always talk myself out of it, reasoning that it would look awful on me anyway, so why bother?
This thought process can go on for hours, spiralling out of control until I feel like shit.
Worse than shit. And that’s when the dark thoughts come creeping in.
They stalk in the shadows until they find me weak and vulnerable enough, then pounce, knowing I’m susceptible to their suggestions: Swerve in front of that truck.
Dunk yourself underwater in the bath and stay there. Run that knife across your wrists.
Sometimes my thoughts win, as evidenced by my attempt at walking into traffic a few weeks ago.
I never fight those thoughts. It’s not that I want to die. Frankly, the thought terrifies me. But in that moment, it’s so clear to me that it would be the best thing to do for everyone’s sake.
I lie in bed worrying about where to buy underwear at the last minute and how I could lose ten pounds before Connor sees me naked. I’m teetering on the edge of a black pit of dark thoughts when the arm resting across me twitches.
Connor pulls his arm closer towards himself, leaving his hand splayed out palm-down on my tummy. I quickly suck in my stomach as far as it will go, hoping he’s still asleep and hasn’t noticed how squashy I am under his touch.
“What are you doing?” he mumbles into his pillow.
Busted. “You have your hand on my stomach,” I say quietly, as if that explains everything.
“Is that… not okay?” he asks
Not really. I always had a rule with Rhys that he wasn’t allowed to touch my stomach. It’s the part of me I’m most disgusted by.
“No, it’s fine,” I lie, trying to sound confident.
“So, why are you still sucking in?” Connor gives my tummy a tap right over my belly button, and I pray he doesn’t notice it rippling like a lake in the rain.
I try to shrug casually, which is difficult when you’re lying down. “I just feel a bit uncomfortable when people touch my tummy, that’s all.”
To his credit, Connor slides his hand to rest on my hip instead. “That better?”
I nod.
Connor raises himself up so he’s leaning on his elbow, looking at me from slightly above. “If anything ever makes you uncomfortable, you need to tell me instead of trying to hide it so we can deal with it, okay?”
I nod again, embarrassed.
“Good. Now will you please breathe normally?”
Reluctantly, I let my stomach return to normal.
I can’t bear to look at Connor, so I stare up at the ceiling instead, torturing myself by wondering how disgusted he is by my far-from-perfect belly on a scale from ‘I just vomited in my mouth’ to ‘I want to scrub my own hands raw so they never accidentally brush against it again’.
I’m hoping he’s leaning more towards the ‘mouth-vomit’ end of the scale because I love his hands and it would be a shame to see them ruined.
I’m distracted by movements beside me, and when I look, Connor’s head has disappeared under the covers.
I’m confused. “Connor?”
No reply. But his hand moves from my hip to the hem of my pyjama top, lifting it up slowly.
“Connor? What are you doing?” Panic starts to bubble inside me as he exposes the skin above my pyjama bottoms.
The infuriating, sexy man still doesn’t answer me.
He keeps pulling up my top agonisingly slowly, stopping when he reaches just underneath my breasts.
I try to stay calm. I trust Connor completely; that’s not the issue.
I’m just not ready for him to realise how hideous I am and end it before it’s even properly begun.
“Connor…” My voice is full of emotion when I say his name, and this time, thankfully, he responds.
“You don’t believe me when I tell you I love everything about you,” he says softly, his voice muffled by the duvet.
His warm breath tickles my skin, and I suck in a surprised gasp.
“So I’m going to show you instead.”
I jump and let out a squeak when Connor kisses my stomach, right below the belly button.
My hand flies to my mouth, mortified at my reaction.
Connor just chuckles and kisses me again, slightly to the left of his previous kiss.
I’m tense under his touch, a mixture of shock and arousal swimming around in my brain, but Connor continues, oblivious.
He places row upon row of kisses all over the front of my stomach, then switches his focus to my sides.
This time his kisses are open-mouthed, warm and wet, his tongue almost tickling my sensitive skin.
I gasp. My breaths come in raspy heaves as he licks his way from my hip bone up to my ribs.
I can’t help but squirm with pleasure and involuntarily thrust up my hips towards him.
“Needy girl,” Connor says, his voice low but amused.
He uses his arms to hold down my bottom half, and that’s when I realise he hasn’t actually touched my stomach with his hands this whole time.
Connor continues to kiss and lick every inch of my tummy and sides.
After minutes of writhing at his touch, I decide to be brave and peel back the covers so I can see him.
When I do, Connor peers up at me with a smirk on his face and kisses my flesh again, keeping eye contact with me.
Add this to the list of ‘sexiest things a man can do’ along with rolling up his shirt sleeves and driving one-handed.
“Do you believe me yet?” he asks between kisses. “Do you believe that I think you’re perfect? That there isn’t any part of you that I don’t find irresistible?”
I nod, my ability to speak disappearing as he rolls down the waistband of my cotton pyjama bottoms.
“Use your words, Tilly.” I’ve never heard Connor use such a commanding tone before but, my God, I hope he uses it again.
“Yes,” I breathe as his tongue traces a line from one hip bone to the other.
“Louder, baby,” he mumbles against my skin, his onslaught never wavering.
“Yes,” I say, louder this time.
Connor smiles and rolls my waistband down one more time. As he kisses the freshly exposed skin, his hand drifts up my side, under my bunched-up top and lands on my breast. I moan when he squeezes and pinches me, which spurs him on. His touch gets rougher, and his kisses become more urgent.
“Yes what? Tell me you believe me.”
I try to catch my breath and focus my mind long enough to form a coherent sentence, which is particularly hard, given the circumstances.
“I believe you,” I manage to say.
“Good girl,” Connor praises, sending a gush of warmth between my legs.
Gripping the hem of my pyjama bottoms, he gazes up at me with love-filled eyes. “This okay?” he asks, tugging the fabric a little lower.
Still self-conscious but too turned on to care, I nod.
Pride shining through his smile, Connor pulls down my bottoms and throws them onto the floor. He holds me by my bent knees, keeping them spread apart, and shuffles a little lower. He gazes intently between my legs, hunger and longing clearly evident in his eyes.
“I told you – fucking perfect.”
He’s lying to you.
The thought has been swirling around in my head but was overshadowed by my need for Connor to touch me. But now it’s sitting front and centre in my mind, and I’m feeling incredibly embarrassed.
Connor dips his head and kisses my inner thighs, another area I hate, but that’s a battle for another day.
While he’s distracted, I carefully ease my top back down to cover myself up a bit more.
It seems redundant, considering my lower half is totally exposed and inches away from his face, but it makes me feel a little bit better.
Until Connor realises what I’m doing and moves his hand from my breast to catch my wrist.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The strict quality of Connor’s voice gives me goosebumps.
“I was just—”
Connor doesn’t let me finish. He moves my hands to rest on either side of me on the bed.
“Leave them there,” he commands. Next, he pushes my top back up, this time bunching it at my neck.
The goosebumps spread over my breasts, and my nipples harden almost painfully.
“I want to see all of you, Tilly. Every square inch of you.”
He continues placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on my thighs, moving upwards and licking the crease at the top of my leg. My whole body shivers in response.
“And, Tilly?” Connor asks before licking the crease at the top of my other thigh. “If you try to hide yourself from me again, I won’t let you come.”
I mumble something under my breath instinctively and immediately regret it. Connor’s eyes bounce up to meet mine and I squeeze mine shut like a child. His dominating demeanour has disappeared, traded instead for one of shock and pity and I can’t stand it.
“What did you just say?”
“Nothing. Please continue,” I say, gesturing to the wet mess between my legs.
“Did you say ‘What’s new?’ when I said I wouldn’t let you come?”
Oh, how I wish I hadn’t. But I had. So, let’s have another humiliating conversation while I’m sprawled naked on the bed.
“Yes.” Connor’s eyes widen in astonishment, and I feel even more weird about the situation. “I can come when I’m on my own,” I add defensively. “I’m just normally too caught up in my own head for it to happen with someone else.”
It’s because you don’t deserve to enjoy it.
My hands fist the sheets beneath them as I try to remain calm.
I didn’t intend on showing all of my crazy to Connor in one day.
I was planning on drip-feeding it over several months if I can keep him interested for that long.
There’s been a lot for Connor to take this morning, and I hold my breath while I wait for him to realise I’m too much and figure out how he’s going to chuck me.
“Okay,” he says eventually, a hint of anger in his voice.
Is he angry with me? I can’t believe I’ve messed this up already.
“We’ll discuss it properly later,” he says.
I open my mouth to protest but he quickly shuts me down.
“We will be discussing it, Tilly. But for now, let me take care of you. You’ve been waiting long enough.”
Once again, Connor pushes my knees apart, spreading me wide.
His hot breath skims my skin as he lowers his head.
I let out a gasp when his tongue meets my wet slit and moan when he finds my clit.
I let my head drop back onto my pillow and close my eyes, focusing on Connor’s touch and how fucking fantastic it feels.
Connor uses his fingers to open me up and sucks my clit between his lips with a groan. My hips buck into his eager mouth and I get even wetter at the thought of him enjoying this as much as I am.
My cheeks flush and I feel my body tense. He’s faking, you moron.
“You’re overthinking it,” Connor says between licks. “Does it feel good?”
“Yes,” I gasp as he focuses his attention at my entrance, gathering up my arousal on his tongue and smearing it over my clit.
“Then just enjoy it.”
He doesn’t give me time to overthink this time.
His face is buried between my legs, feasting on me like a starving animal, sending all thoughts but him and his magic tongue out of my head.
Just when I think it can’t get more pleasurable, Connor brings a finger to my entrance and pushes it inside me.
“Connor…” I moan, my chest heaving.
“More, baby?” he asks, pumping his finger into me.
“Yes!” It comes out as a needy whine and Connor practically growls in response.
He adds a second finger and curls them up, rubbing against my inner wall, making my toes curl.
He keeps a steady pace with his fingers and returns his mouth to my clit, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm.
I thrust my hand into Connor’s thick hair, holding him against me as a vaguely familiar sensation starts to build.
“Fuck!” I cry, feeling myself teetering on the edge of an orgasm.
“Fuck, yes!” Connor responds and doubles-down on his efforts. “Come for me, baby.”
And I do. My body spasms uncontrollably, Connor still working me throughout. I cry as the overwhelming strength of the orgasm takes over my body, making my back arch and fingers grip Connor’s hair so tight I start to worry he might be left with a bald patch.
As I start to come down, Connor removes his fingers from inside me and kisses his way up my body, paying special attention to my midsection.
When he reaches my face, he kisses me deeply, and I can taste myself on his tongue.
He kisses me until my breathing returns to normal, and when he pulls away, there’s nothing but love in his eyes.
“You’re perfect, Tilly, inside and out.”
His words catch me by surprise. But even more shockingly, I find I’m starting to believe them. As I cuddle back into his chest, still half naked but not as concerned about it, I mull it over.
Obviously, I’m not actually perfect, but maybe I could be perfect to him.
If Connor didn’t happen to be built like a Greek God, I wouldn’t like him any less.
If he slipped up or made an innocent mistake despite trying his best, I wouldn’t judge him for it.
So maybe that same logic could be true in reverse?