31. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THEO
Ithrow my bedroom door open and pull up short at the sight of Connor sitting on my fucking bed, surprise dropping straight through my stomach as his head snaps up and those bright blue eyes lock onto mine.
I shove the door closed, my pulse tripping beneath my skin, leaning back against the shut door.
Connor shoots to his feet, his hands running down the front of his t-shirt, smoothing fabric that isn’t creased, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.
My attention catches on his mouth, memory supplying exactly what it feels like against mine, and I drag my eyes back to his with a quiet breath. “What are you doing here, Connor?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, moving away from the bed to lean against the desk, his shoulders sitting up by his ears, nothing relaxed about him as his eyes move over me.
They fall to the front of my shirt, the one he buttoned earlier, hesitating there.
“So you do know how to use my name?”
I snort, pushing away from the door, grateful for something familiar to grab onto. “Yeah, I know how to use it.”
My fingers find the first button of my shirt and work it loose, and when Connor’s eyes drop to follow them, I undo another just to see if he’ll keep watching. “I just choose not to.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and for one brief moment he looks almost like himself with me again before his lips press together and it’s gone.
“And now?” he asks softly.
My fingers pause on the next button, and when I look up, he’s standing beside my bed with his hands buried in his pockets, watching me in that quiet way that has spent the last few days making me question every decision I’ve made around him.
I can’t do it again. I can’t keep trying to work out what every look means when Connor gets close only to panic, touches me only to pull away, gives me just enough to make me think he wants this before reminding me that he doesn’t.
I turn away from him, forcing my fingers back to the buttons. “You should leave.”
The words feel fucking awful coming out, which is probably a good indication I should’ve said them a long time ago.
I cross to the dresser and grab the drawer, but it barely moves before Connor’s hand comes down over mine and shoves it closed.
His other hand closes around my arm and turns me, leaving me backed against the dresser with Connor right there. My shirt is still hanging open, and his eyes drop, slipping over the bare skin of my stomach before coming back to mine.
“I don’t want to,” he breathes.
I tip my head back, breaking eye contact because looking at him from this close is already wrecking my self-control. “Don’t do this, princess.”
My voice comes out rough, the nickname nowhere near as teasing as it should be.
Connor’s hand slides to my hip, palm resting warm against the bare strip of skin there, my stomach pulling taut beneath his touch.
He pulls me forward until I’m flush against him, his hips pressing into mine. My breath catches in my throat, and his fingers bite deeper into my hip in response, his thumb brushing over my stomach.
I tip my head farther back, unable to look at him, but that only leaves my throat exposed when Connor moves closer, his chest brushing mine and the warmth of his breath slipping across the sensitive skin beneath my jaw. My fingers clamp around the dresser behind me.
Fuck. Looking at him might actually be safer.
“Theo.”
My name brushes hot across the skin beneath my jaw, and I close my eyes, gripping the dresser behind me until the edge bites into my palms.
“Connor,” His name catches on the way out, barely making it past the pressure in my throat. I swallow, but it doesn’t clear. “Don’t fucking do this to me.”
Connor’s thumb sweeps slowly over my hip, tracing the edge of my shirt before slipping beneath it again. The steady pressure of his body keeps me pinned between him and the dresser, his mouth hovering above my throat.
“Don’t make me leave.”
My eyes open and I finally look at him, only to find his face tipped up towards mine, close enough that the smallest movement would put his mouth against mine.
Connor’s fingers dig into my hip, keeping me pressed against him while the edge of the dresser bites into my palms behind me.
I hold on harder, because I can already feel myself giving beneath his hands.
He came here. He’s asking me to let him stay, and fuck, I want to give him exactly what he’s asking for.
I just don’t know if I can survive him changing his mind again.
“You have no idea what you’re asking me right now.” My voice cracks slightly on the last word, and Connor’s eyes drop to my mouth.
“Then tell me.”
My forehead drops against his shoulder, a rough breath breaking out of me. “This isn’t fucking fair.”
I grip the edge of the dresser until it bites into my palm because if I let go, I already know exactly where my hands are going.
“You can’t,” I shake my head against him, frustration catching in my throat. “You don’t get to keep doing this to me.”
Connor goes still against me, and I grip the dresser harder because I’ve already said too fucking much and somehow it still isn’t enough.
Every time he puts his hands on me, I believe this.
Believe him. Then he pulls away, and I’m left feeling like a fucking idiot for forgetting that wanting me never seems to last past the moment.
His fingers slide beneath my chin, my breath stalling as he tips my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes, and fuck him for touching me so gently when his other hand is still gripping my hip like he can’t bear to let me move an inch away.
“This really isn’t fair,” I say, the words rough in my throat.
“I know,” he sighs, his thumb dragging slowly along my jaw while his eyes hold mine.
“Fuck, I know, baby.”
Connor’s breath catches, his thumb going still against my jaw before his fingers slide slowly around the side of my neck, keeping my face tipped towards his as he closes what little space is left.
My pulse kicks hard against Connor’s palm, impossible for him to miss as his gaze slips from my eyes to my mouth.
“But I can’t-” his breath touches my lips, warm and uneven, drawing me firmly against him. “I can’t stand here pretending it’s not fucking killing me thinking about Tristen having his hands on you.”
My grip shifts against the dresser as Connor drops his forehead to mine, his thumb still moving slowly beneath my jaw.
“I’ve been thinking about it since you left,” he admits, breath warm against my mouth. “His hands on you. His mouth.”
The words go straight through me, my breathing turning rough as Connor keeps his eyes on mine.
“Connor.”
“I know.”
My chest fucking aches.
“He didn’t,” I say, looking away. “He didn’t touch me.”
I can’t tell him I spent half the date thinking about the way he’d buttoned my shirt outside his flat.
That every time Tristen leaned closer, all I could see was Connor backed against that wall telling me he didn’t want someone else touching me.
That apparently one night with him was enough to make being there with anyone else feel fucking wrong.
Connor’s hands move down my sides, palms dragging over my waist before slipping around the backs of my thighs.
“What are you—”
I curse as he lifts me, my hands flying to his shoulders, legs closing around his waist as he pulls me against him, and the rough sound that leaves his throat sends heat straight down my spine.
“Good,” he growls.
His mouth finds my neck, lips moving over the skin beneath my jaw, and my head tips back as everything I told myself about keeping him at a distance starts slipping straight through my fingers.
“Fuck.” My hands bunch in his shirt, pulling him closer even while the words scrape their way out. “You’re gonna hate me in the morning.”
Connor’s mouth stills against my throat.
“I might hate me in the morning,” I admit, quieter.
Connor kisses me, my resistance going with it.
I kiss him back, fingers knotting in the front of his shirt, relief hitting me so hard it hurts. His mouth is on mine. His palms warm against my skin, and for a few seconds I let myself have that without thinking about what happens when morning comes.
Connor pulls back, and I hate the distance until his eyes drop between us and I realise he isn’t pulling away at all. His gaze moves slowly over my chest, lingering on every inch of exposed skin with an intensity that makes it difficult to breathe.
“Look at you.”
My chest aches with the way he says it, and I turn my face away before I can start believing him again. “Don’t lie to me.”
Connor’s fingers slide along my jaw and turn me back towards him. Anger flashes across his face, quick and sharp, but it dies the second our eyes meet, his mouth tightening as guilt pulls his brows together.
“I didn’t lie to you, Theo.”
I swallow.
“You called it a mistake.”
“That doesn’t mean I lied.”
Connor kisses me, easing me back onto the mattress as he follows until his weight settles over me. His mouth leaves mine only to find my jaw, then the sensitive skin beneath it, every kiss slower than the last.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my throat.
My fingers fist in the sheets as I squeeze my eyes shut, because hearing it again hurts almost as much as I fucking want it.
I believed him last time.
That’s what scares me.
Because lying here beneath him with his mouth against my skin and that word still warm between us, I can already feel myself believing him again.
“Fuck.”
Connor’s mouth moves across my collarbone, teeth nipping until it stings before his tongue passes over the same spot. My stomach pulls tight, and I look down, only to find those blue eyes already fixed on my face.
Watching.
Waiting for every fucking reaction.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
The corner of Connor’s mouth lifts against my skin, his hand sliding down my stomach and over the waistband of my jeans, his palm closing around my cock through the denim and squeezing, dragging a rough moan from my throat.
“If it means no one else gets to look at you.”