31. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE #2
There’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at me now, jaw set and mouth still pressed against the mark he just left on my skin.
A breathless laugh escapes me. “Oh fuck, you’re crazy.”
Connor’s fingers move to the button of my jeans, and the laugh disappears into a broken sound I don’t manage to swallow.
He works my jeans open, and I lift my hips into his hands without waiting for him to ask, my hesitation drowning beneath how badly I want him touching me.
Connor’s mouth moves lower, pressing a kiss to my hip, his palm rolling over my aching length.
My fingers twist into the sheets as Connor leaves another mark against my hip. “Possessive little bastard.”
His mouth curves against my skin, but when he looks up, the amusement fades. His hand stays over me through my jeans, no longer squeezing, while his eyes search my face.
“Okay?”
My chest aches at the quiet question.
Connor can stand in my bedroom admitting the thought of someone else touching me is driving him insane, can leave his mouth all over my skin like he wants anyone who sees me afterwards to know exactly where he’s been, and he still stops the second it matters.
“Fuck, yeah.”
He shifts between my legs, staring at the front of my jeans, fingers resting against the waistband. The confidence he had while kissing me, touching me, marking my skin has disappeared now that he’s actually here, and his tongue drags nervously across his bottom lip.
Connor’s fingers are steadier than they were a minute ago when they find the button of my jeans.
The soft pop of it opening sounds too fucking loud in the room.
I barely get a breath in before his hand slips beneath the waistband of my boxers, fingers wrapping around the base of my cock in a firm grip that has my hips lifting straight into his hand.
“Fuck.”
Connor’s breath catches.
“What do I—”
“Shit, anything, Con.”
The words come out wrecked.
My hand closes around my own cock because I need something, giving myself one rough stroke as my hips push helplessly into my fist.
“Just—” I swallow, looking down at him. “Please fucking touch me.”
Connor’s hesitation disappears the second his eyes drop, his mouth falling slightly open as he watches my hand move. His breathing deepens, nostrils flaring slightly, and when he looks back up at me, the uncertainty is gone.
Connor leans down, his breath washing hot over the head of my cock, and I tense so hard my thighs shake.
“Con—”
His tongue presses against the base of me and drags slowly upward.
My head drops back against the mattress with a stuttered curse.
Every thought in my head disappears as his tongue follows the length of me, wet and deliberate, all the way to the tip. He circles it once, like he’s figuring out what makes me react, and apparently the answer is fucking everything because my hips twitch beneath him.
Then his mouth closes around me, the heat of it nearly making me come off the bed.
My hand finds his hair, fingers tangling into the soft strands as a broken sound tears out of my throat. I try not to shove him down, keeping my grip loose enough to let him move, but then he takes me deeper, and my fingers tighten anyway.
“Jesus, Connor.”
He makes a sound around me, the vibration going straight through my cock.
My hips jerk up, pushing deeper into his mouth, and Connor pulls back slightly with a sharp breath before taking me again.
“Sorry,” I manage, loosening my grip on his hair.
He hums around me, looking up at me while his mouth is still wrapped around my cock.
Fuck me.
I tear my eyes away before that alone finishes me, reaching blindly toward the bedside table. My hand knocks against something before my fingers finally close around the bottle of lube.
I grab it and toss it down beside Connor.
He pulls off me with a wet sound, sucking in a breath through parted lips, the sight of him nearly fucking killing me.
His lips are slick and swollen, his hair a mess from my fingers, his chest rising just as hard and fast as mine.
Connor grabs the lube, squeezing some over his fingers and rubbing them together, every nerve in my body seeming to realise what’s about to happen.
My thighs shift apart, and his eyes flick down and then back to mine, his hand slipping below my balls.
The tip of his index finger trails lightly over me. He brushes lower, over the sensitive skin behind my balls, and my legs spread another inch before I can even pretend I’m not fucking desperate for it.
“Connor.”
His finger reaches my hole, circling it.
Teasing enough that my hips tilt toward his hand, trying to turn that barely-there pressure into more.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my fingers twisting into the sheets. “Don’t fucking tease me.”
“You sure?” he asks, softer now.
I almost fucking laugh.
Not because it’s funny. Because there’s nothing uncertain about the way he’s looking at me.
Connor’s eyes are dark, fixed between my legs, hunger written all over his face even while he waits for me to answer. Like he needs to hear it despite looking like he wants to fucking devour me.
I nod again, probably too fast, but I’m past caring. My body is already lifting towards his hand, chasing the touch before he’s even given it to me, every muscle strung tight with the need for more.
“Need you,” I pant, and I’d probably be embarrassed by how fucking desperate I sound if Connor didn’t groan like hearing it has just about ruined him.
The sound goes straight through me, hot and satisfying, because finally he sounds as far gone as I feel, and when his finger presses into me, my breath stops..
The first push is enough to make my body tense around him on instinct, still unfamiliar enough that I have to breathe through the pressure, but before I can adjust, Connor’s mouth closes around the head of my cock again.
“Oh, fuck.”
The sound rips straight out of me.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, trying to catch the rest, but there’s no fucking point. My whole body tightens beneath him, caught between the slow pressure of his finger working deeper and the wet heat of his mouth around me.
It’s too much and somehow still not fucking enough, every part of me overwhelmed while I’m already chasing more because the only thing I know for certain is that I don’t want him to stop.
I force my eyes open and look down, only to find Connor already watching me with my cock in his mouth, the corner of his lips pulling into a crooked little smirk around me like he’s worked out exactly how badly he’s fucking me up.
Cocky bastard.
I’d tell him that if I could get enough air into my lungs to remember how words fucking work, but then his finger curls inside me and my hips jerk against the mattress, a strangled, “Shit,” tearing out instead.
There’s nothing smooth about any of this.
Connor doesn’t really know what he’s doing. I can tell in the little hesitations, the way he watches me after every change, learning from whatever my body gives away.
And somehow that makes it so much fucking hotter.
Because he’s figuring me out.
Me.
His finger works deeper in a slow rhythm while his tongue sweeps over the head of my cock, and my hips start stuttering up into his mouth before rocking down against his hand.
Jesus Christ. Heat coils at the base of my spine, dragging everything tighter as I fist the sheets beneath me. “Fuck, Con, I’m gonna—”
His mouth disappears before I get the rest out, and the loss rips a sound from my throat that takes me a second to recognise as a fucking whine.
My head drops back against the mattress as my cock jerks uselessly against my stomach, throbbing while the orgasm that had been right fucking there starts slipping away.
“Fuck.”
My chest heaves.
I look down at him, ready to tell him exactly what kind of fucking asshole stops there, and then another finger presses into me.
The complaint dies as my thighs tense around him. “Shit, wait—”
The stretch catches me off guard, not painful, just more than I’m expecting. More pressure, more fullness, more of Connor slowly working me open somewhere no one else has ever fucking touched, and apparently that thought does something to me because my cock twitches against my stomach.
Connor’s mouth brushes the inside of my thigh, soft enough to make my stomach pull tight, completely at odds with the steady pressure of his fingers.
“Want you to come on my cock.”
My stomach clenches so hard it almost hurts, the image landing before I can stop it. Connor inside me while I come apart underneath him, those fucking blue eyes watching every second of it, knowing he’s the one doing that to me.
His fingers shift inside me, curling differently, brushing my prostate, pleasure ripping through me, my whole body bucking against the mattress.
“Fuck!”
Connor does it again, and this time my hips move, rolling down into his hand to chase the same fucking spot.
There.
Jesus fucking Christ, right there.
A groan tears out of me, broken and embarrassingly loud, and Connor makes this rough little sound against my thigh.
My cock is leaking against my stomach now, every pulse of it demanding attention, and I reach down because I need something, anything, just enough friction to take the edge off.
Connor smacks my hand away, shaking his head, and a pathetic sound catches in my throat, his eyes darkening.
Oh, he fucking likes that. Fine. If Connor isn’t going to let me touch myself, I rock down onto his fingers instead, harder this time, chasing the pressure every time he pushes back into me and making him deal with exactly what he’s started.
“Con, please.”
Jesus. I don’t even know what I’m begging him for anymore, only that whatever he’s giving me isn’t enough. I want more of it. More of him. Fuck, I think I just want everything.
His mouth closes over the inside of my thigh, sucking hard enough to leave another mark before his teeth catch against the sensitive skin.
I hiss, but Connor only drags his tongue slowly over the sting, soothing it away, and my eyes squeeze shut because the little bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.
He’s learning me way too fucking quickly.