Chapter Six
Sierra
T he screen of my phone burned against my palm, Connor’s final text, Goodnight, sweet girl , glowing like a secret I couldn’t share.
I collapsed onto my couch, the springs creaking beneath me as Toffee leaped onto my lap, purring like a motorboat. His blue eyes narrowed at the phone still clutched in my trembling hand.
“He texted me,” I whispered as if my kitty might judge me for the giddy warmth pooling between my legs again. The words felt illicit and dangerous, like admitting I’d stolen something important.
Connor Graves, the Connor Graves, had growled commands into my ear, memorized my Pinterest, and now haunted my apartment through pixels on my phone.
The memory of his huge body pressing mine against the library’s wall kept resurfacing. The way rough bricks bit into my back through my cardigan, his heat seeping into my skin.
“Next time, little librarian… I won’t be so gentle.”
His voice played on loop in my head, lower and rougher each time, until my thighs pressed together of their own accord. These yoga pants were going through it today.
I traced my bottom lip with a shaky finger, remembering how close his mouth had been to mine.
Close enough to kiss, to bite, to devour me.
The phantom pressure of his hand fisted in my curls made my scalp tingle, and I squirmed against the couch cushions, suddenly too aware of the dampness between my legs.
“Delusional,” I muttered to Toffee, who blinked slowly at me. But the evidence lingered. My skin hummed where he’d touched me, hypersensitive and craving more.
The library’s shelving had never felt smaller than when he’d knelt to check my pulse, his thumb pressing into my wrist like he owned the rhythm of my heartbeat.
Even now, hours later, his ghost clung to my clothes, subtle but undeniable. Or, was it? I lifted the sleeve of my cardigan to my nose, inhaling deeply. lavender, yes, from my body spray. But underneath it, something darker, something like him.
My cheeks flamed. Had he left his scent on me intentionally? Or, was my traitorous brain conjuring fantasies out of thin air? It smelled much stronger than it should’ve been in my apartment.
I looked at my nightstand drawer, biting my lip as I contemplated entertaining my dirty thoughts. I stood abruptly, dislodging Toffee with a yowl.
“Sorry, baby,” I murmured, scratching under his chin until his distaste melted into rumbling forgiveness. I headed into the bedroom, feeling like I was doing something wrong, given how each step seemed to echo the memory of Connor’s growl.
Good girl.
I pulled the drawer open, and there it was. My vibrator, pink and small, nestled between my books and a bottle of expired melatonin I was too scared to take. I stared at it, my breath coming quicker.
What if he knew? The thought made my ears burn. Would he approve? Would he watch?
My fingers trembled as I closed the bedroom door, locking Toffee out of my room.
I leaned against it, the silicone warm in my palm.
I studied my reflection in the full-length mirror, curls wild, cheeks flushed, my cardigan drowning me.
The woman in the glass looked wanton, desperate, alive in a way I hardly recognized.
I stepped further into the room, shimmying out of my yoga pants with clumsy urgency.
The air cooled my bare thighs, raising goosebumps as I crawled onto the bed.
The sheets smelled like fabric softener and, faintly, like him.
Delusion or not, I clung to it, pressing my face into the duvet as I clicked the vibrator to its lowest setting.
The first touch was tentative, a whisper against my clit. I hummed, my back arching as the memory of Connor’s voice overlaid the sensation.
You’re all I think about. All I want.
The vibrator buzzed louder, and I moaned into the pillow, my hips rolling upwards to meet the pressure.
“Connor,” I breathed the name, a prayer and a curse. His imagined hands replaced the toy, rough palms sliding up and swallowing my thighs, calluses scraping my soft skin.
In my mind, he didn’t ask permission. He took, claiming my body with the same intensity he’d shown in the parking lot, the library, the café. Mine, he’d snarl, pinning my wrists above my head as he licked into me.
I moaned against my pillow, toes curling as the fantasy sharpened—Connor’s mouth on my neck, his cock pressing against my thigh, thick and demanding.
The coil in my stomach tightened, pleasure building way too fast. My free hand fisted in the sheets, imagining they were his hair, his shoulders, him.
When my orgasm hit, it stole the breath from my lungs. For one blinding second, every anxious thought, the speech, the donors, the terrifying realness of Connor, evaporated. There was only heat, release, and the echo of his voice.
Good girl.
The afterglow faded too quickly as I lay sprawled on the bed, vibrator abandoned beside me, all sticky, staring at my ceiling. Shame prickled at the edges of my euphoria. Had I really just done that?
My phone glowed on the nightstand, making me want to talk to him. The him who made me do crazy things like touch myself to his memory. I snatched it before I could second-guess myself, ready to text him. The line blinked in the message field, daring me to bridge the gap between fantasy and reality.
Sierra
You left your scent on me.
I sent it before I could chicken out, and then immediately flung the phone across the bed like it might bite me, my anxiety prickling over my skin. Toffee meowed from outside my door, obviously upset that I locked him out of the room.
Three dots appeared. My heart stuttered.
Connor
Did I?
Sierra
Or I’m hallucinating…
Connor
You’d know if I did, Sierra.
The response came too fast, too certain. I sat up, clutching the phone to my chest. My gaze darted around the room, trying to calm myself. My heart thumped with nervous excitement at the thought.
Sierra
Did you?
Connor
Eat dinner.
Sierra
That’s not an answer.
Connor
Good girls don’t sass.
I bit my lip at that one.
Sierra
Maybe I’m a bad girl.
Connor
You aren’t a bad girl, Sierra.
He was right, I was the definition of a goody-two-shoes.
Sierra
What makes you so sure?
Connor
Eat dinner.
Sixteenth pin on your ‘Dates’ board. Front door.
I stared at the message, confusion and nerves coursing through me as I slipped into a pair of fuzzy pajama pants and left my room to peek out the peephole. There was no one, so I cracked it open, and there it was.
A brown takeout bag from a place I had pinned a few weeks ago. I felt everything inside of me warm all over again.
Sierra
Stalker.
Connor.
Observer.
Sierra
Same thing!
Thank you, Connor.
Connor
Now eat and rest, my sweet girl.
I wanted to push further, to question him, but his words made me feel all fluttery inside, and the bag of food smelled divine in my apartment. I was feasting like a queen for the second time today.
His sweet girl.