10. Connor #3
I make my tone serious, so he knows I’m being sincere. “I’ll help you any time you like, Connor. You only have to ask.”
He nods, frowning down at his hands. “So, bet you won’t want to kiss me ever again now.”
“Why not?”
He glances up, a challenge in his eyes. “Because I’m a loser.”
“Connor, you are not a loser.”
“Sure.”
“Connor, the job … in Palo Alto….” I trail off, not knowing how to ask him if he was fired, too.
“What about it?”
“Are you … still working there?”
He lets out a huff through his nose. “Yeah, unfortunately. Scout was right, I don’t love it. ”
“So, what are you really doing here?”
He shuffles, keeping his gaze averted when he says, “I was given a six week ‘mental health break’ after I went off at my boss in a progress meeting.”
I frown, confused. “Why did you go off at your boss?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t even know. I thought I was smashing that job, like it was the one consolation—I’m good at it.
But then he started giving me all these suggestions of ways I could be better, and it was like everything just came falling down on top of me, you know?
Like I can’t be good enough at hockey to get signed, I can’t be smart enough to pass my classes and now I can’t be good enough at sales to ace this job I hate. ”
I don’t know what to say. “Connor, everyone needs to improve at things. Literally everyone. You can’t be perfect the first time. I’m sure your boss wasn’t criticizing you.”
“He wasn’t,” Connor agrees. “I was just being oversensitive because of everything that happened at Harvard.” He sighs.
“Even before the academic probation thing and getting dropped by Colorado, I was buried in the fourth line most of the time. I blamed the coach for not liking me or some shit, but it was me. I wasn’t good enough.
I just couldn’t face it at the time.” He squares his shoulders, looking at me finally.
“But I pivoted. That's one thing I am good at. I’m not gonna sit around and cry over missed opportunities.”
“Connor …” My voice is small. I don’t know what I’m going to say.
He’s watching me, waiting. “You don’t always have to …
pivot. I mean …” I fiddle with the corner of a cushion.
“I failed a class last semester. Scout says I should just drop it, but I can’t.
I know I can pass. I just have to try harder. ”
Connor swallows so loudly I can hear it. “I was kind of surprised you failed a class. What’s going on, Eli?”
My eyes are trained on the cushion as my face gets hot. “It’s Ancient Philosophy.”
Before I can explain, Connor says, “Your mom’s field.”
I nod, head down. “I can’t stop thinking about the fact I can’t ever talk to her about that stuff again….”
A lump forms in my throat and I push it down.
“Elliot, you’re allowed to cry.”
I shake my head. “I’ve cried enough.”
Connor sighs, moving close enough to put his arm around me.
I stiffen at first, telling myself I shouldn’t allow him to get too close.
The kiss was wrong. We shouldn’t repeat it.
But his smell is overwhelming and the comfort it brings far too tempting to resist. I let myself melt against his wide chest as his arms come around me, bundling me up, making me all warm and safe.
“It’s okay,” he says, rubbing my back.
“How did we end up with you comforting me ?”
When he laughs, the sound rumbles through his chest. I haven’t been comforted by a man like this since before my dad checked out.
“I’m tired,” I say, thinking about the effort it takes to worry about my dad, pass my classes, and miss my mom.
“I know.” When he says I know, I believe him. Truly believe him. His heart is beating loudly against my cheek. It forces heat to rush through me. Makes my eyelids flutter with pleasure.
I pull away enough to look up at him. His fingertips brush my cheek as he cups my face. I lean into his touch and rub my face against his huge palm, feeling the calluses on his fingertips and across the crease where he grips his hockey stick .
I turn my face enough to brush my lips across his hand and he sighs. He’s staring at me like he’s scared.
I open my mouth to ask him what’s wrong, but he cuts me off by pressing his lips against mine.
The relief of his kiss is overwhelming. It makes me forget everything else, just for a moment. When he’s kissing me like this, the only thing that exists is his mouth and his scent.
He pulls me into his lap, his arms wrapping around me so tightly that his hands are in my hair. We breathe into each other’s mouths as we kiss, hard and rough.
I rock against him, feeling his cock hardening through his pants as he grinds his hips up to meet mine.
I whimper into his mouth when he brings his hands around and under my shirt.
His warm, callused palms spread across my stomach and chest. I pull away from the kiss enough to look at him and am treated to the sight of his eyelids fluttering as I rut against him.
He slides his hands down to my waist and grips me tightly.
I’m wearing a stupid, oversize Blondie t-shirt and ratty sleep shorts, but he’s looking at me like I just stepped out of an underwear ad. When he dips his mouth to my neck and starts lavishing open-mouthed kisses on me, I have to bite my lip to hold in a moan.
I drape my arms over his shoulders and tilt my head back, sighing as his lips arouse every erogenous zone that exists on the neck.
“Fuck,” his voice is muffled against my skin, making it sound even sexier.
When he slips his hands into the back of my shorts and grabs my ass, I almost lose it. I tangle my fingers in his hair and hold on tight, fully prepared to come in my shorts. Every scrap of logic and decency evaporated the second Connor put his mouth on me.
But before I can lose it, he comes up for air, brushing my hair off my face.
He presses his forehead to mine before scooting to the edge of the couch with me still in his lap. I’m clinging on like a koala, unwilling to let go. I bury my face in his neck and cling to him.
After sliding us to the edge of the couch, he groans and tightens his grip before loosening it. He’s pushing me off him, depositing me on the couch. But before I can complain, he’s sliding down to the floor between my legs and lifting my shirt up so he can get better access to my chest.
“Connor.”
“Shh.”
My brain doesn’t compute what he’s doing at first. I never even allowed myself to consider this possibility during my teenage fantasies.
There was always something dominating about Fantasy Connor that wouldn’t allow him to get on his knees for me.
But Fantasy Connor was not Real Connor, and I’m quickly realizing that I might have never known Real Connor at all.
Real Connor pulls my shorts and boxers down in one swift movement.
I gasp when my cock springs free. His breath is hot on the tip before he licks the precum beading from my slit.
I have to clench my teeth until they hurt to stop from crying out.
Connor’s hands roam my chest and stomach as he takes me into his mouth.
I bite my lip, tasting blood when Connor swallows me to the root in one go.
His fingertips ghost over my nipples as he licks and sucks, head bobbing between my legs. Holy shit, I never imagined Connor giving such an enthusiastic blow job.
I prop one foot on the coffee table and plant my hands in his hair while he sucks me with expert skill. His head is nestled comfortably inside the triangle of my legs. My shorts pool around my ankles. He moans around me, making it so hard to stop myself from echoing him.
Anyone could come down here at any second and catch Connor on his knees in the living room, enthusiastically sucking my dick. But I can’t make myself care enough to stop him. He wouldn’t be doing this right now if he didn’t want to.
Still, as much as I want this to last forever, the longer he’s down there, the more chance we have of being caught.
“Connor, please,” I whisper.
He moves faster, sucks harder, hands moving from my chest to my hips to pull me closer, holding me in a vice-like clamp.
I have to put a cushion over my face to mask my moans.
I tug his hair tight to warn him I’m close.
When he keeps going at the same pace, I pull the cushion off my face long enough to tell him, “I’m gonna come. ”
It only makes him double his efforts. One of the hands tightly gripping my hip slides down to cup my balls. His fingers slide down over my taint until they reach my ass. He only has to ghost a touch over my hole for me to lose it.
I bite the cushion pressed against my face to stop from making a sound.
Connor’s mouth is warm and wet as it milks me dry. He’s still lapping me up when I start to shudder and push him away.
I’m dazed as I try to catch my breath and listen to my heart rate steady itself. My head’s pounding and my skin tingles all over. No one has ever given me a full-body orgasm like that from a blow job.
“Wow,” I say when I can manage words again .
Connor crawls back up onto the couch beside me. A low laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah.”
He looks blissed out, like he’s the one who just got the best blow job of his life. His hair is a mess from where I was pulling at it. His lips swollen and his clothes rumpled.
I pull my pants up, realizing I’m still sitting here with my dick out. Connor must have swallowed my cum. He must have licked me clean. My face floods with heat as I right myself.
“How did you get so good at that?”
“Practice?” he says with a coy smile.
“Don’t. I hate everyone you’ve done that to.”
“You asked.” He laughs. “We’re lucky no one came down her and caught us.”
I think of Scout upstairs in bed and that guilt threatens to come flooding back. But then I glance at Connor and he’s watching me with desire in his eyes, licking his lips. His cock straining against his pants.
“Can I—” I gesture to the tent in his sweats.
He shakes his head.
“Not now. We got lucky.”
“But—”
“It was good for me, too,” he says, eyes traveling to my shorts as he licks his lips, like he’s thinking about my dick and getting off on it. I’ve never had someone worship my dick before.