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Stretched out on my bed, I keep my eyes closed while Conor fucks me. My worries peel away from my heart, leaving only serenity behind. Able to picture him perfectly, I don’t need to open my eyes to see Conor. His thick dark hair falling over his heavy-lidded eyes. His full lips begging to be kissed. His long torso, perfectly ripped, not an ounce of fat on him. His skin bronzed from the sun. His nearly tattoo-free chest and arms covered in sleeves of black and gray ink.
I consider exploring his skin, craving the reassurance of knowing his body. Yet, I remain passive. My mind quiets until all I hear is our breathing, the slight mattress grunts, and my pleasured moans.
My earlier panic fades. The fatigue and worry disappear, too. I only feel Conor inside me, his cock stretching my pussy with every thrust. I didn’t think I could feel so full or such pressure. I’m like a virgin, not new to sex as much as inexperienced with a man of Conor’s size.
My pleasure builds, softly at first, and then hotter, until I can no longer keep my eyes closed. I need to know if his expression is unreadable. Will he open up to me when he comes?
The first thing I see is Conor smirking at me.
“I knew you were about to open your eyes,” he says, leaning down to kiss me.
Wrapping my thighs around his hips, I cup his face. A part of me resents how he can read me so easily while I can’t figure him out at all. If my body wasn’t made of gooey heat, I could totally hold a grudge. But I’m in love with how great sex feels with the right someone.
The sight of Conor’s muscles flexing as he leisurely fucks my body into submission is all I need to send me into horny overload. Then, Conor does something with his hips every other thrust. This move applies just enough pressure to my clit. I slide my hands down his chest, past his scarred stomach, and to his happy trail.
“I knew I should have tied you down,” Conor murmurs as his hips speed up.
“I want us to come together.”
“No, you first. I want to see your relaxed face when I explode.”
His wording ought to make me giggle, but I’m too close to my orgasm. His voice sends a shiver through me. I feel it on my skin. The heat of it soaks my flesh, and I’m finally there.
I shudder from the blinding heat I’ve never experienced before with a man inside me. This is no vibrator kind of orgasm. I actually want to scream and cry. My nails dig into his arms, holding on to the only thing that feels real.
Before I can catch my breath, Conor thrusts harder. He’s at the brink after seeing me come apart. I continue to cry out his name as if I’m performing a ritual. I embrace both the pleasure and pain as his cock takes every inch my body offers.
I don’t dare look away from his face. He’s all I see. His frosty demeanor is already cracked around the edges. He’s opening up to me. I don’t think Conor has a choice. The way his body moves now is wild, desperate for relief. Conor can no longer hide from me.
And I see an emotional whirlwind in his eyes when he finally comes inside me. At that moment, Conor throws open the door to his heart. I grip him tighter. How can I keep it open for me always?
With no answer, I can only hold on and soak in this amazing feeling. We move together until no pleasure is left, yet I’m still unwilling to stop.
“No,” I mumble when he tries to roll off me. “Let me hold you.”
“I’ll be right here,” he says, breaking free.
Both his tone and the strength he uses to create distance between us signal Conor’s done with me. I don’t know how to react. His expression is so cold now. The mood in the room is as chilly. Feeling alone, I miss my mom. Images hit me in the dark room—Zella’s blank stare when I found her, Lowell’s disappointed expression tonight, Mom’s voice when she said she wasn’t coming home, and Clive’s indifference when he announced I was getting married off. The world is suddenly very lonely.
Conor presses his sweaty body against mine, wraps an arm across my chest, and kisses my temple.
“Some time back, I was working with Anders,” he says, as his hot breath warms my already sweaty forehead. “I asked him about married life. As you’ve probably noticed, he isn’t a chatty man. He just said it was good. I asked if the sex was still good. You know, because married people with kids always bitch about their sex lives. He nodded his big head and said, ‘No fuck is as good as with his honey.’ I get that now.”
I shove him back and frown. “You’re messing with me.”
“Not even a little.”
“You run hot and cold. You say sweet things, but I don’t know if you mean them.”
Conor doesn’t react to my outburst. He just presses himself closer to me. “I can’t be an open book, Monroe,” he says softly. “I don’t know how. Maybe I never did. This is me. Is that enough?”
Studying his handsome yet indifferent face, I ask, “But you do care, right?”
“You’re why I don’t want to run. That’s not something anyone else gives me.”
Blinking too much, I try to hear the meaning behind his words. Is he really saying he cares? Am I being played? Am I fooling myself? I feel as if I’m investing too much in this man. He’s so easy to want. Today exhausted me, but he was the shining light through it all. That’s real, isn’t it? Or am I so desperate for a connection that I’m creating a bigger one than is happening?
“I don’t know you,” I whisper as he holds my gaze. “You don’t know me, either. Today was great, but we’re strangers, and I’d be stupid to trust this.”
Despite my words, I really want to believe in Conor and what’s happening between us. He’s a dream of a guy—handsome, smart, funny, sexy, good in bed, willing to put up with my shit. And I’m comfortable with him.
Except for right now, when I’m at my most vulnerable. But earlier, I felt as if Conor was someone I’d always known. That’s why I was slamming into his bumper car like a moron and dancing around in my underwear as if I’m the hottest stripper in the club. I’d convinced myself that the universe deemed us soulmates and nothing could stop what was happening.
“I shall allow you to explore my fine body now,” he says, leaning back onto the bed to provide easier access to all his hotness.
Though I don’t want to leave Conor’s arms, I force myself to sit up. He’s stretched out on my bed, filling it with his powerful body. Earlier, I wanted to know about his tattoos, but my gaze focuses instead on the scars across his hard stomach.
“How did you get these?” I ask, leaning forward to kiss the damaged flesh.
Conor’s green eyes flash with an emotion that’s gone before I can read its meaning. “I trust women too much, always assuming the best in them.”
“Why?”
“Because the meanest woman I’ve ever met is also the first one to own my heart. I see my mom in those bitches, so I hesitate.”
“Why would a woman hurt you like this?”
“She was the girlfriend of one of the men I was hunting.”
“The men who killed your father,” I say, noticing his frown since we’ve never spoken of the Killing Joes Motorcycle Club. “Amity told me about how you went away for a month to find the men.”
“Aja and I traveled to Cleveland to kill what was left of the club.”
“How did that happen? Like how did you even know about her? And do you have contact with your brother?”
“No, on him. My brother wasn’t interested in our father or me. When Wheels died, he just wanted to know if he inherited any money. The guy’s a tweaker.”
“I’m sorry he sucks.”
“I enjoy knowing I’m the only good son Wheels made. Real ego boost.”
Wearing a faint smile, I ask, “How did you meet Aja?”
“Her mom ambushed me when I was a teenager,” he says and then hears how that sounds. “I stopped by a Burger King as I did every day after school. I didn’t want to go home, and there was nowhere else to hide. So, I would go inside and fuck around for a few hours. One time, Francesca was there with Aja.”
Frowning, I can’t imagine my mother pulling such a move. Of course, Needy didn’t have anyone scary backing her up like Aja’s mom does.
“What did she want?”
“She said my sister asked to meet me, but no one would let that happen. Francesca isn’t accustomed to being denied, so she ambushed me and asked if I wanted to meet Aja.”
“Did you?”
Conor looks at the ceiling, and I sense he’s about to lie or hide from me. “I told her no. What did I want with some kid my father made with another woman? Sharing blood didn’t make us family.”
“Did she freak out?”
“No, she just looked at Aja sitting at a booth and shook her head. Francesca had warned her that I might say no.”
Catching on to how he steps around the truth, I ask, “You told her that you didn’t want a sister but was that the truth?”
Conor instantly frowns at me. “Of course, I wanted a sister. I was lonely, Monroe.”
The anger in his gaze startles me, and I lose my confidence. Why am I sitting naked with this stranger? I need to create space between us. But my fear quickly triggers my temper. Now, I refuse to leave. Instead, I demand the truth from this naked stranger.
“So why did you say no?”
“I was fifteen. That’s what teenage boys do,” he says before his anger creeps back behind his cold exterior. “But, also, what good was knowing Aja, anyway? She couldn’t hang out with me. When life at my house got too loud, she wouldn’t be there to hide with me until the noise went away. She was just some girl in another state. What was the point?”
Studying Conor, I think of how he behaves with me. When I get upset, he backs off. He has a soft spot for women. No way did he really tell Aja no that day. I mean, obviously, they eventually became friends. However, I don't believe he looked at a disappointed girl’s face and walked away. Conor’s problem is that he cares too much. That’s why he puts up with my drama when he could have someone with less baggage.
“What was she like that day?” I ask, skipping to the part where he must have sat down.
Remaining silent, Conor takes my hand and studies my face. He doesn’t trust me with the truth.
“She made me feel seen,” he finally says. “And I thought about how our father didn’t want her, but she still smiled a lot. Aja’s good at focusing on what she has and not what she lacks. Made me wonder if I could do the same thing.”
“But it’s not that easy to reprogram yourself.”
Conor blinks a few times and then shakes his head. “I have a festering wound inside me. It’s always been there. I first remember feeling it when I was maybe five. My mom hid in the closet with me, crying and raging. I felt such fear at what was going to happen to us. But, of course, nothing did.”
“And you learned to hide your wound.”
“Because I didn’t think people cared,” he says, struggling to conceal a lifetime’s worth of resentment. “I see now how I could have asked for help. But I was a kid, and people acted as if Barbie’s crazy bullshit was just annoying. For a long time, I didn’t know if her mood swings were normal. The Parrish family is strong-willed regarding ignoring painful realities.”
Conor’s mournful sigh makes sexing up his body feel like a betrayal. He doesn’t need me to fuck him. Conor wishes to be acknowledged. Not the surface stuff everyone applauds. That scared little boy still lives inside him, hiding behind the cool-guy exterior the older version of him created.
“Many people let their festering wounds infect every part of them,” I say, resting his hand on my knee and holding his gaze. “You found a way to control the pain. If that means I can’t read your face, I’ll have to accept what you’re able to offer.”
“Just like that?”
“Fuck no,” I say, and he smiles at my grumpy tone. “I need you to show me everything. But I’m also accustomed to sacrificing for the people I care about. And you’re special to me.”
“I was worried you would ruin the beauty of your words by glancing at my dick while you spoke. I’m proud of you for keeping your eyes on my face.”
Grinning at his attempt to distract from troublesome feelings, I crawl closer and kiss his pout.
“I see you,” I whisper against his lips before pulling away. “Today, I noticed how you wanted answers from me, yet you never pushed too hard. Or how you didn’t dominate me even though you could. You were like a surfer riding the waves of my moods. I saw how you maneuver other people, too. You seem relaxed, but you’re always working shit out up here,” I say and lean forward to kiss his forehead. “I see you, Conor Jessup.”
His chilly gaze thaws with the warmth he hid from me earlier. I feel how much Conor wants to fuck again. But he’s more than horny. Conor needs to erase every barrier between us, to own me completely so I’ll never stop seeing the real him.
