Текст книги "Taking Connor"

Автор книги: B. N. Toler

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

The summer days move on, long and lazy, the way they should. Vick and I see each other every night for the next two weeks. Somehow Jeff manages to get the few odd jobs I had for him done, but he avoids me at all costs, and once they’re completed he doesn’t even ask for the remainder of the money I owe him. I stopped by their house to drop it off, but no one answered the door. I’ve called Wendy almost every day, and she won’t answer my calls. It hurts that they’re giving me the cold shoulder when all I was trying to do was help.

Connor and I barely speak. When we do, it’s polite. He helps carry groceries in, and he’s changed the oil in my car, but conversation has been minimal. Dusty has started working with Connor. They’re rebuilding an old sports bike, and he’s always very chatty with me when he sees me. But I can’t deny . . . the tension between Connor and me is bothering me. I seldom fall asleep without it drifting through my mind.

Roxy has also been over more, always inviting me to join them for dinner or whatever outing they’re about to go on. Not that I would have accepted the invitation under the circumstances, but the way Connor’s eyes always seem to drift away when she asks speaks volumes. Of course, I always decline. Like I need to see Connor and Roxy side by side. Ugh! It’s bad enough she spends the night, and I’m tortured thinking about what they’re doing, wondering if he kisses her anything like he kissed me. I hate myself for thinking about it.

So I’ve focused on Vick. Handsome, funny and charming Vick. We go hiking, fishing, shopping, and I even join him and his uncle on a late night job and help paint. When he brings me home afterward, he opens his truck door for me and helps me out. The first bay of the garage is open and the second is closed. My heart beat speeds up a bit. Vick and Connor haven’t met yet. Somehow I’ve avoided having them in one place at the same time. Taking a deep breath, I pray Connor doesn’t come out of the garage.

“Fuck!” a deep voice yells scaring me to death. I rush inside the garage to see what’s happened. Connor is kicking the bike he and Dusty have been working on, but not hard enough to do any real damage to it. He’s shirtless, and his face is red, the large veins down his neck and arms are popping out as his body is tensed in anger.

“Are you okay?” I pant, fear pumping adrenaline through my veins.

His gaze whips up to mine, and he opens his mouth to respond, but his line of sight moves directly behind me, and his mouth snaps shut. Looking over my shoulder, I see Vick standing behind me.

“Everything okay?” Vick asks me, cautiously as he eyes the garage.

Looking back to Connor, I ask, “Is it? You scared me to death.” I give a little smile, hoping he knows I was only worried about him.

“I’m good,” Connor grumbles. “Sorry I scared you.”

There’s a proper etiquette when you happen to be the person who knows two people that don’t know each other, and you’re standing right in front of them.

You should introduce them.

Dear Abby would smack me right now.

Because for some reason, my manners have escaped me, and Vick takes the lead.

I explained to Vick who Connor is, so he’s aware of the situation—minus the ‘we almost had sex weeks ago’ part—but this is the first time there’s been an opportunity to meet.

Walking up to Connor, gingerly stepping over tools and random parts, Vick holds out his hand. “I’m Vick, Demi’s boyfriend.”

What? Are we using that word? My eyes widen at his admission and Connor’s eyes narrow as he looks from Vick to me. I quickly tame my features and look away, unsure of what to say here. I mean, I guess Vick is my boyfriend. We’ve been dating, right? And we did agree to see one another exclusively, so yeah, boyfriend would be a term one might use to describe his place in my life. But why does it feel . . . off?

Connor gives his hand a quick shake and says, “Nice to meet you.” Giving Vick and me a quick once over, he notes, “Painting today?”

Vick smirks as he looks back at me. “Yeah, Demi joined me and my Uncle on a job. Though I think she got more paint on herself than the walls.”

“Looks that way,” Connor agrees though his eyes are staring at his bike. Maybe only because I know him well, it’s extremely obvious that he does not want to talk to Vick.

“Yeah, well, my walls still turned out better,” I joke.

Vick steps over the parts and approaches me. “You did a great job, hon,” he coos as he gives me a chaste kiss. Heat racks my body, embarrassment setting in. When Vick pulls away, Connor shakes his head and yanks a rag off the table next to him, wiping his hands. Suddenly, I just want to go. I just want to get as far away from Connor as possible.

“Care for a glass of wine before you go?” I offer as I move to exit the garage.

“Definitely,” Vick agrees enthusiastically.

“Don’t let her have too much,” Connor yells, causing me to turn, not understanding what he means. “Sometimes when she gets drunk she blacks out and can’t remember anything.”

Ouch.

Did my stomach just drop to the ground? Wow. Connor just took a shot at me. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged the night we kissed since I pretended to be so drunk I didn’t remember what happened. Now, he’s calling me out.

Right now?

Really?

I’m floored. I can’t even process this moment.

“She seems like she handles herself pretty well,” Vick disagrees as he throws an arm over my shoulders.

“You two have a good night.” Connor snorts, ignoring him as he turns his back to us.

Looking down at me, paint spackled all over me, Vick smiles as he takes my hand and leads me inside to my kitchen. My heart is still hammering in my chest. Connor is mad at me. Now I know, for sure, I’ve hurt him—or at least made him angry. He just made it abundantly clear. But he’s with Roxy. How can he even have the audacity to be mad at me? At the sink, Vick wets a paper towel and brushes some of my hair from my face.

“Damn, you have some beautiful eyes, woman,” he groans as he dabs the napkin on my face. I force myself to smile at his compliment and try my best to shake thoughts of Connor.

“Yours are pretty nice, too,” I retort.

He stops dabbing and stares at me, our eyes locked, heat seeping up my body and blanketing my face. But I’m not embarrassed. I’m . . . turned on. These last few weeks have been incredible. Vick has been patient, attentive, and hasn’t once crossed a line with me. And although Connor and our heated . . . night still lingers in my mind. I can’t deny I’m attracted to Vick. But there is something . . . something I can’t put my finger on that keeps me from wanting to throw myself at him. I’m excited to see him every time we meet. I love his smile, and he always makes me laugh like crazy, but that feeling of . . . zha-zha-zsu is missing. When I fell in love with Blake, I craved him. He devoured my every thought. There wasn’t a night where he wasn’t the last thought to drift through my mind or a morning I awoke where he wasn’t the first thought to enter my mind. I was smitten. Maybe you only get that one time in your life? Maybe we are all only promised one true love? Maybe I’ll never feel that again?

But deep down I know that’s not true.

My love for Blake could never be compared, but I know I can still feel those kinds of feelings for someone.

I know this because I feel them for Connor.

Add in the tortured dynamic of forbidden love and I’m your modern day Juliette.

“I’m still waiting,” Vick whispers as he softly brushes his lips against mine.

“Waiting for what?” I mumble against his mouth.

“For you to be ready. I’ll wait until you tell me you’re ready, okay?”

I kiss him quickly and pull away, turning to the sink and washing my hands. I don’t want to discuss sex right now. I don’t want to even think about it, so I don’t answer. Vick watches me for a long moment, waiting for my response, but to his credit lets it drop and starts teasing me about my painting skills. We turn on some music and share a bottle of wine in the living room before he heads home. But when I go to bed that night, I wonder if maybe I’m just scared. Is that why the thought of having sex with Vick feels so . . . foreign? Granted, I wasn’t scared with Connor the other night, but I was drunk, and alcohol can definitely take the edge off.

I roll on my side and punch my pillow a few times as if it’s the pillows fault I can’t sleep. The truth is, the Vick sex thing isn’t what’s keeping me up. It’s Connor. Of course, it is. He’s angry with me, and it bothers me so profoundly that my insides ache. I hate myself for playing dumb and acting like I was too drunk to remember what happened. After another hour, I jerk the blankets back and head downstairs to get a glass of water. Standing on my tiptoes, I peek out the kitchen window. Connor is cleaning up the garage, his shirt off, and all I can do is stare. His hands are tinted with grime and oil from working on the bike, and his face is scruffy with a few days old beard. I reach my hand up and rub my neck, feeling tension gripping my muscles. I gulp my water, my gaze never leaving him as he sweeps the floor, the muscles in his back flexing as he moves. I have no idea how long I watch him, but I can’t seem to look away, even when my hand drifts down and my thumb dances over my hardened nipple straining against the fabric of my shirt. He walks to the back of the garage, out of sight, and I close my eyes trying to remember the feel of him against me. Letting my hand drift down further, I slip it under the band of my shorts and panties until I reach my core. The moment I touch my clit a thrill so intense shoots through me it makes me lurch forward and moan. But it’s short lived as the glass in my hand slips and breaks in the sink. Cursing, I snap to and back away. Another glass lost to me fantasizing about Connor.

Shaking my head, I leave the glass and rush back upstairs. These feelings are insane. I shouldn’t want him this way. It’s wrong. I know it is. And I realize now, maybe I am in need of physical contact. Maybe I do need to feel a man intimately, and somehow in my desperation, I’ve warped thoughts into a fantasy that Connor is that man.

Lying back down, I take a deep breath. Vick is amazing. He’s incredibly handsome and funny. Maybe I’m not in love with him . . . yet, but that might come with time. And so what if it doesn’t? I’m not a mutant. We all need sex. Would it be so terrible to share that with Vick knowing he may not be my next great love? I don’t think so. And maybe, just maybe, he could sate me; scratch that itch.

Maybe if I make love to Vick, just maybe I will stop wishing I could make love to Connor.

I wake up with a new outlook and determination. I’m going to embrace my sexuality. I’m going to stop making sex about love and happily ever after’s, and I’m going to open myself up to the idea of fulfilling my physical needs. Tonight is the night. I’m ready. And I know Vick is too. Tonight I will make love to a man after three years of hardly any physical contact. My stomach is in knots, but that’s normal . . . I think. Right?

I spend the day cleaning my house and going through my closet and drawers, getting rid of old clothes, anything to keep my mind occupied, so I don’t overthink tonight. When the afternoon rolls around, I lay out my sexiest dress and pull out my laciest bra and panties. As I get ready, I take my time, hoping I can make myself look halfway as good as my sister would. Lexi would be ideal to help me with this, but I don’t want her to know I’m planning on going all the way with Vick tonight. She’d probably climb on my roof with a megaphone and announce it to the world. But even without her help, I manage just fine. In the end, my dress fits like a glove, my legs look stellar in heels, and my dark hair is curled perfectly, draping softly over my shoulders and down my back. I’m not sure what to do about the fear in my eyes. More eyeliner maybe? Saying the words, I want to have sex with you, to Vick, seems impossible. I’d probably choke on spit trying to. I’m hoping the outfit will be enough—that it will do all of the talking for me. Vick and I agreed to meet at a little restaurant on the edge of town tonight at 7:00 pm. Around 6:30 pm, I head downstairs and look out my kitchen window to make sure Connor was nowhere in sight.

Coast is clear.

My clutch pressed tightly to me, I scurry out the back porch and down the stairs. I’ve just rounded the corner of the house when I stop in my tracks. Connor is leaning against a white car, arms crossed as he stares at a woman who is flailing her arms and talking animatedly. I don’t know if I should just try to sneak around them or go back inside to give them privacy. She’s a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and a short, but thin figure. Is this an ex of his? Or maybe a woman he hooked up with giving him hell for not calling?

I shake my head and roll my eyes. I thought more of him than this. Is he sleeping with multiple women? What about Roxy? Would I have been another notch on his belt? My heart aches at the thought, but I thank God nothing more happened between us. At least I’m not this woman. With that thought, the blonde’s head whips toward me and her brows rise as she slowly looks to Connor.

“Is this her?” she asks, jabbing her thumb toward me. I narrow my eyes in suspicion. What has Connor gotten me dragged into? A jealous lover’s quarrel?

“Look,” Connor says, sternly, as he stands to his full height causing the woman to step back. “You’ve said your peace. I’m sorry for your troubles, but coming here isn’t the solution to them. I’ll pass along what you’ve told me. You should go.”

I’m standing like a statue, watching them, wondering what I should do. But however direct Connor’s statement to this woman might have been, she’s not taking a hint. She turns on her heel and marches toward me.

“You’re sleeping with my husband, aren’t you?” she asks as she stops in front of me.

“Lady,” Connor warns as he moves to step between us, blocking me from her. “You need to go.”

All I can do is stare wide-eyed, unsure of what I’m being accused of. Sleeping with her husband? Is she talking about Connor? No, there’s no way he’s married.

She raises her left hand modeling a small diamond ring. “Vick,” she says, simply. “He’s my husband, and you’re fucking him.”

My mouth drops open as my stomach flips.

Vick?

Vick is married?

“Three years,” she adds as she drops her hand. “I’m pregnant with our second child.”

My heart hammers in my chest as I stumble back and catch myself against the side of the house. Connor quickly turns and pulls me up, holding me as I process.

Vick is married.

Vick is married.

Vick has a kid and one on the way.

Vick is married.

Even witnessing how this news has knocked the wind out of me, blondie continues. “Told him I was pregnant two months ago. When I woke up the next morning, he’d cleaned out our savings account and took off. His mother wouldn’t tell me where he was until I threatened to never let her see her grandkids.”

I move my gaze to her and see she’s watching me. I’m giving her exactly the reaction she wanted. Vick may be a deadbeat husband and father, but that’s not my fault. She came here to punish him by hurting me. She knew telling me would ruin any chance he had with me, which is one hundred percent true, but her method of doing this was harsh. She didn’t have to hurt me to hurt him. Or maybe she did, but she could’ve been nicer . . . or more delicate.

Connor turns back to her. “You’ve said your peace. Now go,” he orders her.

Blondie backs away and shakes her head. “Should’ve known he’d go for the first easy piece of ass in town,” she jabs.

Connor lurches forward, but I grab his arm, stopping him. I know he wasn’t going to hurt her, but he was probably about to yell some choice words. Stepping around him, I look her in the eye. “We haven’t slept together. I’m not sure if that’s what you want to know or not. But you have my word we haven’t done anything beyond kiss.”

Her blue eyes run up and down me, her distaste of me evident. “Women that wear dresses like that are looking for more than kissing.”

My fists clench at my sides as I fight to maintain calm. I don’t need to stoop to her level. I don’t need to insult her. I don’t know her, and she doesn’t know me, which makes this whole conversation ridiculous.

“You can leave now,” I answer with a patient smile. “I’ll let Vick know you stopped by.”

Shaking her head again, she spins around and climbs back in her car and takes off. As soon as her car is out of sight, Connor turns back to me, an unsure and sad smirk on his face. His shirt is dirty with oil and grime, and sweat covers his brow, but he looks handsome as ever.

“I tried to get her to leave before she got to you,” he manages.

“I know,” I answer numbly. Looking down at myself, I’m surprised I’m not more upset. I mean, I was going to sleep with this man tonight, and I just found out he’s a married liar. I’m angry he lied. I’m embarrassed I was so easily swindled. But deep down I’m so grateful. However rude his wife may have been, she saved me from making a huge mistake. I look down at my dress and sigh, my eyes tearing up. I’m such a fool. How could I have been so naïve? Not wanting to get emotional in front of Connor, I blink my tears back and take a deep breath,

“Looks like a waste of a good outfit,” I pout, hoping to ease the awkwardness radiating from me.

“Give me five minutes,” Connor says, as he turns and heads for the stairs to his apartment.

“What?”

“We’re going out tonight. Give me five minutes to get ready.”

He disappears inside his apartment, leaving me standing in stunned silence.

We’ve been sitting at the bar for two hours, and I am mostly drunk. The bartender has just placed a glass of water and chicken fingers in front of me. When I glance at Connor, he smiles, not looking at me.

“Eat,” he orders.

I nibble on the chicken fingers and gulp the water. I fully intend to drink more beer, but I figure it’s best not to argue with Connor about the food and water.

Another two hours pass and I’m wasted. Lexi showed up and joined me in a Vick hating rally where the more you drink, the less hate you felt. Connor has kept close all night, watching us, sipping beer and warding off women trying to catch his eye.

When Lexi takes a bathroom break, I join Connor at the bar again.

“I think every woman in this place wants to go home with you tonight,” I murmur. I know I shouldn’t say things like this to him, but I’m too drunk to care.

He chuckles and looks at me. “Not every woman,” he mumbles and sips his beer.

That was a stab at me. Does he feel like I’ve rejected him? The urge to defend myself or address the giant elephant in the room rises, but I fight it back down. Acknowledging that night might only make it worse.

“Why don’t you talk to one?” I say, jutting my chin in the direction of two blondes that won’t stop staring at him.

He sighs and runs a wide palm down his face. “They only want to fuck me because I’m a convict.”

I scowl. “How would they know that?” I ask.

“Everyone in this town knows, Demi,” he huffs before chugging down the rest of his beer and motioning to the bartender for another.

“They do?” I question, baffled. “No one has breathed a word to me.”

“That’s because they’re scared you’ll tell me.”

My heart hurts a little with this news. Connor is so . . . good. I hate the thought that people sum him up as one thing: bad.

“I’m not into that shit.”

“What shit?” I ask, shaking off my thoughts.

“Women that only want to sleep with me so they have something to gab to their friends about.”

I narrow my eyes. “Well, what shit are you into?” The question causes him to rear his head back slightly. It’s a pretty bold question. I’ll admit, I want to know. What does Connor Stevens want in the bedroom? What does he look for in a woman? I know I’m crazy for asking him, but I’m so enthralled now waiting for the answer I feel like I should have a bucket of popcorn and be sitting cross-legged on the floor.

He raises his head to the ceiling and clenches his eyes closed, but when he looks at me again, I see something I haven’t before. He drops the wall. That wall where he talks to me like I’m his cousin’s quiet and sweet widow. That wall where he works so hard to be respectable. But I’m not afraid to hear his answer. I want to know, and I refuse to back down or shy away. “If I tell you, will you tell me?” he asks.

I swallow hard. Then I shy away . . . slightly.

He certainly knows how to turn something around on a person. How did I not think this would somehow get flipped around on me? But I refuse to back down from the challenge. Maybe he thinks I’ll get shy or meek, and that’s why he seems so . . . crass, but I won’t. I’m a big girl. I can talk about what I want in bed . . . even with Connor Stevens, who happens to be the person I want in bed.

“Okay,” I agree, straightening my posture.

“It’s not just about what happens in the bedroom,” he begins.

“Okay.”

“I’m looking for a woman that . . .” he pauses and scratches the back of his neck as if stalling, searching for his next words, “can put her full trust in me.”

I stare at him a moment, hoping he’ll elaborate, but he doesn’t. So I ask, “What does that mean?”

“I have a need to . . .” again, another pause, “to take care of people. I want a woman that trusts me to do that.”

I sip my beer while I try to understand his meaning. What would it be like to be taken care of by Connor Stevens? I imagine he means in the bedroom as well. My cheeks heat at that thought. I want to ask him more, but even in my drunken state, I control myself. Connor chuckles and I snap my gaze to his.

“What?”

“You were doing some deep thinking just now.”

My cheeks just went up in flames.

“Your answer while intriguing was somewhat vague,” I sass, hoping my face isn’t as red as I know it is. “I was just trying to understand.”

“Well . . .” he looks at me.

“Well, what?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh no,” I argue. “You’re answer was vague. It didn’t really answer anything.”

“Can’t keep your end of a bargain,” he teases.

I scowl. “Yes, I can. You just didn’t answer the question.”

“You’re really not going to tell me?” he confirms.

“Do you really want to know?” I laugh.

His gaze flickers and I can feel the heat. “I definitely want to know.”

Damn.

We’re flirting.

Like . . . really flirting.

“I give as good as I get, Mr. Stevens. You give me a real answer, I’ll give you one.”

He turns in his seat, facing me. “Okay, how about we play pool and loser has to answer the question?”

“You know I’ll kick your ass,” I boast. “Just save us both the time and tell me now.”

Connor throws his head back and laughs. It’s . . . beautiful. When his dark eyes meet mine again, they’re filled with happiness, and my heart feels full at the sight of him.

“Okay, Miss Smack-talker. Maybe I’ll make a comeback tonight, huh?”

“Doubtful,” I tease as I slide off the stool.

“We’ll see,” he murmurs as he follows me to the back where the pool tables are.

It’s ten minutes later. Connor is grinning ear to ear. I’m not kidding; he’s grinning so hard my face hurts just looking at him. I haven’t moved at all in two minutes. I’m still standing here like an idiot, holding my pool stick. Connor not only kicked my ass at pool, he annihilated me. I didn’t even get to shoot. Well, I broke, but I didn’t sink one ball.

“Demi?” Lexi calls as she approaches, but I don’t respond. I still can’t speak. “You just got your ass kicked,” she points out. She watched the entire ass-kicking take place—all two minutes of it.

“Just give her a minute, Lex,” Connor advises. “She’s still processing.” The lilt in his voice can’t be missed. He’s loving every minute of this.

Before I can respond, Dusty approaches and pats Connor on the back. “Still hustling I see.”

Connor shoots his gaze to me, still grinning, “She was a worthy adversary.”

I can’t help it. I start giggling, more out of disbelief than humor. He really did hustle me. I can’t believe it. “You let me win last time?”

“Let is not the word I would use,” he says, as he chalks his pool stick.

“Oh really? What word would you use?” I retort.

“Damn,” Dusty grumbles and Connor and I both follow his line of sight. Lexi is standing on the bar, dancing. My brows rise a bit, but not in shock. Lexi dances on bars all the time, but how quickly she got to the bar surprises me. Wasn’t she just standing right here? “Excuse me,” Dusty mumbles as he leaves Connor and me to our dispute and heads toward the bar.

“So . . .” Connor preens, fighting a smile.

“So . . .” I reply.

“I think we made a deal, didn’t we?”

My heart starts thundering in my chest. Why does the idea of telling Connor what I want in bed excite me and terrify me all at once? And how in the hell did we even get on this topic? Oh, I asked . . . that’s right.

I swallow and push some of my hair behind my ear. The heat on my face could probably fry an egg right now. I haven’t moved from the place I’ve been standing. I’m still planted on the spot holding my pool stick like an idiot.

“Okay, well . . .” I begin, nervously.

When he rounds the pool table to get closer, I stumble back. I’m about to share my sexual desires with him while he’s standing close. When he reaches me, he pulls me close and turns us so that my back is to the pool table. I immediately sit on the edge, hoping I look as casual as he does, but something tells me I look like a puppy being scolded. He smiles softly at me and leans down, placing both hands on the edge of the pool table on either side me. When the side of his face touches mine, his cheek to mine, my breath hitches.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he whispers quietly, his voice gravely. “Because a woman shouldn’t tell a man what her fantasies are unless she wants that man to fulfill them.” He turns his head ever so slightly, so his mouth is against my ear, and I close my eyes, breathing him in, letting his scent travel through me, and relishing his closeness. Why can’t I fight this attraction to him? Whenever he gets close to me, my body starts firing on all cylinders. He draws a reaction out of me, and I can’t seem to fight it; it’s out of my control.

“I’ll tell you, though,” he continues. “I want a lady—a woman that blushes when asked to describe her fantasies. What I want is a woman that sees past the rough exterior and sees me . . . the man I am. I want a woman that trusts me to give her everything she needs; in her life and in bed.”

Then, he backs away slowly, softly dragging his face against mine as he moves, leaving me aching and stunned. He looks off and signals to our server for another round of drinks as if he didn’t just paralyze me with his words. There’s no doubt I’m buzzed, and maybe that’s contributing to all of these . . . feelings I’m feeling. But as I replay his words, one thing occurs to me. He said I shouldn’t tell a man my fantasies unless I want said man to fulfill them. But he told me his fantasies . . . or at least what he wants. Does that mean . . . Connor wants me to make his wants a reality? Or am I reading too much into this? Probably looking too much into this.

Shit.

He finally moves his gaze back to mine and has the sexiest smirk on his face. My body is wracked with nervous excitement, my mind a whirl with his words, but his dark stare captures me. It’s as if he knows what I’m feeling—what I’m thinking—and has the strength and patience to wait it out—to wait for me to tell him.

“I want to feel worshiped,” I blurt out. I’ve surprised him. His mouth falls into a flat line as he steps toward me, his eyes saying, Go on. I look to the floor, unsure of how to explain myself or what words to use without sounding like an idiot. His finger finds my chin, and he lifts my head, so I’m forced to meet his gaze again.

“You deserve to be worshiped,” he tells me, his tone certain.

I lick my lips and breathe in. I’m telling Connor Stevens my desires. In his mind, I’m telling him that he’s a part of those desires. Is that what I want? It is. I want him.

“I want to feel so loved and wanted that my body moves to a man unconsciously like we’re magnets—positive and negative. Like being in his presence draws me to him. I want to feel wanted and sexy. I want to feel like the man I’m with couldn’t even think of another woman because I give him everything he needs; because I am everything he needs.” When his hand cups my cheek as I look up at him, I can feel his body tensing. My admission is revving him up and feeling that; knowing that I’m affecting him this way, only makes me heady with courage. “I want it fast and rough and soft and slow. I want him to know me so well that he knows when to push my limits, how to read my body language even when my words are saying something else. I want to be so consumed with want and need that the world just doesn’t exist when I’m in your arms.”

His brows rise, and my cheeks flame with heat. I said your arms, not his arms. I blink rapidly, unsure of what to do. He’s so damn quiet, and it’s only intensifying my freak out. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and I stand. But he doesn’t back away so when I do, we’re an inch apart.

“Sorry,” I shake my head. “I think I got a little carried away there.”

His hand threads in my hair and he presses his mouth to my forehead. “That was beautiful,” he murmurs, then meets my stare again. “Thank you for telling me.”

Lexi has a failure rate of nine out of ten when it comes to interrupting at times I might actually want her to, but on this occasion, I couldn’t be happier to have her obnoxiously break up an intense moment.

“Demi,” she yells as she grabs my hand, jerking me with her as she heads toward the dance floor. “Let’s dance.” We hit the floor, and I do my best to keep up with her, but my mind, body, and heart are all tuned into one person: Connor Stevens. I shouldn’t have told him those things. It’s wrong, and I know it is. But I can’t deny . . . it felt really good.