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Forty-three
Conner
Ican do this.
I can fuck Henley without it meaning anything.
I can.
I did it last night. I can do it again.
Yeah, but you didn’t know who she was last night, did you, fuckstick? Last night you thought she was just some random you’d never give a second thought to. And you wouldn’t have if she’d had the decency to stay random. But now you know.
Yeah. Now I know.
Now, fucking her is all I can think about.
“Conner?”
She’s looking up at me.
Waiting.
“Fuck.” Before I can blink, I’m dragging her off the doorjamb and down to the floor until she’s flat on her back in my kitchen. Kneeling between her open legs, I stare down at her. Fiery red hair spilled out across the scarred hardwood floor. Cheek flushed. Lips slightly parted like she’s having a hard time breathing. Shirt open, exposing the creamy white skin of her belly. Her lace-clad breasts. Her glistening, wet pussy.
Mine.
That’s all I can think.
Mine.
“Was it that asshole at the bar?” I have no idea where the question comes from. All I know is that now that I’ve asked it, I have to know.
“What?” She frowns up at me, her dark glaze sharpening slightly.
“Dalton.” When I say his name, her eyes narrow. “Is he the one who’s been touching you?” It’s completely irrational. He’s just a guy she knows. Someone from home she ran into by coincidence. I know that. But what I know doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make a goddamned bit of difference, what’s rational. What’s sane.
It never did when it came to her.
“You said you and your fiancé aren’t—what was the word you used… intimate.” She blushes asI move over her, planting my hands on either side of her head, our faces so close I can see the faint smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose. “You and Mr. Bradford don’t fuck, so it can’t be him, right?” I give in a little, sink a little lower to brush my lips against her cheekbone.
“I haven’t—I never…” She shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it. “I was a virgin before last night.” She says it to my shoulder, a soft flush spreading across her chest, crawling up her neck to stain her cheeks. “You were my first.”
Hearing her say it loud, confessing it to me should slow me down. Remind me that I need to go slow. Be gentle. Instead it ramps me up. Makes it hard for me think straight.
“There’s a hundred different ways to fuck someone, Daisy.” I make myself grin at her, like the thought of someone else touching her, making her come, doesn’t make me completely homicidal. “And only one of them claims your V-card, right?”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, drawing my gaze to her mouth. “Right.”
This close I can see it. That goddamned freckle of hers that drove me batshit for months when I was a kid. Seeing it now, it takes everything I have not to give in and taste it.
“And we can both agree that last night was not your first orgasm, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So, my question remains…” I lean closer, bringing my mouth to within a breath of hers. “Who’s been making you come, Henley?”
As soon as I say it, another flush breaks out across her skin, this one deeper, so warm I can feel the heat of it against my skin. “Does it matter?”