Page 71 of Connor

Connor blinked, slow and heavy, his muscles tensing. His jaw ticked.He fucking knew what I meant.

For a second, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Justwatched me, his eyes unreadable.

Then—his voice dropped, low and rough, the rasp of something broken beneath it. "I’m staring right at it."

My stomach twisted. Because that?That wasn’t fair.My fingers dug into my arms, my nails biting into my skin. Ihatedthe way my heartached. The way his words made me want tobelievehim. But I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t.

"You don’t get to do this."

His brow furrowed. "Do what?"

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head, eyes burning. "Disappear. Leave me alone with all these thoughts. Let me think you’re out there fucking someone else."

His whole body tensed. "You really think that?"

Ihatedthe way his voice sounded. Like the thought alone was a fucking insult. Like he wasn’t the one who had given me every reason to believe it.

I let out a hollow laugh, but there wasnothingfunny about it. "I don’t know what to think, Connor. I don’t knowanythinganymore."

He pushed himself up, the sheets slipping down his chest, muscles taut beneath them. Hestared at me. Something dark flashed in his eyes. Something dangerous.

"I didn’t fuck anyone tonight," he said, voice firm, rough,certain.

My stomach clenched.

I wanted to believe him.Fuck, I wanted to believe him.

But I shook my head, looking away. "It doesn’t matter."

"It fucking does." His voice sharpened, raw, like it was the only truth he knew. "Why the fuck would I be with anyone else when you’re the one on my mind?"

His wordshit—sharp and jagged, cutting deep.

“Because you’ve done it before,” I whispered, swallowing the painful lump in my throat. Connor’s expression slackened, and remorse filled in the gaps while I took a step back.

“Don’t do that, baby,” he whispered, and before I could stop him, he was standing and walking toward me.

A rough, desperate clench at my waist. A firm tug that had me stumbling into him, my breath catching. His fingers dug into my skin like he was afraid I’d slip away, like if he held on tight enough, he could fix all the ways he’d already fucked this up.

And I should have pushed him away.

Should have shoved him back and told him this isn’t how we fix things. But I was so damn tired of fighting him and myself.

His mouth crashed against mine.

It was reckless. It was messy. It was so fucking raw.

I gasped into his lips, my hands brushing his hair, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. And all the anger, all the pain, all the confusion—it melted into something else. Something hot and desperate and unavoidable.

Connor growled into the kiss, his hands everywhere. He walked me back until my knees hit the bed, until I was falling, until he was on me, heavy and solid and real.

And fuck—fuck—I let him.

Because this?

This might not be love.