Fair.
Keeping hold of her hand, he drew her closer. “I take it from your warning, you are trying to prepare me for something that bothers you a great deal. But know this, Cupcake. The size of your tits does not bother me.”
“Until you see them.” Biting down on her lip hard, she chastised herself for saying that. She kind of couldn’t believe she did. But then again, what did she expect? She had a leak in the vicinity of her mouth this evening. Unfortunately, the rest of what should’ve been an inside conversation spilled out of her mouth, too. Maybe because she needed to say it out loud, or maybe because she thought it only fair for him to hear it.
“I know I shouldn’t mention him, but Michael requested I keep my bra on any time we were…together.” Wow, there really was no elegant way to say this. “I just…I didn’t want you to get my dress off and wish you hadn’t. Gotten it off.” She winced, feeling her face go warm with embarrassment. “Michael likes big breasts”—like Cookie’s, came the errant thought—“and the bra I’m wearing makes my boobs look big. And I didn’t want you to be upset because I’ve been promising you something that is not a reality.”
She trailed off when she noticed Connor’s expression turn severe. Definitely an inelegant time to mention Michael. Right. So, basically, she’d botched her chances in getting Connor McClain in bed tonight.
Bummer.
She fanned her hand in front of her, attempting to move this evening forward. “You know what? I feel like this is going in the wrong direction. And maybe we should—” This time, he cut her off.
“You don’t know me, Faith. It’s occurring to me I don’t know you all that well, either.”
Because she’d false advertised her boob size?
“We know each other,” she said, her voice small. “We’ve worked together for over a year.”
“I didn’t know this shit was going on.” He gestured to her generally.
“That’s why I am letting you off the hook. You can chalk it up to my drinking too much wine.”
“You’re sober.”
That was also unfortunately true. The staggering amount of food she’d inhaled at the dinner table guarded against alcohol being able to impact her system.
“Which tells me that when you invited me to your bed, you meant it.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Am I right?”
Not wanting to lie to him, she nodded.
“Good. Now the part of this you didn’t expect was that I’m not going to throw you down on your bed and have my way with you with this shit going on.”
She sort of couldn’t get past the idea of him throwing her onto her bed and having his way with her. That sounded…Gosh. Lovely.
“That’s not going to bed with us tonight.”
“No?” The hope in her voice was prevalent.
“Not while you’re this mistaken about who you think I am.” Those big rough hands covered her hips and pulled her close, and his smile broke through his severe expression like the sun after a storm. “Couch, Cupcake.”
She turned her head to the right and looked at the couch a few inches away. It was facing the TV and they were standing at the back of it. So she would have to skirt around him to sit on it. He got out of the way and let her do just that. She clipped in her tall, strappy heels to the front of the couch and plopped down.
Connor joined her on the couch and she sat to face him, expecting him to say more. Instead, he picked up the remote and began flipping through channels. She looked to the television, then back at him. He stopped on a movie, one she didn’t recognize, and he held out an arm. “Scoot in. Gonna warm you up.” He said this without looking over and she obeyed, sliding in.
His warm hand hit her chilly shoulder, and a second later, he retrieved the blanket from the back of the couch. After a few minutes of watching an action flick she’d heard of but never bothered to rent, she asked the question burning her brain.
“What’s happening?”
He didn’t move his head, just his eyes. And those eyes slid to hers, making her stomach feel funny and her arms pull the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Why don’t you relax?” Then those eyes went back to the television.
It took her two commercial breaks to relax, but relaxation did come. She was leaning fully on his shoulder, had kicked off her uncomfortable shoes and folded her legs beneath her, covering them with the blanket. She was not lying about the dress not being warm enough for winter. It was barely warm enough for summer.
In the middle of nowhere, Connor said, “That is what I like to hear.”
“What?” she asked, thinking he was talking about something in the movie she had missed.
“You breathing deep. Sounds like you’re finally chill.” He turned his head, bringing his lips just over hers. “Now, you can kiss me, Cupcake.”
Unable to resist the invitation, Faith rested her hand on his chest, stretched her chin up just a little, and put her lips on his. He reacted immediately, turning his body toward hers, sliding the arm that wasn’t wrapped around her shoulders to her back, and pulling her in. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue pushing past her lips. She drank him in, making out with him for long minutes, savoring his flavor and the way he kissed her. Controlled yet wild. She’d never been kissed the way Connor kissed her. His lips were perfect, sealed over hers but parting to let her take in a breath, preventing her from getting too far away.
Next, she felt the blanket being ripped off her body and tossed to the back of the couch. The chill in the air didn’t matter; the heat between them would keep her warm.
Pulling his lips from hers, he left her mouth to say, “Climb up.”
She looked at his legs. “Sit on your lap?”
“Straddle me. I want you on me.”
Wow. Just hearing him say how he wanted her turned her on. Worried just how turned on she might be if she crawled onto his lap, she had half a mind to ask him to lay her on her back. But on the other hand, she really wanted to do what he wanted her to do. Which was a departure from her goal of independence. Then again, woman-on-top screamed of independence. Dominance.
She liked that, too.
Her dress was so short she didn’t even have to hike it before she threw a leg over his thighs and settled over his fly. When she was there, he tilted his head back to take in her height.
“Whose lap are you on, Faith?”
How to answer that question? “Um…yours?”
“And I am…” he prompted.
“Connor McClain.” She felt her lips smile down at him, her fingers twist together behind his neck. What was he getting at?
“Good.” His hands went to the back of her dress, finding the zipper easily. “Don’t want you to mistake me for that asshole who broke into your apartment.”
Mistake Connor for Michael? Not possible.
With one swift move, he had the dress unzipped and she felt the bodice give. She pulled in a deeper breath than before now that the tightness was no longer wrenching her ribs. Peeling down the top of her dress, his fingers glided along the strapless pink bra, over the lace covering her nipples, or what would have been her nipples if there hadn’t been several inches of padding in the bra.
He reached around behind her back and grasped the bra strap, and that’s when she snapped into reality. Her hand went to his wrist to stop him.
Again, he asked, “Who am I, Faith?”
Oh.
Right.
Now she got it. She wasn’t giving him a chance. A chance to prove he wasn’t anything like her ex. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he would get her bra off and be completely disappointed, or maybe he couldn’t give a shit.
Only one way to find out.
She released his hand and closed her eyes as he expertly undid the strap of her very padded, high-end, lace bra. It made her A-cup a solid B bordering a very small C. It was her favorite bra ever. When cool air hit her flesh, she felt a blush steal her cheeks. She never hyperventilated before, but thought she might as the rough pads
of his fingers slid over her shoulders and down her arms.
“Cupcake, I need you to open your eyes.”
When she did, she saw Connor’s eyes not on hers but on her chest. His hands encircled her rib cage, his thumbs gently stroking the sensitive flesh between the valley of her breasts. They rose and fell with each nervous breath she took as she waited for him to say or do something.
For an agonizing amount of time—could have been a few seconds or a few months (it felt like the latter)—she just breathed and waited and worried.
Then his thumb brushed a nipple and she canted her hips, pushing down onto the erection pressing into her core.
“Sensitive,” he noted, and still, she could not tell if he was happy about that discovery or not. He rolled the same nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and a shock like a lightning bolt shot straight to her panties, leaving her damp and wanting him desperately. She swallowed thickly as his other thumb repeated the motion of the first one. First, the brush, then the pinch. Ending with her bucking against him again.
He shook his head and finally met her eyes.
“No good, honey,” he said, and there was such evident disappointment in his eyes, she felt as if tears might pour down her cheeks any second now. Then he added, “Your nipples are incredibly sensitive. A man making you keep them hidden, not giving them the attention they need.” He shook his head and a smile crested his firm, delicious mouth. “Damn shame.”
“But—”
Cutting her off mid-sentence was his MO, evidently. Connor closed his lips over one of her nipples and suckled, and every last syllable of what she might’ve said vanished into the air between them. Cradling the back of his head, her fingers kneaded his skull through his short hair as her hips continued sliding back and forth over his lap.
He continued assaulting her nipple until she felt the tension coiling inside her. My God! He was right. She was so sensitive she was about to climax from this alone. Was that pathetic or fantastic? Fantastic, she thought as he pulled his lips from her and traced her nipple with his tongue. He brushed the damp bud with his thumb and she jerked.
“Yeah, honey. You’re going to go over like this. Ready?”
She nodded and he latched on to her, working her with his hands, sucking her with his tongue. Her hips, so greedy for her release, continued moving back and forth over his thighs and Connor continued his wet, slick assault on her—up until now, apparently—least utilized erogenous zones.
Opening his mouth wide, he took her breast into his mouth, sucking her deep, and her hands clenched on to the back of his head. A second later, she was pulsing, spasming, and collapsing all at once, her hands pulling at his hair, a soft mewing sound coming from her throat she’d never in her life heard before. She’d been brought to orgasm, yes, but never like this. Never this gently, this thoroughly, and never from the A-cups men often skipped over.
He pulled his amazing lips from her body and cupped the back of her head, kissing her as deeply as he’d suckled her and holding her against his big body. “Now.”
“Now?” Every muscle in her body barely worked, so it was a wonder she pushed her voice past very weak lips.
His grin was predatory, heady. “Now you can have me in your bed.”
CHAPTER 13
Fuck, but the girl came like a rocket.
Every inch of him—including the hard-as-steel inches in his pants—wanted to lay her down and work her into another orgasm like the last. Faith came hard, but she came quiet. Hitched breath, adorable, muffled pants of pleasure, and this high, keening sound that sounded half like she was laughing and half like she was crying.
He did that.
Disintegrated her into this quivering, long-limbed woman who lacked the strength to climb off his lap.
“Making me feel studly,” he announced as his hands cupped her bottom.
“Mmm.”
Incoherent. Fuck, but he loved that, too.
He leaned forward and stole a kiss. “Hang on, gorgeous.”
She latched on to his neck and moaned one of those sweet little noises in his ear. A shudder nearly buckled his knees, but he managed to stand, her ass in his hands, those long, long legs locked around his hips.
This needed to happen and happen soon.
Preferably before she stopped quivering against him. One orgasm on top of the other would render her loose and sleepy, and that was how he wanted her.
In her room, he sat on the edge of her bed, her still in his lap, still dressed only in half of the tiny black dress she’d paraded into her kitchen to show him.
He moved her to her back on the bed and Faith covered her eyes, but her mouth was smiling from beneath her hands.
“Something funny?” He smiled back, not that she could see him.
“Ugh.”
Grinning now, he pulled his shirt off and unbuckled his belt as he kicked off his shoes. “Not thinkin’ that is a true sentiment, Cupcake.”
She peeked those flooring blue eyes out from between parted fingers. “Was that a pathetic display of how easy I am?”
“No. It was an awesome display of how talented I am.” He unbuttoned his pants and slid them to his ankles.
Her smile vanished. “Commando.”
“You knew that the day you eyed my ass through my torn jeans.”
She blushed. He liked it way too much.
“Shimmy out of that dress, Cupcake. You have a condom handy, or do I need to grab one from the ’stang?”
“You have condoms in your Mustang?”
“Yup.”
She gestured to the nightstand.
He raised an eyebrow. “Who bought ’em?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because the kiss over the ice cream bowl turned me on so much.”
Honesty. The honesty floored him as much as the pair of navies zeroing in on his hard-on now.
With a grin, he yanked open the drawer, snatched up a packet. Sheathed, his cock hard and ready, jutting straight up, he watched as she shimmied out of her dress and revealed lace panties.
“Those for me?”
“Yeah. I thought you’d like them.”
“You’re right, Cupcake,” he said. Though “like” wasn’t a strong enough word for the barely hidden promise of what lie beneath the flimsy material. “Still shuddering from earlier?”
“I think I recovered.”
Hmm. No good.
He climbed over her, lowered to his forearms and ducked his head. Then he took a nipple to his tongue and her entire body bowed.
* * *
Her second orgasm was nipple-induced and this time she didn’t feel pathetic. She felt incredible.
While she was still pulsing out her release, her knees together as her hips bucked, Connor latched on to her thighs and pulled her legs open.
“Ready, Cupcake?” he asked, nudging her entrance.
“Please,” she said, or wheezed. Something. Her vocal cords were as weak as the muscles in her legs.
He slipped inside of her and her legs found new strength, drawing up to cradle him between her thighs. He fit there, big as he was, probably because she was tall, her legs long. She accommodated him perfectly.
And oh, the feel of him inside her, hot and thick. She was clamped around him, absolutely soaked from when she came a second ago. He pushed in to the hilt and paused, and at the same time they both breathed out, “ohhh.”
It felt that good.
He buried his face into her neck, nuzzling her head to the side as he kissed and stroked her with his mouth.
“Giving it to you hard,” he announced. “You want it different, you’ll have to be on top.”
“Hard,” she agreed. So sated from him pleasing her twice, her body was primed and ready for him. Ready for him to pound into her, every inch of him. Repeatedly.
He slid in and out, making good on his promise of hard, each thrust hitting her so deep that, unbelievably, she was about to come again. His every movement was
smooth, wrapped up in a big body that should have been less agile and more clumsy.
But there was nothing clumsy about this man, she was learning. Every thrust found its intended mark, and she felt herself coiling, tensing in preparation to give herself to him all over again.
By the time a loud growl reverberated from his lips over a pulse point on her neck, she threw her head back and came with him, surrendering silently, unable to give voice to the earth-shattering climax electrifying her body.
Long after his release, he continued moving, pushing into her deeper, harder, still working. He did this for her, she noticed. Making sure she was good and thoroughly satisfied. When her arms fell limply from his neck, he stopped the exquisite torture.
He pressed a kiss to her lips and she responded feebly, barely able to pucker. He slid his tongue along her lips and down her throat, then slipped out of her. Again, in unison, they both grunted “uhhhh” at the disappointment of being unjoined.
That’s how intense it had been.
That’s how perfect it had been.
* * *
Leftover pie was good.
Leftover pie post-sex with Connor McClain was perfection.
Faith moaned around her fork and didn’t miss the sly smirk on his face. He looked damn pleased with himself, and pretty damn hot, considering he stood in her kitchen wearing naught but a pair of well-worn denim.
He’d hauled her out of bed, and when she protested to being naked, wrapped her in the comforter, carried her into the kitchen, and plopped her onto the countertop. Then he retrieved the container of pie and proceeded to fork bites into her mouth, then his.
She’d never sat on a countertop and been fed pie before. She liked it.
Another bite, another moan.
Another smirk from him. “I do enjoy that sound.”
Pulling the blanket over her body, she refused to acknowledge what he was inferring and instead asked, “Aren’t you cold?”
His bare chest was a sight to be seen. A dusting of light hair between his pecs faded until the line below his belly button. Yeah, she knew exactly what treasure lie at the end of that trail.
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