She nods, and dismisses me as she answers a ringing phone.
Since I don’t know for certain what time he’ll be home, I decide to take up residence on his crumbling stoop around four thirty in the afternoon. I’m prepared to stay all night. I’m pretty sure that Rachel won’t tell him I’ll be here. She seemed like she meant what she said.
All I can do now is wait.
An hour later, my ass is more numb than I ever thought possible. Pins and needles shoot through my legs as I stand. Trying to bring them back to life, I take a short walk up the block. The loud rumble of a familiar motorcycle vibrates through the air, pulling my attention back to Conner’s building.
Covered in denim and leather, he’s the definition of a bad boy. But knowing what’s underneath that gruff fighter exterior, that the tattoos and piercings are nothing more than for show, that he’s an honest and sincere man who is kind, caring and playful underneath it all, alters something deep inside of me. The need to apologize, to get to know him even more, to give us a chance becomes so overpowering that rather than walk to him, I have to run.
As I approach him, he pulls off his helmet and shakes his head. “I already told you. I don’t want to talk.”
“You don’t have to talk.” Out of desperation, I reach for his hand, hoping he won’t shove me away. A sliver of hope comes alive as he looks at me. There’s something in his mocha eyes that tells me he might not have anything to say, but at least he’ll give me a chance to speak.
He doesn’t take my hand, but he doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t say anything, but he lets me speak.
“I’m sorry.” The rest of my words get stuck in my throat. I had them all planned out, but standing here in front of him, I can’t get any of them to function.
“Is that all?” His curt tone is icy. It cuts through me, making me realize just how much I screwed up.
I shake my head, frustrated with my own silence. “No, it’s not, but it’s a start. Can we go inside, please? The things I want to say don’t deserve to be said on a busy street corner.”
He nods, his body language suggesting he’s not thrilled with the idea. In stilted silence, we walk up the stairs and into his apartment. He ushers us into the living room where we sit across from each other on a small couch.
“You said you had something to say.” Coldly, he motions for me to start.
“I already told you about Shane−”
He cuts me off, saying, “And I already told you that using him as an excuse for not moving on is shitty.”
“Let me finish.” I drop my hand to his leg and he stares at it. “You’re right. I know it’s a crappy excuse. But the more I think about the whole thing, the more I realize that I’m not using him as an excuse in the way you think I am.” Moving my hand from his leg, I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to re-group all of my thoughts from earlier. “I don’t want to move on because I love him . . . no wait, I mean . . . it’s that . . . fuck,” I curse at my own inability to speak.
Conner’s less than welcoming attitude isn’t helping, but when he shifts in his seat, moves closer to me, and puts his hand over mine, I feel some of my sense return. I look into his dark brown eyes, feeling a sense of calm bathe over me. Letting out a deep breath, I finally feel like I have it all together. “If I don’t love anyone the way I loved him, I can’t let them down. They can’t hurt me when they leave.” My admission isn’t poetic or beautiful, but it’s honest and sincere.
“That’s no way to live.” He tightens his grip on my hand.
“I know. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve kept myself from getting hurt.”
“But what’s been the cost?” Conner’s eyes warm even more, his concern for me, for us, crinkling in the corners.
“Hopefully not you.” My words dangle out there on some kind of precarious ledge, waiting for him to either push them over, or pull them back.
His huge arms wrap around me, pulling me tightly against his hard chest. “Not yet, but don’t test it again.”
A low chuckle escapes my mouth. “I’ll try my best.” My words are muffled against his shirt. He breaks the hug; a lopsided, but relieved grin, spreads across his face.
“Did you eat, yet?” I ask as he flops backward on the couch. His shoulders sag and his body looks wrung out. “Are you okay?”
Scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair, he creates that just-fucked look that his hair usually has. He huffs a loud sigh. “The last few days have been rough,” he admits, holding my stare.
“I’m sorry I screwed up.” Leaning back next to him, I twist our hands together, reveling in the warmth.
“I know.” He strokes his thumb over my wrist, a simple motion filled with so much meaning. “Just haven’t been able to eat or sleep much. About the only thing I have been able to do is workout. So I’m exhausted.” His yawn emphasizes what he’s just said.
“Stay here and relax.” I reach across him and click on the television. “I’ll go make us something to eat.” He laughs at that. “What? I can cook,” I defend, pretending to be insulted.
“I don’t doubt that. You’re just not going to find much in there.” He tips his head to the kitchen.
“Then you’re just going to have to trust me.” A wink accompanies my words, as I walk into the kitchen.
He calls out a final, “Good luck,” to my back.
Scanning through the cabinets and the fridge, I have to admit; he’s right. There’s nothing here. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’s spent all his time at the gym.
About ten minutes later, I’ve managed a simple meal. After setting our food down on the table, I call into the living room, but the only response I hear is the loud sound of Conner snoring.
The couch shifts under my weight, but Conner still doesn’t wake. With the lightest of touches, I ghost my fingers across his cheek, cradling his jaw. His eyes flutter open. “Hey.”
“Hi.” His voice is already sleep-roughened and raspy.
With the tips of my fingers, I comb through his hair, loving that he relaxes into my touch. “Come on. Let’s eat and then you can get some rest.” He nods, stumbling to his feet.
“Grilled cheese and soup?”
I roll my shoulders, and slide his plate in front of him. “It’s all you had. You really need to go shopping.”
“Sure, just let me sleep for like twelve hours.”
We share a laugh and enjoy our meal, but even after his ten-minute catnap, he’s still beyond tired. “I’ll get going, let you get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He yawns as I finish clearing the plates.
He wraps his arms around me from behind as I stand at the sink. Nuzzling into my neck, the whisker-roughed skin on his face scratches in the best of ways. “Can you stay?” His words fall timidly against my neck.
Nodding, I turn in his arms, looking at his relaxed-with-exhaustion face. “Of course.” I brush his hair away from his eyes and lean in for a kiss.
His lips are soft, passionately demanding. Within seconds, what I intended to be a sweet, innocent kiss, grows in intensity and heat. The edge of the counter bites into my back and the long, hard ridge of Conner’s erection presses against my own. Nipping and biting along my jaw forces an appreciative growl to escape my lips. Silencing me, his mouth returns to its assault on mine. Our tongues mingle together, a heated, velvety slide.
Only breaking away for a second, I strip him of his T-shirt, tracing my fingers over the dark lines of his tattoos. Scratching my short nails up his chest, I stop briefly, plucking at his nipple rings, rendering him capable of only a growl and hip grind as a response. The heat of his body is missed as he pulls away from me.
Pulling at my pants, he opens them with more finesse than I would have thought he was capable of. In the next second, they’re on the floor along with my boxers. The sight of Conner on his knees, stroking me as he looks up at me with hooded and lusty eyes is almost more than I can take. When he pulls me into his mouth, rolls his tongue around the tip of my c
ock, I push deeper into his throat, needing more of his wet heat. Groaned curses fall from my lips as he lets me fuck his mouth. My hands immediately go to his hair, holding him in place. “Fuck, Con . . . oh, my God . . .”
Exhaustion give way to passion. This moment is as necessary as my next breath. Our connection is vital for my survival.
With an audible pop, my dick is freed from his mouth. “Stay right here,” he stands, pummeling my mouth with a hard, hot kiss. He disappears down the narrow hall where I assume his bedroom is. A minute later, he returns, lube and condom in hand—and completely naked.
The sight of his powerful body, of his thick, hard erection, bobbing under its own weight, of his beautifully decorated arms and chest, heightens my desire. The gentle glide of his lube-slickened hand over my dick almost makes me come like some teenager jerking off for the very first time.
I reach down, wrap my hand around his shaft, stroking at the same pace he’s stroking me. Our lips crash together before he sinks his teeth into my lower lip. Laving over the spot he just bit, he then trails his lips over my jaw, down my neck, before sinking his teeth into my neck. He pulls the condom up to his mouth, tearing at it with his teeth. Rolling it over my cock instead of his makes me grow another inch. “You take me this time,” he breathes hotly into my ear, turning us around so that he’s leaned up against the counter.
With one hand, I reach around and stroke his dick, matching the rhythm of my fingertip prodding at his ass. Dripping the slick lube over his tight hole, I push into him, first with one finger, then with two. Pushing against my hand, my name falls like a curse from his mouth. His cock swells in my hand. “If you keep that up,” he pants, pushing against my hand over and over again, “I won’t last much longer.”
I want him to come. I want to be the reason he explodes wildly. I want my name to be the one he screams. But I want all of that to happen with my cock buried deep inside of him. He bends forward, and I grab at his hips, easily gliding into him. “Fuck,” he cries, pushing his weight back onto my throbbing cock.
“So tight,” I grit out, my jaw clenched, holding on to my control by a thread. The heat of our bodies and the sounds of sex fill the room. Voices grunting, skin slapping—it’s all consuming. We build a furious pace, one that I know I won’t be able to maintain for long. The deeper I go, the tighter my grasp on his cock. With a few more hard and erratic thrusts, my legs begin shaking, the sparks of electricity gather at the base of my spine. “Ahhhh . . . Conner . . .” his name is dragged out as I come on one hard push.
Not even a second later, I feel the hot jets of his orgasm spurting over my hand. “Oh shit . . . fuck . . .” he grunts, fucking my cum-slickened hand. We crumble to the floor in a breathless, sticky mess. His back is to the cabinet, and my back is resting against his chest. With his arms draped over my shoulders, he holds me against him, kissing me on the temple. “I thought you were tired,” I question wryly, enjoying the feel of his laughter move in his chest behind me.
“I’m never too tired for that.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
“We should clean up before Rachel gets home.” He peels himself away from the cabinet and up from the floor.
“You might want to wipe that up,” I point to the cabinet next to us and the mess currently sliding down it.
With a laugh, he grabs some cleaner, and wipes up the mess. After the kitchen is back to its pre fucking-Conner-up-against-the-counter status, I gather up our clothes. We take a long hot shower, getting each other good and dirty all over again before we can even think about getting clean.
When I walk into Conner’s room with only a towel twisted around my waist, he gets a hungry look in his eyes. “You can’t seriously have that much stamina,” I joke, but I drop the towel just for a good tease.
“Try me.” He arches an eyebrow as he moves in for a hot kiss. His mouth tastes sweet and minty, leaving me wanting more.
I break away from his lips. “I should get going.”
With an arm wrapped around my waist and one in a death-grip on my ass, he purrs into my neck, “Stay. I’ll get you to work on time,” he promises.
“Are you sure? We only just made up.”
“Twice, actually,” he chuckles against my skin. He digs through his dresser for a pair of shorts and t-shirt for each of us.
He tosses the clothes at me. “Good thing we’re about the same size.”
“Otherwise I’d have to sleep naked.” I return an arched eyebrow and a quirked lip.
“Yeah, that’d be a real tragedy.”
We fall into the bed and prop ourselves up against the headboard. In between commercials on some sitcom rerun, I reach for the remote in between us. “The boys missed you this past weekend,” I say as I turn down the volume. He turns toward me, sliding down the headboard and leaning on one elbow. I roll to my side as well. Resting on an elbow, I stare over at him. “I told them you had to work, that you had just opened your own gym and they were really impressed. They’re all hoping you’ll be back this weekend.”
“And you?”
My legs tangle with his as I reach for his neck with my free hand. Letting my fingers dance in the hair at his nape, I say, “I’d really love it if you came back, too.”
His lips pull into the sexiest of smiles before he yawns. “Then I’ll be there.” Drowsiness falls over him, and before long, he’s rolled over, facing away from me, snoring lightly.
Spooning up behind him, something more meaningful than I can put words to takes root deep in my chest. When he pulls my arm from around his waist, links our fingers together, and pulls our joined hands up against his warm, hard chest, a part of me I thought was gone long ago comes back to life.
Chapter Twenty Three
June 13, 2015
Streaks of early morning sun slice through my room. I look over at the clock and curse. “Shit.” I jump out of bed. Stumbling to my feet, I trip over my sneakers. “Fucker.”
“Everything okay in there, Con?” Rachel laughs as she taps on my bedroom door.
In my ogre-like clumsiness, I stub my toe on the foot of the bed as I go to let her in. Hopping on one foot, I open the door. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just running late.” I scoop up a few things and make my way into the bathroom. After a lightning fast shower, I’m dressed and ready to go. With a mouthful of toothpaste, I look out into the living room and see that Dylan’s not here yet. After grabbing my sneakers, I flop down on the couch next to Rachel. “Dylan wants me to meet his friends tonight. Any chance you want to tag along.”
“I don’t know, Con. I don’t want to impose. Besides, I don’t even know them.” Even though she objects, I know I’ll get her to go.
“So what. Neither do I. Come on. Dinner and few drinks. Some laughs with some good people. You know you want to,” I tease.
She doesn’t need any more convincing. “Okay, sure. Sounds like fun.”
Dylan buzzes up to the apartment just as I finish tying my shoes. I pop a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m out. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
She returns her attention to the home improvement show on TV, calling out, “Have fun,” just as I slip through the door, balancing a box on my hip
He’s waiting for me on the front steps, his back facing the entrance. I steal up behind him, and wrap my free arm around his waist. He turns in my arms and greets me with a quick kiss. “Hey, you all ready?”
“Yeah, let’s do this.”
“What’s in the box?” Dylan asks as I drop it into the back seat.
My eyes rove over him from head to toe, as I scratch my chin. “Nah, you don’t look a thing like Brad Pitt.” I make a lame-ass reference to his “what’s in the box?” question and he rolls his eyes. “It’s a surprise.”
As we get into his car, he waves at Mrs. Keating who’s peaking at us through a partially opened curtain. “Do you think we intrigue or confuse her?” Dylan asks as we pull away from the building.
“Eh, she’s harmless. Based on
the look that was just on her face, I’d say she’s definitely not disgusted.”
By the time we get to the little league field, the boys are already out on the field, running their laps. I pull the box out of the back seat and Dylan unloads the equipment from the trunk. The boys race over to help us. “Coach Michelson! You’re back,” Brett calls out excitedly.
“Yep.” The rest of the boys pipe down as I begin to speak. “Sorry about last week, guys. Something came up at work,” on the word “work” I shoot Dylan a pained look, hoping he knows exactly what I’m getting at. “But I promise no matter what goes on at work, from here on out, I won’t miss a practice or a game. In fact,” I drop the box at my feet and kneel before it, “I got you these to show you just how committed I am to this team.”
Reaching into the box, the boys look on with rapt attention. I pull out a bright orange and black jersey with the word “Tigers” emblazoned across the chest. Holding it up against my chest, it looks tiny—the perfect reminder of just how meaningful this all is. I turn the jersey around to show them the back. “Cool!” Brett calls out. “That one’s mine!” He scrambles to the front of the small crowd and grabs the jersey from my hand. “It’s got my name on it and everything.” The way Brett looks down at the piece of clothing in his hand can only be described as a look of pure and utter appreciation. He inspects it, checking over every fiber of the fabric, every stitch holding it together. A gigantic smile lights up Brett’s face as he puts on the jersey.
“Here you go!” I call out the names from the shirts, tossing them at their rightful owner, each greeted with a smile as bright as Brett’s.
“Now that’s what a winning team looks like.” Dylan’s approval is full of pride, as he stands there with his arms crossed, scanning over his team. “All right, you guys know the drill, warm ups then batting. Hop to it!” With more bounce than they had when we arrived, the boys sprint across the field.
“Thanks for that.” Dylan nudges me in arm—a simple sign of affection that goes straight to my heart.
The Love Series Complete Box Set Page 134
