Having Henley

by Megyn Ward

  Namely the fact that even after what he did to her, she’s still in love with my asshole brother. Cari fit the bill nicely until she up and took off on us. She’s been gone for going on six months now and is showing no signs of coming home.

  Me: Your car is parked out front.

  keys are under the seat.

  I toss the phone onto my workbench without waiting for a reply.

  Upstairs, I turn on some music and pour myself a drink before carrying it into my bedroom. It’s not really a bedroom because I don’t own a bed. It’s the room I keep my crazy in.

  It’s also the place where Henley happens to be, standing outside the room’s only window.

  I stare at her without moving because she can’t be real. She can’t be here. Not really. I’m imagining her. I’m seeing things. Sometimes I do. Sometimes, when it’s been too long between sleeps, I see shit. Things I want to see. Things I don’t. So, yeah—I’ve hallucinated Henley before. But I’m fully rested, and she’s still standing outside my second-story window, less than ten feet away from me.

  I’m not sure how long I stand there staring at her through the window, trying to decide if she’s real or not but it’s long enough to prompt her to frown. “Conner, this fire escape is falling apart. I’m not sure how long it’s going to hold up.”

  I cross the room and slide the window up on its track “It’s five o’clock in the morning.”

  “I know.” She grins at me, hair loose. Cheeks flushed from the crisp, early morning air. “Can I come in?”

  I don’t answer. I just back away from the window to give her room to crawl through it. “Why are you here?” I say as soon as she’s in and she straightens to look at me.

  “I brought you something.” She thrusts her arm out between us, and I look down to see a brown paper bag hanging from her fingers.

  “What is it?” I say even though I can see Benny’s logo stamped on the side.

  “A bagful of snakes.” She smiles again, pushing it into my empty hand. “Or maybe it’s a breakfast burrito.”

  A bagful of snakes. I said that to her once. Hearing her say it now, knowing she remembers that night, does something to me. Unlocks a door I slammed shut a long time ago. Reminds me of all the things I’ve been chasing around my head all night. The way she glared at me when I called her Hennie too many times for her liking. The freckles between her toes. The way her voice sounded when she read to me.

  The way it felt when she ended it between us.

  I don’t want to do this anymore.

  “Thanks.” Taking the paper bag from her, and toss it in the general direction of the desk without looking away from her. “Now why are you really here?”

  She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she moved deeper into the room. Her gaze goes everywhere at once, taking it all in. About a dozen computers, all cobbled together from a crate of discarded parts. An entire wall converted into a chalkboard, covered in complex equations. Broken bits of chalk. Books. Discarded pencils. Scraps of paper tacked to the wall. I wait for her to say something about it. Ask me was the hell happened to me. When I finally cracked. It’s an easy answer. I know exactly when it happened.

  It was the day I finally accepted that I lost her and I would never get her back.

  Finally, she settles her gaze on me. “This used to be Tess’s room.” That’s it. That’s all she says.

  “I know.” I down the rest of my drink and reach past her, setting the empty glass on my cluttered desk, next to the bag. It probably wouldn’t go over well if I threw it. “What are you doing here?” I ask it again, this time pushing it between clenched teeth.

  “Nora said I broke your heart.” She lets her gaze drift across my shoulder and down my arm where it gets snagged on the tattoo inked into the inside of my arm. I fight the urge to hide it. “I’m pretty sure she wants to kill me.”

  “Nora wants to kill everyone.” I laugh, even though just thinking about it makes me want to scream. “Is that why you’re here, Daisy?” I cock my head, leaning into her just enough to knock her off-kilter. “Were you hoping to find me crying into a gallon of cookie dough ice cream while watching the Notebook or some shit?”

  She flushes, red splotches erupting across her chest and neck. “No—”

  “Because I don’t own a television and I fucked you out of my system a long time ago.” I make myself say it. I make myself lie because my bricks are slipping faster than I can lay them down. She’s worming her way in, inch by fucking inch and if I have any hope of holding the line, I’m going to have to go full-tilt asshole. I’m going to have to hurt her. “You get that, right? I’m over you.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more—her or myself. I just know I want to mean it. I want it to be true. “Whatever weird, convoluted thing I had for you is long gone.”

  Her shoulders stiffen against my words. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  “Well, then…” I say, letting my gaze do a slow crawl up the length of her. As soon as it hits her breasts, her nipples tighten beneath the thin silk of her blouse and my cock jerks in response. Usually, I can control it, flip it on and off like it’s on a switch. Not anymore. Not when it comes to her. “What do you want?”

  “I came to have your answer.” She blurts it out, forcing herself to look me in the eye. “About my proposal.”

  “Your proposal?” I take a step toward her, the corner of my mouth ticking upward when she retreats—a half-step backward that bumps her into my desk chair. “Refresh my memory—to which proposal are you referring?”

  That damnable tongue of hers slips out and licks at the freckle near the corner of her mouth.

  My freckle.

  Suddenly, I’m not sure how I’m still standing here. How I’m not dragging her to my bed and looking for rope. How I’m not pounding her so hard with my cock that she couldn’t walk away from me again, even if she tried.

  “Oh, wait—” I can feel my grin slip into something less friendly. “You mean your how-about-you-fuck-me-for-money proposal?”

  She gives me a fast, relieved nod like she’s glad I didn’t make her say it. “Yes.” Her hand comes up, fingers finding the diamond stud in her ear. “I understand you’re reluctance, but if you no longer harbor a thing for me, as you called it, then I don’t see why we can’t come to some sort of agreement.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes.” She nods, her fingers still fidgeting with her earring. She must take my non-response as a positive sign because she keeps talking. “If you’re in agreement, I’d like to set the terms. Get everything situated so I can schedule—”

  Did she just say schedule?

  Forty-two

  Henley

  Jesus Christ. Did I just say schedule?

  I must have because Conner looks like he’s about two seconds away from either bursting out laughing or tossing me out on my ass. Both, at the same time, are a distinct possibility.

  “Excuse me?” He reaches for me, head cocked, eyebrow arched. “What did you just say?”

  “I just meant that I know you’re busy…” I drop my hand, my fingers still fidgeting even as I pull them off my earring. A nervous habit that drives my mother nuts.

  Ladies are never nervous.

  Yeah? Well, ladies never sexually proposition their old high school crushes either, but here we are. Swallowing a laugh of my own, I force myself to keep talking. “With your work here and all the time you spend at your dad’s bar, and I’m going to be working at the library—”

  His fingers tighten around my arm. “Shut-up, Henley.”

  It’s not what he says, or even how he says it that shuts me up. It’s the way he’s looking at me—stark hunger, mixed with something so painfully tender I can feel the ache of it in my bones. The look is gone before I can blink, replaced with one that makes me consider running.

  “Conner—”

  “I said shut-up,” he growls, taking another step toward me. And another and another until I’m scrambling backward, try
ing to keep the pace. “That’s not how this is going to go. You aren’t going to schedule me. We aren’t making appointments. I’m not going to service you.” He takes a final step that bumps me into the doorframe. “And I sure as shit won’t be fucking you for money.” Lifting a hand to brace himself against it, he leans into me, his free hand sliding into my hair, tightening almost painfully, tilting my head to expose my throat. I can feel my pulse thumping under his gaze, so hard and fast, I feel lightheaded. Like I’m seconds away from passing out.

  “Then what?” I manage to the question out on a desperate breath. “What do you want?”

  “I want anything.” He lowers his head, his warm, uneven breath against the skin of my throat. “Whatever I say. As much as I want. Whenever I decide. You aren’t making the rules.” He runs his tongue along the line of my neck, stopping at my ear. “Not this time.”

  Not this time.

  “Whatever you want,” I say softly, offering him something I have no right to give. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Be careful.” He tilts his head, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear, every time he speaks. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Not to me.”

  It’s a warning. A reminder that this is not the Conner Gilroy I remember. Not entirely. A rush of heat bolts through me, stiffening my nipples. Coasting down the length of my spine to pool between my legs. “Whatever you want.” I say it again, and I mean it, even though it’s not whatever he wants. It can’t be. Whatever happens next, it can’t be public, and he’ll want that. He won’t understand. He’ll want more. He’ll want—

  He lifts a hand between us, hooking his finger around the top button of my shirt. “I want to watch you come.”

  “What?” I blink up at him, watch his face as he casually works the buttons on my shirt, slipping them loose, one by one. He seems calm. Like he has all the time in the world.

  “Is that a problem?” He enunciates each word carefully, each proceeded by the pop of a button. “I mean, I know you were a virgin, but if last night told me anything, it’s that you’re no stranger to being touched.” Something passes over his face, a shadow that would scare me senseless if I hadn’t already lost them. “I’m just trying to find our boundaries here, Daisy.”

  “Boundaries?” The word sounds stupid coming out of my mouth. A few loose buttons, and a lopsided grin and I’m reduced to parroting.

  “That’s what I said.” He pops the last button, sliding his callused hand past the opening of my shirt to trace his fingertips up the length of my torso. “I’ll even make it easy for you… I tell you what I want. You tell me if it’s something you’re willing to give me. A simple yes or no will suffice.” His hand closes over my breast, his thumb sweeping over its tip. “Honesty is paramount…” He applies pressure, his fingers plucking my stiff nipple through the lace cup of my bra. “so I can make an informed decision.”

  “Oh…” It comes out on a breathless sigh. My mouth suddenly dry. “What was the question again?”

  “I want to watch you come.” He says it to my mouth, on a low, rough tone that curls my toes. “Is that in bounds?” Pushing my shirt off my shoulder, he dips his head, grazing his teeth against my lace-covered nipple. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes.” I reach up, threading my fingers through his short, dark hair, holding his mouth against me. “Yes.”

  Pushing my breast against his mouth, I let out a shuddering gasp when he takes my nipple between his lips, sucking me through silk and lace. Hard, rhythmic pulls rasping against my engorged nipple that catch my breath in the back of my throat, collects it there until I finally push it out a moan.

  The hand between us slips lower, finding the front closure of my jeans. He lifts his head to pin me in place with sharp green eyes.

  “I loved you once,” he says, flicking open the top button to my pants so he can ease them down over my hips, taking my panties with them. “So much, I was afraid to touch you.” He presses his lips against my jaw, his fingertips circling my belly button before brushing against the top of my mound. “I was afraid to take what I wanted, and I did want you, Henley—that was never the problem.” He dips lower, his long, middle finger skimming the throbbing seam of my pussy. “The problem was that having you around, being with you, was more important to me than getting off. That’s how much I loved you. How much I needed you.”

  He sinks to his knees in front of me. “We’re not going to have that problem, this time around.” He unzips my boots and pulls them off. “This time, I can give in.” He reaches up and starts to peel my jeans and panties the rest of the way down my legs, jerking them over my feet before tossing them aside. “I can give you what you want.”

  I mean to stop him. To ask him what he means but every rational thought I have spins away from me when he runs his tongue up the inside of my thigh. “Fuck.” His tone is gruff, strangled. “Open your legs.”

  I do what he says. Give him what he wants. I spread my legs, a soft whimper escaping my lips when he wraps his fingers around the tops of my thighs, running the pad of his thumb up the center of me. “Jesus Christ.” He says it so low in his throat it sounds like a growl, this fingers digging into my hips, hard enough to bruise, chest heaving like he’s been running for days. Then he looks up at me. “Last chance,” he says quietly. “Last chance to change your mind.”

  Something in his tone tells me he wants me to. He wants me to change my mind. He wants me to throw on my clothes and run for my life. To save us both.

  But I can’t. I’m too selfish. I want him too much. I don’t care where he was a few hours ago. What he was doing. That it wasn’t with me.

  I need this. Him. I always have.

  I don’t say any of it. I don’t explain. I just shake my head, reaching out to thread my fingers through his hair, urging him closer. “I already told you—I’m not changing my mind.”

  His neck stiffens under my grip for a moment before he sighs, the sound of it half relief, half resignation, whispers across my bare thighs.

  “Then my answer is yes.”

  Forty-three

  Conner

  I can 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 as I 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?”

  It matters.

  Oh, it fucking matters.

  “Not really,” I lie, looking her straight in the eye. “Call it… professional curiosity.”

  She looks away, tipping her chin upward to expose the soft skin of her throat and I have to close my eyes against the sight of her. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to keep my mouth to myself. My hands. I can feel my fingers start to curl into the floor.

  “Me.”

  Her whispered answer opens my eyes. I find her staring up at me. Full, soft mouth slightly parted. Gaze cloudy. Dull.

  “What?”