Conquering Conner (The Gilroy Clan Book 4)

by Megyn Ward

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. A part of me wonders if he does either so I ignore what he’s saying, focusing instead on what I do understand. What I can do to make him better. “I want to help you, Conner.” I pull myself up. “Let me help you.” Standing in front of him, I offer him my hand.

  He doesn’t take it.

  “I’m filthy.”

  He’s right. His hands are covered in engine grease and tire soot. His face is streaked with it. Despite the obvious, something about the way he says it hits me like a fist in the gut. Makes it hard to breathe. Makes me think his statement has nothing to do with the grime under his fingernails.

  I force myself to smile. “So, let’s get you cleaned up.” I wiggle my fingers under his nose. “Come on, you’ll feel better after a shower.”

  He pushes my hand out of his face and stands on his own. “You didn’t answer my question,” he says quietly, standing over me, so close I can feel the brush of his chest against mine every time he takes a breath. “Were you happy?”

  It doesn’t matter that I have no idea what he’s talking about. I look up at him and tell him the truth. “I haven’t been happy in a long time.”

  Conner sighs, leaning down to press his cheek against mine. Bringing his mouth to my ear, he whispers something that breaks my heart.

  “Neither have I.”

  Twenty-four

  Conner

  I still can’t decide if this is really happening or

  not but I’ve decided it doesn’t really matter. She’s here. Even if she’s just a figment of my imagination, I’ll take it.

  Right now, she’s sitting on the lowered lid of my toilet, knees pressed together, hands clasped on top, her eyes wheeling around the bathroom, taking it all in. The way she’s inspecting the place makes me glad for the obsessive need to clean that hit me around day eight. I spent four days scrubbing every square inch of this apartment.

  Good to know it wasn’t for nothing.

  Looking away from her, I focus on my hands. Scrubbing each cuticle, each knuckle with degreaser and a stiff-bristle brush. I could scrub my hands for hours. Until my knuckles are raw and my cuticles are bleeding. I’ve done it before. That’s why I set the egg timer next to the sink before I started. Five minutes. That’s all I give myself.

  “You re-did the bathroom?”

  Still scrubbing, I cut her a look before letting my gaze roam the room. I ripped out the tub and tiled in a large, standing shower stall. Double shower heads. Dual, extra-large water heaters. New vanity and sink. Heated floors. Water efficient toilet. My cousin and brother aren’t the only Gilroys who know how to swing a hammer.

  “I spend a lot of time in here,” I tell her without offering further explanation.

  The timer goes off. I force myself to put the brush down and rinse my hands before shutting off the water.

  As soon as I’m finished, Henley stands. I think she’s going to leave me to it so when she starts unbuttoning her blouse, I’m caught off guard.

  Tongue-tied, I watch silk slide off her shoulders, revealing one of her delicate lace bras. The constellation of freckles that covers her chest. Spills down to scatter down her arms. Disappears into the waistband of her skirt.

  “You stopped bleaching your freckles.”

  “You asked me to.” She sounds confused. Unsure. Slightly defensive. A little angry. She sounds like Henley.

  My Henley.

  And just like that, I’m so fucking hard it hurts, blood flooding away from my brain so fast I feel dizzy. My cock practically pounding against the front of my pants. It that fucker had teeth, it’d have chewed its way out by now.

  Shirt discarded, she starts on her skirt, slowly unzipping it so she doesn’t snag its designer fabric.

  “What are you doing?” My voice sounds weird again, that fucked-up animal rearing its ugly head.

  Wiggling her hips, she works herself free of her skirt and it pools at her feet. “I’m taking off my clothes,” she says it gently, her tone totally void of sarcasm. It’s like she knows I’m struggling to figure out what’s real and what isn’t.

  Like she feels sorry for me.

  “Don’t do that.” I shake my head, taking a step in her direction. “Don’t you fucking feel sorry for me.”

  “I don’t.” She reaches around and unhooks her bra to pull it down her arms. Breasts bared, she drops it on the floor. “I just want to help you.” When I don’t move, she hooks her thumbs into the wide band of lace circling her hips. “Let me help you.” She tugs them down her thighs, past her knees before letting them drop to her feet.

  This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real…

  I snag the hem of my T-shirt and pull it up over my head before dropping it on the floor. I’ve lost weight over the last few weeks. I’m not sure how much but it’s enough that she goes a little pale when she sees the shape I’m in.

  “I forget to eat when…” When what? When I’m like this? When I lose my fucking marbles? When I can’t drink enough or fuck enough or get hit hard enough to numb myself out? I don’t even know why I’m trying to explain. Henley isn’t here.

  This isn’t real.

  I close my eyes, because real or not, I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. “Anyway, this is the worst it’s ever been. I usually don’t go more than a week between…”

  I didn’t hear her move, but she must’ve because I can suddenly feel her fingers skate along the contours of my stomach and my muscles contract in response. I feel the press of her lips against the tattoo on my throat, making me wonder if she recognizes it. If she remembers where it’s from.

  “I’m sorry.” She says it softly, her hands slipping lower to push the tongue of my belt from its buckle, loosening it so she can work the front of my pants open. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve—”

  “Would’ve what?” I bite the words. Chew them up and spit them at her.

  She frowns, aiming it at my shoulder. “I just—”

  “I know.” I clamp a hand over her wrist to keep her hand from moving any lower. “You just want to help.” I use the hold I have on her to push her away, just enough so I can see her face. “I can undress myself, Henley—I’m crazy, not an invalid.”

  Her dark brown eyes snap up at me. Her jaw juts out at that stubborn angle I’ve always found adorable and strangely arousing. She opens her mouth to say something—probably to argue with me—but she shuts it without saying a word. Pulling her wrist from my grasp, she takes a step back and turns away from me.

  Again, I think she’s going to leave.

  Again, she surprises me.

  I stand here like an idiot while she makes her way to the shower, pulling open its heavy glass door to turn it on. She stands there quietly, her hand under the spray to gauge the temperature of the water. As soon as it’s satisfactory she turns and looks at me over her shoulder and gives me the same look she gave me the first time I saw her again.

  What are you waiting for?

  There’s a good chance none of this is even happening, right? It’s probable that I’ve gone completely batshit.

  So, yeah.

  What am I waiting for?

  Jerking my pants and boxers off my hips and down my legs, I kick them into a corner and start my way toward the shower. Grabbing a clean towel from the stack I keep shelved above the toilet, I pull the shower door open and follow her in.

  Twenty-five

  Henley

  I can see him through the steam-frosted door, standing in the middle of the bathroom, bare chest heaving slightly, like he’s have trouble breathing. Like he can’t decide if he should follow me or run away. I wash my hair with the drug-store brand shampoo he has and try not to think about what my hair is going to look like when it dries, hoping the generous amount of conditioner I dump on it will be enough to keep me from looking like Bozo the clown.

  Just when I think that I’ve risked clown hair in vain, Conner makes up his mind. I watch him jerk his pants off the
rest of the way. He’s thinner than the last time I saw him. Naked, I can see the corded tendons that attach lean muscle to hard bone from here. I feel my breath stall in my throat when my gaze drifts down the length of him, catching sight of the thick, hard cock jutting out from between his hips.

  It’s huge.

  Before the thought can even register, he moves again, this time swiping a towel off the shelf above the toilet before pulling the shower door open and stepping inside, pulling it shut behind him.

  For a moment, neither of us say anything. We just watch each other through the thick curls of steam that swirl between us, long enough to think maybe this was a mistake. Maybe—

  “I want to fuck your mouth.” He drops the folded towel on the shower floor between us, soaking it instantly. “Yes or no?”

  My throat collapses in on itself, making speech nearly impossible so I nod.

  Yes.

  So much fucking yes.

  His jaw goes tight, the muscle flexing when he clenches his teeth.

  I drop to my knees, positioning them on the towel before looking up. At eye level, his cock looks even bigger. Huge seems inadequate to describe what’s in front of me.

  Intimidating would be more accurate.

  “I—” I raise my gaze to find him looking down at me, his eyes dark and fixed on my mouth.

  “I’m clean,” he says softly, the sound of his voice nearly lost under the rush of water. “I got tested again a few weeks ago just to be sure and there hasn’t been anyone else… I can get a condom if you want.” I watch the hand hanging at his side tighten into a fist. He’s angry. Not at me. At himself. He thinks my hesitation is about him. Who he’s been with. How many.

  I’m filthy.

  “I was jealous.” I reach up to wrap my hand around his shaft, pumping my hand from base to tip. He groans, deep in his throat while his cock gives a hard jerk, clear liquid seeping from its tip. He throws a hand up, bracing himself against the tile wall above my head. “I wasn’t afraid you were going to give me something—that’s not why I asked you to stop sleeping with other women. I was just…” I look up to find him watching me. I don’t look away. “I watched you take that girl into your office and I got jealous.”

  “I didn’t.” He cups my jaw, his callused thumb skimming across my bottom lip. “I didn’t touch her. I know what it looked like, but I swear—”

  I don’t know if I believe him. All I know is that I don’t care.

  That it doesn’t matter.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.” I look down, heat rushing across my chest and face, hotter than the air around me. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Me either.” I look up to see him looking down at me, the corner of his mouth lifted in the same smile that used to stop my heart. Still does. “But I think we can figure it out.”

  Me either.

  It confuses me. Makes my heart race. Surely, he can’t mean what I think he means. It’s not what it sounds like.

  “It’s okay.” He shakes his head, his beautiful face collapse into a frown while his hand covers mine. “You don’t have to—”

  I lean forward to run the flat of my tongue up the length of him, tracing it over the pulsing vein that runs from base to tip.

  “Christ,” he groans, his hips jerking forward in response, while his hands wrap themselves in my wet hair. Encouraged by his response, I tighten my grip and move, pumping up and down the length of his cock. Exploring, I skim the tip of my tongue around the head, reveling in how soft he feels. How salty he tastes.

  I want more.

  I part my lips, taking him into my mouth, pulling him into my throat as far as I can, sucking and licking every inch of him I can reach while my hand keeps rhythm with my mouth, pumping and stroking his shaft.

  “Fuck.” He growls it, the curse low and guttural in his throat, one of his hands untangles itself from my hair to wrap around the base of his cock, his hand covering mine, holding it still. “I’m—” Holding himself steady, he pumps his hips, fucking my mouth with tight, controlled thrusts that bump the head of his cock against the back of my throat. “Shit.” He looked down at me, his eyes dazed and wild. “I’m gonna come in your mouth, Henley.” His hand goes soft in my hair. “Mov—”

  I suck harder and moan, encouraging him to keep fucking me. My fingers digging into his thigh, urging him to move faster. Stroke deeper.

  “Hen—” he says, the rest of my name getting lost on a rough shout when he comes, his cock jerking and spasming against my tongue, thick salty streams hitting the back of my throat. I keep sucking and swallowing, meeting each thrust he gives me until his hand over mine and the one in my hair loosen their grip.

  Reaching down, Conner fits his hands under my arms and lifts. Picking me up, he turns, swiping his hand across the deep, built-in ledge that houses his hygiene products, sending them flying all over the stall. Opening my legs, he pushes them wide, bracing them open with his forearms pressed against the inside of my knees, palms flat on either side of my ass. He fits himself into the juncture of my thighs and I look down to see the head of his bare cock, still hard and engorged, pressed against my juice-slicked entrance. He stops, eyes squeezed shut, chest pumping hard and fast. Stark muscle poised and quivering “Henley.” My name comes out sounding like a curse, scraping and tearing its way up his throat. “I—”

  “Yes.” I don’t know what he was about to say, and I don’t want care. I tilt my pelvis, angling it toward him, and he sinks in a little deeper. “I want you to fuck me,” I say, my voice stretched tight and thin. “Please, I need—”

  Muttering something to himself, he flips his hands over, gripping the outside of my thighs, his fingers digging into the place where they meet my hips, so he can slam me down the length of his cock, and I gasp, the fleeting pain of it fades quickly when he starts to move inside me, slow, measured strokes that immediately take me to the edge. “Ohmygod,” I breathe out on a moan. Reaching up, I wrap a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Needing him… “Faster,” I whimper. “Please, Conner. Harder.”

  “Fuck.” He opens his eyes, gaze fixed on the place where we’re joined, watching himself pump and stroke himself into me, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, using his grip to lift me, tilt me just enough so that the head of his cock hits the right spot with every stroke he gives me. “Touch your pussy,” he growls at me, each word punctuated with the sharp clap of his wet body slapping against mine. “Rub your clit for me…”

  He growls again when my fingers push through my pussy lips to find the tight, hot bundle of nerves at the top of my cleft. “Conner…” I moan his name, pressing my fingers against my clit, giving myself tight, hot circles that have me panting and writhing against him.

  “That’s it,” he groans, deep in his throat, still watching himself fuck me. Watching me fuck myself. “Just like that.” He lets go of one of my thighs, his hand reaching up to capture one of my breasts, his fingers squeezing my hard, swollen nipple. “You feel so good on my cock.” Cupping my breast, he leans into me, tracing his tongue along the swell of it. “I want you to come, Henley.” His mouth closes over my nipple, nipping and licking tender flesh, the stinging pleasure of it tightening my hand around the back of his neck, my fingers gripping and pulling the hair at his nape. “Come on me,” he growls against me when my hand slips higher into his hair, grazing the tender spot where he hit his head and he lets out a low, hissing moan. “That’s it—fuck… that’s my girl. That’s my Henley.” My fingers fist in his hair, yanking hard. “Come for me. Come all over my cock.”

  His hips slapping against mine. His hard cock pumping in and out of my throbbing pussy, fast and deep. His mouth on my breast, biting and sucking. My fingers swirling and pressing against my engorged clit.

  Suddenly I’m flying. Screaming his name, the harsh, desperate sound of it bouncing off the tile as my pussy bears down on the hot, unyielding length of him, pulling him deeper, quivering and flexing around his cock bu
ried inside me.

  “Christ.” He lets go of my other leg. Lets go of my breast. “I can’t—” He wraps his arms around me, one hand clamped around the back of my neck, the other pressed flat against the small of my back, holding me in place while he fucks me through my orgasm, his own barreling down on us both. “I can’t get—” He lifts his head to bury it in my neck, each hot, shallow breath he takes, broken and desperate against my throat. “I can’t—I need—”

  “Kiss me,” I whisper it in his ear, wrapping my legs around his hips pulling him in as deep and I can. As close and I can get. “Kiss me.”

  He hasn’t.

  Somehow, I know that he won’t. Not unless I ask.

  “Please, Conner—”

  The rest of my plea gets lost as his lips closes over mine, his tongue sliding inside, licking and tasting. Exploring every inch of my mouth. Everything slows to a crawl. My hands move and lift, cupping his face. Cradling his jaw. Fingertips smoothing over his brow. Thumb skating across his cheekbone. I moan softly against his mouth when the hand on my neck slips into my hair, tightening and tilting my head so he can deepen the kiss, his tongue and cock finding a slow, steady rhythm that brings tears to my eyes and scores my heart.

  I love you.

  As soon as I think it, he groans, low and deep in his throat, the sound of it vibrating down my spine while his cock jerking and spasming his release deep inside me. I smooth a hand down his back, locking my ankles around his hips, making soft sounds in the back of my throat until his arms finally loosen around me and he moves away from me, putting enough space between us to look down at me. He’s looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time in days. Like he just realized I’m here. That I’ve been here the whole time.

  “Water’s cold.” I say because it is, the showerhead’s been spitting freezing cold water at us for a while now, and because I don’t know what else to say.