Chapter 17

I feel like such a jackass.

Taking refuge from the throbbing music and pulsating lights down a hallway outside the restrooms, I press myself into a corner and try to take a deep breath. It’s too hot in here, too crowded. This place is pulling the air from my lungs.

What the hell was I thinking letting Summer talk me into borrowing this stupid dress?

And the hair.

The makeup.

The silver stilettos.

This person isn’t real. She isn’t me. Sure, it seemed worth it to see the look on Conor’s face when he spotted me across the room. But even a good disguise can’t hide what I am: a joke. Conor’s charity case.

He’s just too kind to see it.

“Fuck, Taylor. I’m sorry.”

Speak of the well-meaning devil. My head lifts as Conor shoves past the men stumbling toward the restroom and comes to a stop in front of me.

There’s real panic in his eyes. Whether it’s due to me or whoever that guy was back there, I don’t know. And I’m too tired to care. I’m all out of fight. None of this is his fault, but I just can’t pretend anymore.

“I want to go,” I tell him frankly.

He hangs his head. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get us a ride back to the hotel.”

It’s a quiet trip. With every minute I feel the gulf between us widening, feel myself shutting down.

My mistake was letting myself believe I didn’t care—about him, and the fact that our silly arrangement was always going to be temporary. I don’t know how sticking it to Abigail turned into me following him six hours to Buffalo, but it’s my fault that I let it happen. My mom didn’t raise me on fairy tales and I was stupid for falling for my own ill-conceived ruse.

“I’m sorry,” Conor says again when we reach my hotel room. His expression reflects my own loss for words. He doesn’t have to say it—we both know this whole thing blew up in our faces exactly the way it was always meant to. “Can I come in?”

I should say no and spare myself the torment of an extended “it was nice knowing you.” I’m weak, though. Reluctant to lose the friendship we’d only just repaired, and disappointed that I wasn’t brave enough to stand up to Abigail that very first night. If I had been, I would’ve saved myself the heartache and humiliation now.

“Yeah,” I murmur, unlocking the door. “Sure.”

Inside, I kick off my new heels, grab a six-dollar bottle of water from the mini bar and start chugging. When I turn around, Conor’s on the queen-sized bed, pillows arranged to form a barrier beside him.

A smile almost springs free as I remember how I did the same thing the night we met, arranging Rachel’s stuffed animal collection on the bed between us.

“Will you sit with me?” His tone is rough, lacking its usual laidback inflection.

I nod. Only because my feet hurt and I’m too self-conscious standing there on display for him.

“You’re upset,” he begins. “And I know why.”

I stretch out on the other side of the pillow wall, my short dress riding up to reveal way too much thigh. I feel sweaty and tired and I’m sure my hair is a wild mess of tangled waves. So how is it that Conor still looks fresh as a stupid daisy in a charcoal button-down over a black T-shirt and dark jeans?

“That guy back there is a total idiot, and you shouldn’t waste a second worrying about the dumb shit that comes out of his mouth,” Conor says. “It wouldn’t have mattered who was standing next to me, trust me. Kai would’ve found a way to insult them. He picked on you because he knew it would get a rise out of me.” I hear him sigh. “That’s not fair to you. It’s fucking mean and I’m sorry it happened, but please don’t let this ruin your weekend.”

“He hit on the one nerve,” I find myself whispering.

“I know, babe. And if you knew him like I do, you would’ve stabbed him in the nuts with one of those heels and gone on about your life without a second thought.”

“Shit.” I breathe out a sad laugh. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you have tact.”

I give him a sideways look.

“Most of the time,” he says with a smirk. “My point is, forget about what that asshole said. You look amazing tonight.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.”

A blush rises to my cheeks. I hate how easy it is for him to do that, to get a physical response out of me.

I take one of the pillows from the barrier and hug it to my chest. “Who is he to you, anyway? A friend from California, I take it?”

Conor’s head falls back against the headboard as he lets out another long sigh. I wait, watching the story play out across his face, as if he’s deciding how much to tell me.

“Kai was my best friend growing up,” he finally reveals. “Back in my old neighborhood. We’d skateboard together, surf, smoke weed, whatever. When my mom got married and we moved to Huntington Beach, I’d still see him now and then, meet up to surf, but it’s hard when you’re not attending the same school anymore, you know? So we drifted apart. By college, I’d stopped returning his texts and that was pretty much it.”

I don’t know Conor well, certainly not well enough to have any read on his relationship with Kai. But I think I’ve spent enough time with him recently to know when he’s holding something back. There’s a wound there, something deep. Whatever it is, it’s a step too far to let me see it.

“You’re not convinced he tracked you down just to say hi, huh?”

“Not a chance.” There’s an edge to his voice. “I’ve known Kai most of my life. He’s never not been up to something.”

“So what do you think he’s up to?”

Conor chews on that, his jaw working. The muscles in his neck twitch. “You know what? Not my problem and I don’t want to know.” He rolls onto his side to face me. Something about his vivid gray eyes, the way his lips part when he’s staring at mine, does my head in every time. “I was having a great night before we were interrupted.”

I can feel myself blushing again. I bite my lip a little too hard, just to remind myself of the pain that’s always waiting when I let myself pretend. And yet I can’t stop myself from saying, “Me too.”

“I would’ve really liked to see where it was headed.”

“Where do you think it was headed?” Oh boy. Does that throaty voice actually belong to me?

His gaze turns molten. “I’ve got about a thousand ideas, if you’re into it.”

Am I into it?

Of course I’m into it. I’m way too into it and that’s the tricky part. Because right now is when I make the decision—go all in on total emotional destruction with Conor, or make a clean break for good.

Why does he have to smell so nice?

“I have to tell you something,” I say, squeezing the pillow to my chest and staring at my toes. “I’m…” A coward. I take a deep breath and try again. “I’ve never been with anyone. Like at all. Well, I’ve done a little. But not much.”

“Oh,” is his response.

It hangs there, that infuriating little syllable. Like a wisp of smoke growing larger as it fills the room.

Then he drawls, “I was a virgin too, once.”

I jab him with an elbow.

“It’s been a while since I was with a virgin.”

Another jab.

“I won’t tell anyone that you came too fast.”

I swing the pillow at his face. “This isn’t funny, asshole,” I say, laughing despite myself. “I’m being incredibly vulnerable right now.”

“Babe.” He throws the pillows to the end of the bed and climbs on top of me, settling between my legs while crouched on his knees. We’re not even touching, but the image of him above me, the heat emanating from his muscular body… I’ve never experienced anything so erotic in my life. “I know I’ve been a fuckboy in the past. But I don’t want to be that guy with you.”

“How do I know that?” I ask honestly.

“Because I’ve never lied to you. I wouldn’t. Even though we haven’t known each other that long, you see me better than anyone else I know.” I’m startled to hear his deep voice waver. “You do know me, Taylor. Trust that.”

He leans in and gently presses his lips to mine. The kiss is soft, unhurried, as if he’s savoring this one perfect moment, just as I am. When he pulls away, I glimpse the lust and naked need in his eyes, the same churning in mine.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises. “If you’ll let me.”

My body wins over my better judgment. I reach for him, pulling him down for another kiss. I feel him hard against my thigh, and my core clenches in response.

I know he’s as turned on as I am, and yet he stokes the anticipation for longer than I can stand. Kissing me deeply, trapping me beneath him by planting his hands on the bed at either side of my head. I wrap my leg around his hip, trying to draw him closer, to urge him toward…I don’t even know what. Something to ease this ache inside me.

“Touch me,” I whisper against his mouth.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks, dragging his lips down my neck.

I don’t know how to be, I don’t know, sexy. So I use my body to tell him what I need. I wrap my other leg around him and arch my hips, pressing myself against his erection.

The move elicits a groan from Conor, who buries his head in the crook of my neck and thrusts between my thighs.

“When you say you’ve ‘done a little,’ what does that mean?” His warm breath tickles my collarbone as he kisses his way down to my cleavage.

“It means a little.” I rock against his thrusting groin, distracted by the flurry of sensations racing through my body.

“Anyone ever done this?” he asks, and then tugs at the low scoop neck of my dress to expose a bit more of my breasts. He cups them, his thumbs stroking gently.

“Yeah. But not this.” I pull one spaghetti strap off my shoulder to give him greater access, which exposes my nipples.

“Jesus, Taylor.” Conor licks his lips. “I need to taste you.”

My hips rise again. “Please.”

He licks one rigid nipple, then draws it deep in his mouth. The resulting shockwave goes straight between my legs. Holy hell, this feels good. His hot mouth explores my breasts, kissing and sucking and nibbling until I’m writhing with the need for more of him. For him to let me off this hook of taut desire.

He chuckles at my desperation, his hand traveling down my leg, between my thighs. Then he stops. “How about this?” he rasps. “Can I?”

I moan in response, and his fingertips skim my pussy, dancing over my clit. Only one other person has touched me there, not counting my own hand, but Conor’s the first man I’ve let tug on the elastic of my panties and slide them off.

I’m practically naked now, top and bottom exposed, with my dress bunched up around my waist.

Conor regards me with pure hunger in his eyes. “You’re so fucking hot. You have no idea.”

I shift in discomfort, managing a hasty laugh. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” His tongue sweeps out to lick his bottom lip.

“Like that. It’s making me self-conscious.” I try to pull my dress down a little, but he stills my hand, his palm covering my knuckles.

“Taylor.” There’s an intensity in his eyes that I haven’t glimpsed before. “What do you think I see when I look at you?”

A chunky girl in a too-tight dress.

“I’m not sure,” I lie. “But I know you’re not seeing one of those skinny chicks you’re probably used to, with their perfect, toned body.” I awkwardly place a palm over my half-exposed stomach. “See, no abs.”

“Who needs ’em? I’ve got enough abs for the both of us.”

I snicker, but the sound dies when he covers my hand again, this time pushing it away so that his palm is the one on my belly.

“You’re exactly what I want in a woman,” he says seriously, both hands now exploring my body. “Soft and warm…your thighs…your ass…fuck, these hips—”

His fingers curl around said hips, which my incredibly obtuse male GP once described as “more than suitable for child-bearing.”

“Your curves kill me, T.”

Before I can respond, he grabs my hand and presses it directly onto his crotch. There’s no mistaking his arousal.

“Feel how hard I am?” He groans softly. “That’s all you. You’re the stuff of my fantasies.”

He’s either the greatest actor on the planet…or he means every word he’s saying. Either way, my body is responding to his heated gaze and the husky compliments. Cheeks scorching, breasts tingling, pussy aching. If he doesn’t start touching me again, I’m liable to self-combust.

“So…now…I can keep reassuring you how sexy you are,” Conor says playfully, “or I can give you an orgasm. Choose wisely.”

Anticipation shudders through me. “Orgasm,” I blurt out. “I choose orgasm.”

He chuckles. “Good call.”

I bite my lip when he slips a finger inside me. Not too deep, just a knuckle or two. Just enough to cause my entire body to clench around him.

A dirty smile curves his lips. He plays with me until I can’t stand it any longer and push against his fingers, silently begging for more.

Breathing hard, he slides down my body until he’s gazing up at me from between my thighs. Conor run his hands up my calves, over my knees, his lips grazing my inner thighs. He kisses his way to my pussy, sweeps his tongue over my clit, and I cry out from the bolt of pleasure he generates inside me. I grab fistfuls of the blanket and press my ass into the bed to stop from squirming.

“Feel good?” he asks, then resumes his wicked ministrations without waiting for an answer.

It’s the greatest feeling in the world, his warm, wet mouth exploring my sensitive, aching body. Breathy sounds and low whimpers fill the hotel room, and it takes a while to realize they’re coming from me. I’m lost in a haze, completely caught up in the pleasure he’s bringing. I rock against his eager mouth, then cry in disappointment when the heat of it disappears.

“Fucking hell, hold on,” he chokes out.

I feel the mattress shift, hear what sounds like a zipper. My eyelids flutter open in time to see Conor slipping one hand inside his boxers. Just as it registers that he’s stroking himself, his mouth returns to my pussy and short circuits my brain again.

With his tongue and fingers, he coaxes me to the edge again, while his free hand works his cock. I want to be the one helping him do that. I want his dick in my mouth. I want to taste him. I want to make him lose control the way he’s doing to me.

Conor suddenly groans against my pussy, his hips moving quicker. He sucks on my clit, panting hard, breathing out, “I’m coming.”

And that’s all it takes for the thread of tension inside me to snap. An orgasm, one with a level of intensity I’ve never experienced, shudders through my muscles. Even my toes go numb as I gasp through the pulsating heat that captures my every nerve ending.

Conor Fucking Edwards.