Chapter 25

Conor has the artistic aptitude of a gerbil.

I learn this troubling fact when he comes over on Wednesday after his Econ class to find me already in my pajamas and elbow deep in construction paper. The kids are creating paper rainforests in Mrs. Gardner’s class this week and I’ve got about two hundred paper flowers, birds, and other living things to cut out for them tonight. When Conor offered to help, I assumed he had at least a fifth-grade education in tracing and basic humanoid skills at operating a pair of scissors. My mistake.

“What is that supposed to be?” I ask, holding back laughter. Cartoons play in the background while we sit on the living room rug. One of the things I love about working in an elementary school is that it doesn’t let you take yourself too seriously.

“A frog.” He admires his genetic abomination, so sweetly proud of the grotesque creature that were it alive it would wheeze in agony before throwing itself in front of a moving car.

“It looks like a turd with warts.”

“The fuck, Marsh.” With a look of sincere insult, he covers where the frog’s ears would be. “You’re going to give him a complex.”

“He needs a good mercy kill, Edwards.” Giggles sputter out of me and I almost feel bad for Conor’s devotion to his deformed creation.

“Do you spend your off hours poisoning all the less than conventionally attractive baby bunnies, too?”

“Here.” I hand him a few sheets of colored paper where I’ve already traced several flowers. “Just cut these out.”

He pouts. “You’re going to be the meanest teacher.”

“Try to stay in the lines, please.”

Grumbling “whatever” under his breath, Conor retreats into the joyless task of cutting out flowers.

I can’t help but cast surreptitious glances his way, admiring the adorable look of concentration on his face.

How is this real? There’s six feet, two inches of solid muscle and man sprawled out on my floor. Conor constantly blows his hair off of his forehead as he works.

Sometimes I forget how attractive he is. I guess I’ve gotten used to him being around, taken for granted the soft shape of his lips and the masculine curve of his shoulders. The way his skin brushing against mine when we don’t even mean to be touching makes my nerves jitter. The way it feels when he’s on top of me.

When I imagine him inside me.

After a few minutes, I check on his progress to discover he’s spent his time cutting out dicks of protest and lining them up neatly across my living room floor. When he notices me noticing, he crosses him arms and smiles proudly.

“Do you care to explain the dicks?”

“They’re flowers,” he says in a defiant tone, and I can easily picture a younger version of Conor rolling his eyes at high school teachers and flipping them the bird behind their backs.

“They have testicles!” I sputter.

“So? Flowers have testicles. They’re called anthers. Look it up.” He smirks, all full of attitude and mischief. It’s not fair that he’s so charming when he’s being a pain in the ass. If we’d met in high school, I can only imagine the trouble he’d have gotten me into. We’d probably be fugitives by now.

“What if one of your dicks made it into the flower pile and tomorrow I had to explain to their teacher why she has two dozen six-year-olds plastering penises all over her classroom?” With an irritable sigh, I gather up the dicks and dump them in the trash.

“I thought you were using the word rainforest as a euphemism,” Conor replies, unconvincingly and quite pleased with himself. “You know, like birds and bees.”

“They’re in first grade.”

“When I was in first grade, Kai and I once hid in the cabinet under his kitchen sink to spy on his brother’s friends watching Girls Gone Wild DVDs.”

“That explains so much.” When I go to the fridge for a soda, he comes up behind me and catches me around the waist to press his body against mine. He’s hard, and that knowledge sends a current pulsating under my skin.

“Actually,” he murmurs against my neck, “I was just hoping we could take a break so I could get you naked.”

His palms travel up my ribs, while his lips kiss down beneath my ear and across my shoulder where my oversized cropped shirt sags low. When those firm hands cup and squeeze my breasts, I can’t help but arch my back.

Groaning, he spins me around and backs me up against the fridge. His lips muffle my sound of surprise, his tongue penetrating my mouth.

There’s something different about him tonight. Hungry. I reach for his T-shirt, but Conor catches my hands and lifts them above my head. Holding my wrists in one hand, he uses the other to tug free the bow on the front of my pajama shorts and lets them fall down my legs. Still kissing me, his fingers slip between my thighs, beneath my bikini underwear. The stainless steel of the refrigerator is cold against my back as he gently rubs up and down my slit, teasing my entrance.

I hold my breath, pulling away from his lips as he glides one, and then a second finger inside me. My knees bend of their own accord at the wonderful feeling of fullness and Conor’s thumb rubbing over my clit.

“I love making you come,” he says, his voice rough. “Will you let me?”

Excited bumps erupt over my skin as a rolling wave of arousal washes through me. My body goes a bit limp as it surrenders to Conor. My eyelids flutter closed. “Yes,” I beg.

He pulls away abruptly.

I open my eyes and stare at him in a daze. “What’s wrong?”

“Let me look at you.”

I’m not sure what he means until I watch him cup his erect cock through his jeans. The long, thick outline protruding beneath the denim makes my heart race. He squeezes, waiting for me to comply.

We’ve never crossed this threshold, not with the lights on anyway. But I don’t want to say no. I don’t want to feel self-conscious or embarrassed in front of him anymore. Conor makes me feel safe, beautiful, desired. And right now, here in this moment, I don’t want to be the thing standing between us.

Slowly, I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the cold tile floor. Then I slide my panties down my legs and kick them aside.

His hot gaze freely roams my naked body as if he owns it. “You’re gorgeous, Taylor.”

Once more he hoists both my hands above my head, exposing my breasts to his lust-drenched eyes. He bends his blond head and wraps his lips around one nipple, licking and suckling until I’m squirming against him, needy for attention elsewhere.

“Con. Let’s go to bed. Or at least the couch.”

“Nah.”

God, that California surfer-boy drawl kills me every time. I shiver as he kisses his way down my abdomen and kneels in front of me, pulling one leg over his shoulder to open me to his mouth.

I moan the moment his tongue licks my slit. He flicks it over my clit and sucks purposefully. He devours me with practiced precision, and it’s all I can do to hold on to his shoulders while my hips move against his mouth.

My thighs clench as I feel the orgasm building low in my belly. “Keep doing that,” I plead. “I’ll kill you if you stop.”

His husky chuckles vibrate against my core. But he doesn’t stop. Knowing I’m close, he laves my clit with his tongue and slips one long finger inside me, thrusting slowly as he coaxes me to climax. I shatter, panting in shallow breaths, the pleasure detonating in my core and surging through my body.

Before I’ve completely recovered, Conor stands up and buries his face in the crook of my neck, kissing and sucking on my flesh while I continue to quiver from the orgasmic aftereffects.

“I am so fucking addicted to you, Taylor.” His voice is gravel. He lifts his head, and I see his eyes gleaming with need.

Then he suddenly scoops me up in his arms, eliciting a squeal of protest from my throat.

“Put me down,” I yelp, as my hands instinctively loop around his neck so I don’t fall on my ass. “I’m too heavy for you.”

His laughter tickles the top of my head. “Babe, I bench like twice your weight on a slow day.”

I relax slightly as he carries me off to my bedroom. I don’t feel light as a feather in his arms, but he doesn’t seem to be struggling at all, which is encouraging. Note to self: always date someone who can bench-press twice your weight.

He lays me down in the center of the mattress, carefully placing my head against the pillows. Then he stands at the foot of the bed, his hands moving to the collar of his shirt.

“Permission to get naked?” He grins adorably.

“Permission granted.” Man, now my voice is the one that sounds gravelly.

I watch with hooded eyes as he strips out of his T-shirt, jeans, and boxer briefs. I never get tired of staring at him. The planes of his chest, the shadows that accentuate his muscular arms. His beautiful, broad, athlete’s physique robs me of breath. He’s perfection.

My eyes fall to his long, thick cock and a resulting bolt of heat goes right between my legs.

This is a first for him, too. Being completely naked in front of me. And I appreciate that he does it not because it was a difficult step for him, but because he wants me to be comfortable.

Conor climbs onto the bed and covers me with his body. His lips find mine and we start kissing, tongues greedy and desperate, until we’re both breathing heavily. I’ve never made out with anyone while we were both naked. Conor’s dick lies heavy between my legs, slightly nudging my opening. It’d be so easy to just say yes, part my thighs a bit wider, grip him, and guide him inside.

His tongue teases mine again and for a moment it’s all I want.

I want to say yes.

But.

“I don’t think I’m…you know…there yet,” I whisper against his mouth.

He lifts his head. Hazy arousal has darkened his eyes.

“I mean, I want to be.”

“Okay.” Conor rolls onto his side beside me. His dick is at full salute, and the pearly drop pooling at the tip makes my mouth water.

Swallowing, I sit up. “There’s a big part of me that just wants to do it and get it over with, but—”

“You don’t have to rush for me,” he says easily. “I’m not in a hurry.”

“No?” I search his expression for any signs of annoyance.

“No,” he promises, sitting up too. “When you’re ready, I hope it’s with me. If not, I’m content right here with the way things are. I mean that.”

I kiss him. Because despite all his protestations to the contrary, Conor is a good guy. He’s sweet and funny and I think somehow he’s even become my best friend. My best friend with dick benefits.

Releasing his lips, I take his cock in my hand. He’s still hard, throbbing. His entire body tenses when I wrap my fingers around him and slide my fist up, down.

“Babe,” he breathes, and I don’t know what he intends by it—babe, stop? Babe, keep going?

If it was the former, it quickly turns into the latter when I slide to the floor and settle on my knees in front of him. His hands brace against the bed and his head drops forward at the first swipe of my tongue along his length.

Conor’s legs tremble while I suck him. He breathes slow and deep, as if it’s taking all his concentration.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles as I take him deep in my mouth. His hips start moving, gently thrusting forward. “Please don’t ever stop.”

It’s hard to smile when my lips are wrapped tightly around him, but I’m smiling in spirit. I love doing this to him, love driving him to the edge of blissful desperation. I know when I’ve almost got him there because he groans as his hands reach for my breasts and his hips lift off the bed just a little.

I don’t know what makes me do it, but rather than letting him finish on his stomach, I take him in my hand and stroke him until he releases on my tits. It gives me a little thrill I didn’t expect, a sharp sting of naughtiness. Once he’s stopped shuddering, I peer up at his gorgeous face and see raw lust staring back at me.

“Fuck,” he says, winded and brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

I laugh awkwardly. “I’m just gonna get cleaned up.”

As I’m getting up to go to the bathroom, his phone buzzes on the floor. He answers it while I’m waiting for the shower to heat up. I can’t make out exactly what he says, but he sounds upset when he hears who’s on the other end.

“I can’t,” I think he says. “Forget it… The answer’s still no.”

It’s Kai again, I have no doubt of that. Whatever Conor’s old friend is after, he’s not letting this go.

And Conor’s not offering any details. After I’m out of the shower, there’s a distinct thundercloud over his mood, until he finally turns down my invitation to stay the night and heads home early.

Goddamn Kai. I wish he’d just go away. Clearly there’s still something between those two, some terrible secret that’s eating Conor up inside. As badly as I want him to talk to me, though, I’m not going to push him.

I just hope he finds a way to deal with it before it consumes him entirely.