Page 124 of Make Me Mean It

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

THEO

Ithrow my bedroom door open and pull up short at the sight of Connor sitting on my fucking bed, surprise dropping straight through my stomach as his head snaps up and those bright blue eyes lock onto mine.

I shove the door closed, my pulse tripping beneath my skin, leaning back against the shut door.

Connor shoots to his feet, his hands running down the front of his t-shirt, smoothing fabric that isn’t creased, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

My attention catches on his mouth, memory supplying exactly what it feels like against mine, and I drag my eyes back to his with a quiet breath. “What are you doing here, Connor?”

He shoves his hands into his pockets, moving away from the bed to lean against the desk, his shoulders sitting up by his ears, nothing relaxed about him as his eyes move over me.

They fall to the front of my shirt, the one he buttoned earlier, hesitating there.

“So you do know how to use my name?”

I snort, pushing away from the door, grateful for something familiar to grab onto. “Yeah, I know how to use it.”

My fingers find the first button of my shirt and work it loose, and when Connor’s eyes drop to follow them, I undo another just to see if he’ll keep watching. “I just choose not to.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and for one brief moment he looks almost like himself with me again before his lips press together and it’s gone.

“And now?” he asks softly.

My fingers pause on the next button, and when I look up, he’s standing beside my bed with his hands buried in his pockets, watching me in that quiet way that has spent the last few days making me question every decision I’ve made around him.

I can’t do it again. I can’t keep trying to work out what every look means when Connor gets close only to panic, touches me only to pull away, gives me just enough to make me think he wants this before reminding me that he doesn’t.

I turn away from him, forcing my fingers back to the buttons. “You should leave.”

The words feel fucking awful coming out, which is probably a good indication I should’ve said them a long time ago.

I cross to the dresser and grab the drawer, but it barely moves before Connor’s hand comes down over mine and shoves it closed.

His other hand closes around my arm and turns me, leaving me backed against the dresser with Connor right there. My shirt is still hanging open, and his eyes drop, slipping over the bare skin of my stomach before coming back to mine.

“I don’t want to,” he breathes.

I tip my head back, breaking eye contact because looking at him from this close is already wrecking my self-control. “Don’t do this, princess.”

My voice comes out rough, the nickname nowhere near as teasing as it should be.

Connor’s hand slides to my hip, palm resting warm against the bare strip of skin there, my stomach pulling taut beneath his touch.

He pulls me forward until I’m flush against him, his hips pressing into mine. My breath catches in my throat, and his fingers bite deeper into my hip in response, his thumb brushing over my stomach.

I tip my head farther back, unable to look at him, but that only leaves my throat exposed when Connor moves closer, his chest brushing mine and the warmth of his breath slipping across the sensitive skin beneath my jaw. My fingers clamp around the dresser behind me.

Fuck. Looking at him might actually be safer.

“Theo.”

My name brushes hot across the skin beneath my jaw, and I close my eyes, gripping the dresser behind me until the edge bites into my palms.

“Connor,” His name catches on the way out, barely making it past the pressure in my throat. I swallow, but it doesn’t clear. “Don’t fucking do this to me.”

Connor’s thumb sweeps slowly over my hip, tracing the edge of my shirt before slipping beneath it again. The steady pressure of his body keeps me pinned between him and the dresser, his mouth hovering above my throat.