Page 126 of Make Me Mean It

“Fuck.” My hands bunch in his shirt, pulling him closer even while the words scrape their way out. “You’re gonna hate me in the morning.”

Connor’s mouth stills against my throat.

“I might hate me in the morning,” I admit, quieter.

Connor kisses me, my resistance going with it.

I kiss him back, fingers knotting in the front of his shirt, relief hitting me so hard it hurts. His mouth is on mine. His palms warm against my skin, and for a few seconds I let myself have that without thinking about what happens when morning comes.

Connor pulls back, and I hate the distance until his eyes drop between us and I realise he isn’t pulling away at all. His gaze moves slowly over my chest, lingering on every inch of exposed skin with an intensity that makes it difficult to breathe.

“Look at you.”

My chest aches with the way he says it, and I turn my face away before I can start believing him again. “Don’t lie to me.”

Connor’s fingers slide along my jaw and turn me back towards him. Anger flashes across his face, quick and sharp, but it dies the second our eyes meet, his mouth tightening as guilt pulls his brows together.

“I didn’t lie to you, Theo.”

I swallow.

“You called it a mistake.”

“That doesn’t mean I lied.”

Connor kisses me, easing me back onto the mattress as he follows until his weight settles over me. His mouth leaves mine only to find my jaw, then the sensitive skin beneath it, every kiss slower than the last.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my throat.

My fingers fist in the sheets as I squeeze my eyes shut, because hearing it again hurts almost as much as I fucking want it.

I believed him last time.

That’s what scares me.

Because lying here beneath him with his mouth against my skin and that word still warm between us, I can already feel myself believing him again.

“Fuck.”

Connor’s mouth moves across my collarbone, teeth nipping until it stings before his tongue passes over the same spot. My stomach pulls tight, and I look down, only to find those blue eyes already fixed on my face.

Watching.

Waiting for every fucking reaction.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

The corner of Connor’s mouth lifts against my skin, his hand sliding down my stomach and over the waistband of my jeans, his palm closing around my cock through the denim and squeezing, dragging a rough moan from my throat.

“If it means no one else gets to look at you.”

There’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at me now, jaw set and mouth still pressed against the mark he just left on my skin.

A breathless laugh escapes me. “Oh fuck, you’re crazy.”

Connor’s fingers move to the button of my jeans, and the laugh disappears into a broken sound I don’t manage to swallow.

He works my jeans open, and I lift my hips into his hands without waiting for him to ask, my hesitation drowning beneath how badly I want him touching me.