Page 127 of Make Me Mean It

Connor’s mouth moves lower, pressing a kiss to my hip, his palm rolling over my aching length.

My fingers twist into the sheets as Connor leaves another mark against my hip. “Possessive little bastard.”

His mouth curves against my skin, but when he looks up, the amusement fades. His hand stays over me through my jeans, no longer squeezing, while his eyes search my face.

“Okay?”

My chest aches at the quiet question.

Connor can stand in my bedroom admitting the thought of someone else touching me is driving him insane, can leave his mouth all over my skin like he wants anyone who sees me afterwards to know exactly where he’s been, and he still stops the second it matters.

“Fuck, yeah.”

He shifts between my legs, staring at the front of my jeans, fingers resting against the waistband. The confidence he had while kissing me, touching me, marking my skin has disappeared now that he’s actually here, and his tongue drags nervously across his bottom lip.

Connor’s fingers are steadier than they were a minute ago when they find the button of my jeans.

The soft pop of it opening sounds too fucking loud in the room.

I barely get a breath in before his hand slips beneath the waistband of my boxers, fingers wrapping around the base of my cock in a firm grip that has my hips lifting straight into his hand.

“Fuck.”

Connor’s breath catches.

“What do I—”

“Shit, anything, Con.”

The words come out wrecked.

My hand closes around my own cock because I need something, giving myself one rough stroke as my hips push helplessly into my fist.

“Just—” I swallow, looking down at him. “Please fucking touch me.”

Connor’s hesitation disappears the second his eyes drop, his mouth falling slightly open as he watches my hand move. His breathing deepens, nostrils flaring slightly, and when he looks back up at me, the uncertainty is gone.

Connor leans down, his breath washing hot over the head of my cock, and I tense so hard my thighs shake.

“Con—”

His tongue presses against the base of me and drags slowly upward.

My head drops back against the mattress with a stuttered curse.

Every thought in my head disappears as his tongue follows the length of me, wet and deliberate, all the way to the tip. He circles it once, like he’s figuring out what makes me react, and apparently the answer is fucking everything because my hips twitch beneath him.

Then his mouth closes around me, the heat of it nearly making me come off the bed.

My hand finds his hair, fingers tangling into the soft strands as a broken sound tears out of my throat. I try not to shove him down, keeping my grip loose enough to let him move, but then he takes me deeper, and my fingers tighten anyway.

“Jesus, Connor.”

He makes a sound around me, the vibration going straight through my cock.

My hips jerk up, pushing deeper into his mouth, and Connor pulls back slightly with a sharp breath before taking me again.

“Sorry,” I manage, loosening my grip on his hair.