Page 134 of Make Me Mean It

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CONNOR

The warmth of Theo's hand presses against my chest, and I push up onto my elbows to give him space, but there's a wrongness to the movement catches me. The way he presses a little harder when I don’t move fast enough, his eyes sliding away from mine instead of finding them.

My brows pull together.

“You okay?” I ask, softly, the words still rough around the edges, but Theo doesn’t answer me.

He pushes at my chest again, not shoving me away, but clearly wanting space, and the realisation sends an uncomfortable twist through my stomach.

I pull back fully, sitting up and letting him move.

Theo drags himself higher against the pillows until his back meets the headboard, his chest still heaving, skin flushed and damp, his hair a fucking mess from my hands. Everything we just did is still written all over him. The marks on his throat. His swollen lips. The come streaked across his stomach.

But the openness that was there seconds ago is gone.

I can almost see him pulling it back in, shutting something behind his eyes before I can get close enough to understand it, and unease knots low in my stomach.

“Theo?”

I’m more careful this time, watching his face like there’s something there I’m supposed to be able to read if I look hard enough.

“Fine,” he rasps.

He still won’t fucking look at me.

He’s not fine.

I shift forward again, moving between his legs. I expect him to close them or push me away this time, but he doesn’t. His thighs fall open around me without any resistance, letting me back into the space he’d just tried to make.

I settle onto my knees between them and reach for him, trailing my fingers along the sharp line of his jaw before catching beneath his chin and tipping his face towards mine.

“What’s going on?” I ask quietly.

Theo swallows, and I feel the movement beneath my fingers, the sudden tension in his jaw, and then his head turns away from me.

Out of my touch.

It's such a small movement that it shouldn’t feel like anything at all, but cold crawls up my spine at the loss of him.

“Talk to me,” I say, and I hear the slight shake in my own voice now. “Please.”

Theo lets out a breath that sounds like he’s trying to laugh, except there’s nothing even remotely amused about it, his eyes falling away again.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving?”

My stomach drops.

He moves like he’s going to get up,

“No.”

My hand shoots out and closes around his wrist before he can get anywhere.

“Stop.”

It comes out firmer than I mean it to, but the thought of him getting up and walking away from me like this makes nausea claw at the back of my throat.