Page 77 of Make Me Mean It

I step forward, and this time Connor moves with me, one step backwards as I crowd into his space.

“Don’t pretend you know a damn thing about me,” I growl, enough warning in my voice that anyone else would probably back the fuck off.

Connor’s hand comes up between us and plants flat against my chest, right over my heart, and the contact nearly makes me laugh because the fucking thing is hammering hard enough to give me away all on its own.

“I know enough,” he breathes, chin lifting.

I stare down at him, rolling my tongue against the inside of my cheek.

He doesn’t know I can still feel his mouth every fucking time I look at him, or how badly I’ve wanted it again since the second he pulled away. He doesn’t know I’ve spent days trying to swallow the fact that he kissed me like he fucking meant it, then looked me in the eye and told me it changed nothing.

And he definitely doesn’t know how close I am to grabbing him now and making him prove it.

“Get the fuck out, Reid.”

I step away before wanting him this close turns into doing something about it.

Connor’s fingers close around my jaw, yanking me back around so fast I barely register the movement before he’s moving too, his back hitting the wall as he drags me into him, his mouth crashing into mine.

I don’t move at first, caught completely off guard by the force of Connor’s mouth against mine.

His mouth catches the split in my lip and pain sparks through it, sharp enough that I taste fresh blood, but I couldn’t give less of a shit. My hand hits the wall beside his head while the other wraps around his waist, dragging him against me as a soft, wrecked sound slips out of my throat.

Fuck dignity. Connor’s kissing me again.

His fingers push into the damp hair at the back of my neck and knot there, keeping me exactly where he wants me while he angles my head and pushes his tongue between my lips.

My knees nearly fucking give out.

“Fuck,” I rasp against his mouth, everything I’ve spent the last few days trying not to want rushing back in twice as bad.

I’ve thought about this too many times, and somehow I still wasn’t prepared for what it would feel like when he actually did it again.

He pulls away, a frustrated sound clawing up my throat as I follow, but he only drops his forehead against mine. Our noses brush as we stand there dragging air into our lungs, his breath warm against my already parted lips.

His hair has fallen into his eyes, but I still see the hesitation return, his brows pulling together.

“I don’t-” he starts, his brain finally catching up with his body.

I close the tiny space between us and kiss him again, cutting off whatever sentence he’s about to use to ruin this before he can get it out. Connor makes a startled sound against my mouth, his fingers tightening in my hair.

“Stop thinking,” I breathe against his lips.

Connor goes rigid against me, and for one sickening moment I’m sure I’ve pushed too far.

Then the tension gives, his body softening into mine, and I don’t waste the invitation, pulling him flush against me.

Connor breaks the kiss again, but this time he barely gets anywhere. His forehead stays against mine, lips still catching against my mouth when he drags in a breath.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he says, the words practically tripping over each other in his rush to get them out.

A breathless laugh escapes me.

“Uh-huh.” I nod, letting my nose brush his. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, princess.”

My hands slide down and settle at his hips, keeping him against me, and the shift brings the hard press of him against my thigh.

My breath catches, and Connor goes rigid against me, his eyes snap to mine, wide and startled, colour burning across his cheeks while neither of us moves an inch.