Page 79 of Make Me Mean It

My brain catches up with what my body’s already done, and fuck. I’m on my knees in front of Connor with his jeans open beneath my hands.

My fingers hesitate against the denim, and Connor’s hand closes around my chin, tipping my face towards him, and whatever was left of my confidence takes another hit.

His pupils have swallowed almost all that stupid blue, his lips still swollen from mine, and the way he’s staring down at me makes me painfully aware of exactly where I am.

“You sure?” Connor asks, without a hint of teasing, his thumb brushing over the corner of my mouth.

I swallow and nod, but Connor’s hand stays firmly around my jaw.

“Theo.”

There’s enough warning in my name that I roll my eyes, even with my pulse hammering somewhere in my throat. “Yours is not the first dick I’ve sucked, princess.”

Connor makes a low sound above me, rough enough to pull my eyes straight back to his.

“Like this?” he asks, gaze dropping briefly between us before finding mine again. “On your-” his voice catches.

“On my knees?” I finish for him, tipping my head slightly into his hand, a smirk pulling at my mouth.

Connor swallows, and the smirk starts to fade because, shit, no. Not like this.

I’ve done this before. That part isn’t new. But I’ve never been here, kneeling between someone’s legs while they hold my face in their hand and look at me the way Connor is looking at me now. I’ve never felt this fucking exposed by it.

“No,” I admit.

Connor reaches for my arm, starting to pull me up, but I refuse, staying exactly where I am and press my palm over him through his jeans instead.

His head knocks back against the wall, the sound that leaves him cutting off as his whole body goes taut beneath my hand.

“Theo.” His eyes come straight back to mine. “Are you sure?”

I don’t look away. If he wants an answer, he can fucking watch me give him one.

I reach into his jeans and pull him free. The sight of him sends a fresh rush of heat through me, my mouth already watering as my attention follows the thick length of him before dragging reluctantly back to his face.

“Not even a little,” I admit, a breathless laugh escaping me, my fingers squeezing around the base of him.

I lean forward, closing my lips around the head.

The taste of pre-come blooms over my tongue, and a low moan tears out of me, my lashes fluttering shut as I swirl my tongue around the tip and roll it slowly over the slit.

I taste him properly, taking my time with it, and Connor’s breath catches somewhere above me.

“Fuck, he rasps, already sounding wrecked.

His hips jerk forward, pushing deeper into my mouth, and I feel every inch he gives me, the sudden stretch of him, the weight of his cock against my tongue. The tiny slip in Connor’s control pulsing through me.

I breathe slowly through my nose, relaxing my jaw, taking him deeper. My throat works around him as I adjust, giving him another inch and then another until my eyes start to sting and my fingers curl against his thigh to steady myself.

Connor thrusts harder, the head of his cock hitting the back of my throat, and I gag, my eyes flooding with tears.

“Shit.”

His hands fist in my hair, pulling me back.

I come off him coughing, sucking air into my lungs, my fingers biting into his thigh. Connor’s chest is heaving above me, his eyes searching my face while I blink through the tears still clinging to my lashes.

“Sorry,” he rasps.