Page 31 of Conor
Our boy.
The words unthaw the coldest corners of my heart, and even if it’s wrong to let him say it, I like those pretty words from his lips. I like them so much I want to hear him say them over and over again.
“He’s doing good.” I turn into him and lean against his chest. “But he’s been asking where you are.”
“Tomorrow.” He tilts his head toward mine and murmurs against my lips. “We should do something with him tomorrow.”
“Right.” The whisper gets caught somewhere between us, and then swallowed when Conor’s lips sink into mine. Already, I’m used to Conor taking what he wants, but this kiss is different. When he kissed me before, it was a means to an end. To claim me. Possess me. Own me. Fuck me. But something has changed between us on a deeper level, and I can’t deny it. It’s leisurely and passionate. A kiss that could go on forever. I’m breathless and on the edge of sanity when he rolls his hips against my ass, allowing me to feel what I do to him.
“I want you,” he grunts. “Say you want me too.”
I can’t even pretend that I don’t. I cave forward, dragging my fingers through his hair and arching my biting hard nipples against his chest. “I want you too.”
He groans and nips at my throat as his hand tangles in the mass of my hair. “Say it again. Make me believe it.”
I submit to his request, even louder this time. Conor burrows into my collarbone and grazes the sensitive skin with his teeth.
“No, that won’t do. I want to hear ye say it when ye’re full of my cock.”
“Conor?” Ivy blinks up at me shyly, and I don’t respond. I don’t want her to speak right now. I don’t want anything other than these few seconds of quiet.
My eyes roam over the naked artistry of the woman sprawled across my bed, sopping up every detail of her curves. She’s soft in all the places that I’m not. Inches of milky skin and a hypnotic beauty that I’m quickly becoming addicted to. The subtle bows of her hips taper off into a narrow waist and a valley of silky flesh, rounded out by two plush breasts topped with pink nipples. I have a notion to taste them first, but that wouldn’t satiate me. I want all of her. Every intricacy of her body. Every freckle, every scar. There’s an urgency inside of me to memorize her wounds and lay claim to her vulnerability.
Muerto owned her, but he never possessed her. With him, she was a bird in a cage, ready to fly away at the first opportunity. It isn’t enough to fuck her and tell her she’s my wife. I need to make her mine in ways she will never question or doubt. I want her cage door open, but her mind content to stay right here with me.
I peel off my shirt and unbutton my pants, dropping them to the floor. Ivy’s chest expands when her eyes move over the bulge in my briefs, and I wonder if she’s aware how dark her eyes can be when she’s hungry. I palm my dick through the material and toss her a lazy smile. Her body tells the truth her lips refuse. She has nowhere else to be right now, except for in my bed, with my cock balls deep inside her.
My calloused fingers feather over the delicate skin of her ankles, and she shivers when I trace the expanse of velvet all the way up to her knees. She feels like warm honey wrapped in silk, and I hate that any other man has ever touched her. She’s mine, and she always has been. I just didn’t know it until now.
This cancerous craving breeds deep within, poisoning me from the inside out. I want her words, her thoughts, her smiles and her tears. I want everything from her. It’s a fool’s errand, but it doesn’t stop me from feeding the flames.
All day, she’s corrupting my thoughts. I imagine her here, in my bed, laying against my pillow. Her scent burned into my sheets. I have ideas about her riding my cock, kissing me, soothing my aches after a long day. And it only gets worse from there. I think about her proudly wearing my ring, showing the world who she belongs to when she’s swollen with my child. These are things I never thought I would want, but fuck if I don’t want them with her.
When our eyes clash, I can’t bring myself to admit my weakness. The second best thing I can do is bow down between her spread legs and plunge my tongue into her wet pussy. She whimpers, and I sop up her sweetness. Everything else falls away. There’s nothing else between us. It’s just Ivy, vulnerable to me. Giving herself to me. Riding my face while she grabs handfuls of my hair and comes on my mouth.
“Conor.” Her back arches up off the bed, broadcasting her perfect, fuckable tits. I’m starving, manic to taste them when I crawl up her body and latch onto the first nipple in my reach. She hisses, and I pull her flesh deeper, greedy for more while I fumble with my briefs. I fetch my cock and bump against her tight pussy, blundering through the whole performance like it’s my first time.
“Chrissakes,” I grunt against her. Ivy’s lips curve into a smile as she pets my hair with one hand and reaches down to guide me with the other.
I coast into my own little slice of paradise, and it stirs the delirium in my brain. I want to blame it on the pain pills flooding my blood stream, but I know it isn’t that. I’ve missed this. And being inside her now, I can’t remember why I ever thought it was a good idea to go without.
“Fuck ye’re pretty.” My hips crash into hers and she takes it like a champ while her nails dig into my back. “You haven’t a clue what you do to men, do ye?”
Her eyes are soft and open as they study my face, seeking out the truth behind my ramblings. I don’t want to look away, but she feels so fucking good wrapped around my dick. My eyes are too heavy, and I don’t know if I’m falling into a coma or intoxication when my balls draw up and my entire body shudders.
“Fuck.” My arms give out, and I collapse on top of her, dick jerking and pulsing as I flood her with what feels like a year’s worth of my come.
Her fingers feather through my hair, and I can’t move. Don’t want to. I stay there, softening inside of her, dragging my lips over hers in an unhurried kiss until we are both too weak to go on.
“Stay with me tonight,” she whispers against my neck. “Please?”
I roll onto my side and drape an arm around her waist. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, Twigs.”
My heavy eyes blur the room around me as I roll onto my side, straining to listen for the whimper I was certain I’d heard from down the hall. A shadow paints the walls of the bedroom, moving quietly. Conor is already up out of bed, throwing on his briefs.
“It’s okay,” he assures me. “It’s just a nightmare. Go back to sleep.”
He doesn’t wait around for me to protest, and the last thing I see is his naked back retreating down the hall. My mouth is dry and sticky as I drag myself upright, trying to calm my racing heart. Archer stops crying when Conor’s soft voice floods the room, but I won’t be sane until I see it for myself. It’s a mother’s natural instinct to go to him. I need to make sure he’s alright.
