Exhaling deeply, Monroe loosens her grip enough to cup my face with both of her hands. “Fuck me, Conor. When I see only you, the world is so calm and bright. I need that now.”
“Close your eyes,” I whisper.
Monroe obeys immediately.
“Relax your body. Just go limp.”
Monroe is slower to submit to this request. However, she’s desperate to give up control. Today was too stressful. She needs someone else to run the show.
First, her hands rest back by her head. Then, her hips relax. Finally, her pussy unclenches. All loose and willing under my body, Monroe waits for me to tell her what to do.
I offer her only silence. Her head is full of chatter. I’ve been tormented by such noise before. What she needs is to turn off her brain and just feel. Me explaining that shit won’t help, so I don’t say a damn thing.
I lift myself over her body and begin to move inside her. Monroe inhales sharply, seeming ready to take control. Instead, she forces her body to relax and her eyes to remain closed. I hope the noise in her head fades until all she can hear are her soft moans as I fill her body deeper and harder.
MONROE
Stretched out on my bed, I keep my eyes closed while Conor fucks me. My worries peel away from my heart, leaving only serenity behind. Able to picture him perfectly, I don’t need to open my eyes to see Conor. His thick dark hair falling over his heavy-lidded eyes. His full lips begging to be kissed. His long torso, perfectly ripped, not an ounce of fat on him. His skin bronzed from the sun. His nearly tattoo-free chest and arms covered in sleeves of black and gray ink.
I consider exploring his skin, craving the reassurance of knowing his body. Yet, I remain passive. My mind quiets until all I hear is our breathing, the slight mattress grunts, and my pleasured moans.
My earlier panic fades. The fatigue and worry disappear, too. I only feel Conor inside me, his cock stretching my pussy with every thrust. I didn’t think I could feel so full or such pressure. I’m like a virgin, not new to sex as much as inexperienced with a man of Conor’s size.
My pleasure builds, softly at first, and then hotter, until I can no longer keep my eyes closed. I need to know if his expression is unreadable. Will he open up to me when he comes?
The first thing I see is Conor smirking at me.
“I knew you were about to open your eyes,” he says, leaning down to kiss me.
Wrapping my thighs around his hips, I cup his face. A part of me resents how he can read me so easily while I can’t figure him out at all. If my body wasn’t made of gooey heat, I could totally hold a grudge. But I’m in love with how great sex feels with the right someone.
The sight of Conor’s muscles flexing as he leisurely fucks my body into submission is all I need to send me into horny overload. Then, Conor does something with his hips every other thrust. This move applies just enough pressure to my clit. I slide my hands down his chest, past his scarred stomach, and to his happy trail.
“I knew I should have tied you down,” Conor murmurs as his hips speed up.
“I want us to come together.”
“No, you first. I want to see your relaxed face when I explode.”
His wording ought to make me giggle, but I’m too close to my orgasm. His voice sends a shiver through me. I feel it on my skin. The heat of it soaks my flesh, and I’m finally there.
I shudder from the blinding heat I’ve never experienced before with a man inside me. This is no vibrator kind of orgasm. I actually want to scream and cry. My nails dig into his arms, holding on to the only thing that feels real.
Before I can catch my breath, Conor thrusts harder. He’s at the brink after seeing me come apart. I continue to cry out his name as if I’m performing a ritual. I embrace both the pleasure and pain as his cock takes every inch my body offers.
I don’t dare look away from his face. He’s all I see. His frosty demeanor is already cracked around the edges. He’s opening up to me. I don’t think Conor has a choice. The way his body moves now is wild, desperate for relief. Conor can no longer hide from me.
And I see an emotional whirlwind in his eyes when he finally comes inside me. At that moment, Conor throws open the door to his heart. I grip him tighter. How can I keep it open for me always?
With no answer, I can only hold on and soak in this amazing feeling. We move together until no pleasure is left, yet I’m still unwilling to stop.
“No,” I mumble when he tries to roll off me. “Let me hold you.”
“I’ll be right here,” he says, breaking free.
Both his tone and the strength he uses to create distance between us signal Conor’s done with me. I don’t know how to react. His expression is so cold now. The mood in the room is as chilly. Feeling alone, I miss my mom. Images hit me in the dark room—Zella’s blank stare when I found her, Lowell’s disappointed expression tonight, Mom’s voice when she said she wasn’t coming home, and Clive’s indifference when he announced I was getting married off. The world is suddenly very lonely.
Conor presses his sweaty body against mine, wraps an arm across my chest, and kisses my temple.
“Some time back, I was working with Anders,” he says, as his hot breath warms my already sweaty forehead. “I asked him about married life. As you’ve probably noticed, he isn’t a chatty man. He just said it was good. I asked if the sex was still good. You know, because married people with kids always bitch about their sex lives. He nodded his big head and said, ‘No fuck is as good as with his honey.’ I get that now.”
I shove him back and frown. “You’re messing with me.”
“Not even a little.”
“You run hot and cold. You say sweet things, but I don’t know if you mean them.”
Conor doesn’t react to my outburst. He just presses himself closer to me. “I can’t be an open book, Monroe,” he says softly. “I don’t know how. Maybe I never did. This is me. Is that enough?”
Studying his handsome yet indifferent face, I ask, “But you do care, right?”
“You’re why I don’t want to run. That’s not something anyone else gives me.”
Blinking too much, I try to hear the meaning behind his words. Is he really saying he cares? Am I being played? Am I fooling myself? I feel as if I’m investing too much in this man. He’s so easy to want. Today exhausted me, but he was the shining light through it all. That’s real, isn’t it? Or am I so desperate for a connection that I’m creating a bigger one than is happening?
“I don’t know you,” I whisper as he holds my gaze. “You don’t know me, either. Today was great, but we’re strangers, and I’d be stupid to trust this.”
Despite my words, I really want to believe in Conor and what’s happening between us. He’s a dream of a guy—handsome, smart, funny, sexy, good in bed, willing to put up with my shit. And I’m comfortable with him.
Except for right now, when I’m at my most vulnerable. But earlier, I felt as if Conor was someone I’d always known. That’s why I was slamming into his bumper car like a moron and dancing around in my underwear as if I’m the hottest stripper in the club. I’d convinced myself that the universe deemed us soulmates and nothing could stop what was happening.