“I shall allow you to explore my fine body now,” he says, leaning back onto the bed to provide easier access to all his hotness.
Though I don’t want to leave Conor’s arms, I force myself to sit up. He’s stretched out on my bed, filling it with his powerful body. Earlier, I wanted to know about his tattoos, but my gaze focuses instead on the scars across his hard stomach.
“How did you get these?” I ask, leaning forward to kiss the damaged flesh.
Conor’s green eyes flash with an emotion that’s gone before I can read its meaning. “I trust women too much, always assuming the best in them.”
“Why?”
“Because the meanest woman I’ve ever met is also the first one to own my heart. I see my mom in those bitches, so I hesitate.”
“Why would a woman hurt you like this?”
“She was the girlfriend of one of the men I was hunting.”
“The men who killed your father,” I say, noticing his frown since we’ve never spoken of the Killing Joes Motorcycle Club. “Amity told me about how you went away for a month to find the men.”
“Aja and I traveled to Cleveland to kill what was left of the club.”
“How did that happen? Like how did you even know about her? And do you have contact with your brother?”
“No, on him. My brother wasn’t interested in our father or me. When Wheels died, he just wanted to know if he inherited any money. The guy’s a tweaker.”
“I’m sorry he sucks.”
“I enjoy knowing I’m the only good son Wheels made. Real ego boost.”
Wearing a faint smile, I ask, “How did you meet Aja?”
“Her mom ambushed me when I was a teenager,” he says and then hears how that sounds. “I stopped by a Burger King as I did every day after school. I didn’t want to go home, and there was nowhere else to hide. So, I would go inside and fuck around for a few hours. One time, Francesca was there with Aja.”
Frowning, I can’t imagine my mother pulling such a move. Of course, Needy didn’t have anyone scary backing her up like Aja’s mom does.
“What did she want?”
“She said my sister asked to meet me, but no one would let that happen. Francesca isn’t accustomed to being denied, so she ambushed me and asked if I wanted to meet Aja.”
“Did you?”
Conor looks at the ceiling, and I sense he’s about to lie or hide from me. “I told her no. What did I want with some kid my father made with another woman? Sharing blood didn’t make us family.”
“Did she freak out?”
“No, she just looked at Aja sitting at a booth and shook her head. Francesca had warned her that I might say no.”
Catching on to how he steps around the truth, I ask, “You told her that you didn’t want a sister but was that the truth?”
Conor instantly frowns at me. “Of course, I wanted a sister. I was lonely, Monroe.”
The anger in his gaze startles me, and I lose my confidence. Why am I sitting naked with this stranger? I need to create space between us. But my fear quickly triggers my temper. Now, I refuse to leave. Instead, I demand the truth from this naked stranger.
“So why did you say no?”
“I was fifteen. That’s what teenage boys do,” he says before his anger creeps back behind his cold exterior. “But, also, what good was knowing Aja, anyway? She couldn’t hang out with me. When life at my house got too loud, she wouldn’t be there to hide with me until the noise went away. She was just some girl in another state. What was the point?”
Studying Conor, I think of how he behaves with me. When I get upset, he backs off. He has a soft spot for women. No way did he really tell Aja no that day. I mean, obviously, they eventually became friends. However, I don't believe he looked at a disappointed girl’s face and walked away. Conor’s problem is that he cares too much. That’s why he puts up with my drama when he could have someone with less baggage.
“What was she like that day?” I ask, skipping to the part where he must have sat down.
Remaining silent, Conor takes my hand and studies my face. He doesn’t trust me with the truth.
“She made me feel seen,” he finally says. “And I thought about how our father didn’t want her, but she still smiled a lot. Aja’s good at focusing on what she has and not what she lacks. Made me wonder if I could do the same thing.”
“But it’s not that easy to reprogram yourself.”
Conor blinks a few times and then shakes his head. “I have a festering wound inside me. It’s always been there. I first remember feeling it when I was maybe five. My mom hid in the closet with me, crying and raging. I felt such fear at what was going to happen to us. But, of course, nothing did.”
“And you learned to hide your wound.”
“Because I didn’t think people cared,” he says, struggling to conceal a lifetime’s worth of resentment. “I see now how I could have asked for help. But I was a kid, and people acted as if Barbie’s crazy bullshit was just annoying. For a long time, I didn’t know if her mood swings were normal. The Parrish family is strong-willed regarding ignoring painful realities.”
Conor’s mournful sigh makes sexing up his body feel like a betrayal. He doesn’t need me to fuck him. Conor wishes to be acknowledged. Not the surface stuff everyone applauds. That scared little boy still lives inside him, hiding behind the cool-guy exterior the older version of him created.
“Many people let their festering wounds infect every part of them,” I say, resting his hand on my knee and holding his gaze. “You found a way to control the pain. If that means I can’t read your face, I’ll have to accept what you’re able to offer.”
“Just like that?”
“Fuck no,” I say, and he smiles at my grumpy tone. “I need you to show me everything. But I’m also accustomed to sacrificing for the people I care about. And you’re special to me.”
“I was worried you would ruin the beauty of your words by glancing at my dick while you spoke. I’m proud of you for keeping your eyes on my face.”
Grinning at his attempt to distract from troublesome feelings, I crawl closer and kiss his pout.
“I see you,” I whisper against his lips before pulling away. “Today, I noticed how you wanted answers from me, yet you never pushed too hard. Or how you didn’t dominate me even though you could. You were like a surfer riding the waves of my moods. I saw how you maneuver other people, too. You seem relaxed, but you’re always working shit out up here,” I say and lean forward to kiss his forehead. “I see you, Conor Jessup.”
His chilly gaze thaws with the warmth he hid from me earlier. I feel how much Conor wants to fuck again. But he’s more than horny. Conor needs to erase every barrier between us, to own me completely so I’ll never stop seeing the real him.
CONOR
Sleeping over at Monroe’s apartment is the most comfortable night of my life. I never worry about the club meeting tomorrow or how my mom texts twenty times to tell me that she thinks someone’s in the yard. Rather than playing that game, I message Bronco and ask for him to check on her. Then, I turn off my phone and hang out with my honey.