Taking Connor(67)

He wants me.

This time, I don’t ask. I’m tired of watching him deny something he clearly desires. I slam my body into his. His arms weave around me and squeeze me tightly to him as our mouths collide. Frenzied, lost in the moment I climb his body and hook my legs around his waist as his hands move down and cup my ass. He squeezes my flesh hard, and I gasp as a thrill runs through me. His lips melt into mine; the rain still wet on his mouth mixed with his sweat and breath makes me heady. He stumbles backward until his legs hit the porch swing then he sets me on my feet. Dragging his soaked shirt over his head he tosses it aside; it smacks the concrete floor as he watches me. I’ve seen him shirtless before, but not like this. Not with his body tense, aching in need . . . for me. Slowly he reaches down and begins unbuckling his belt, but stops and jerks his gaze to mine.

“Is it—”

I seize his mouth with mine, swallowing his words as I smack his hands aside and take over undoing his belt and pants. Slipping each of my thumbs so that they catch his boxers with his pants, I tug them down as I kiss his chest and his stomach until I’m face to face with his erection. I lick my lips, prepared to take him in my mouth, but he yanks me up as he kicks his shoes and pants off. As he runs each of his rough and calloused hands from my shoulders down my arms, I tremble. Slowly, he sits on the swing, placing his hands on my hips to prevent me from following.

“Will you do something for me?” he asks, his voice husky.

“Anything,” I beg, my eyes dancing back and forth between his body and his erection. Although I’m answering his question, I’m begging him to tell me to do something; kiss him, lick him, bite him; I need to have some part of my body doing something to his.

Releasing my hips, he leans back stretching his arms across the back of the swing, taking my breath away as I watch every hard muscle in his arms flex. “Turn around and slowly remove your bra.” My knees nearly buckle beneath me, but somehow I manage to turn around. I unhook my bra and let it slip down my arms and drop it to the floor. He says nothing for a moment, only the sound of the rain breaks the silence. Finally, he speaks. “Stay just like that,” Connor orders. “But lift your hair off of your neck.”

Grabbing up my mop of hair, I gather it in a bunch and hold it to my head with one hand. Then, he’s behind me, his skin to mine, his erection pressed to my lower back. I’m trembling as I await his next move. My need for him consuming every thought process, every sense I possess.

Placing one gentle kiss on my shoulder, he whispers against my skin, “That day you cut the grass. You had your hair tied up . . .” his hands glide from my hips, slowly and agonizingly, until they’re just beneath the swells of my breasts, “all I could think about was what it would be like to come up behind you and kiss your neck.” A surge runs through me as I fight the urge to lean back against him. “Seems so little, I know,” he chuckles huskily, “but I’ve f*cking fantasized about it over and over. What would it feel like? How soft would your skin feel against my lips? How would you taste? What sounds would you make?” When he kisses my shoulder again, his lips barely brushing my flesh, a moan escapes me. “Damn, Demi,” he groans as he kisses toward my neck, each one growing harder. “It’s better than I could have ever imagined.”

When his hand moves up my back and threads my hair, forcing mine away, I reach back and hold his firm hips to keep myself steady as Connor Stevens somehow turns me on more than I’ve ever experienced in my life by simply kissing my neck. “Don’t ever doubt my want for you,” he says, between kisses. “I don’t think a man has ever wanted a woman as much as I want you, beautiful.” His words are like bolts of pleasure that rack my body. I can’t take it anymore. I need him. I pull away and turn to face him, and he takes my hand, leading me back to the swing, sitting on it. Pulling me toward him, he kisses my belly as he slowly slips my panties down. My body trembles with desire as I hold his firm shoulders and step out of them.

“There are so many things I want to do to you, that I need to do to you, but right now . . . f*ck,” he groans, “Demi, I just need you.” I want to tell him I feel the same, that I feel like I’m being eaten alive with desire for him, but my mouth won’t let me speak the words. Instead, I climb on his lap so that I’m straddling him, and with the head of his cock pressed to me, ready to enter me, I kiss him as I bare down, but his firm hands stop me. When he looks up at me, his eyes hooded, filled with lust. “Slow, Demi,” he orders me. “Go so painfully slow. I want to memorize and remember every single millisecond of this.”

Then he pulls my head to his and as our lips crush together, I push down slowly until Connor is seated inside of me as far as he can go. We spend hours on the swing, slow and steady, deep and raw. A few times, lost in the moment, the passion, I speed up, but Connor pulls me back, and I relish in the torture of it. It isn’t just making love, it’s a dance, a conversation, it’s . . . everything.





After Connor and I make love, he carries me inside and up to the master bedroom. We don’t speak. Not a word. We just feel. Words aren’t needed. We let our mouths, and hands, and bodies do all the talking. His touch says everything. His kiss whispers beautiful words of hope and promise. His body against mine as he moves inside of me tells me how he worships me.

No.

Words aren’t needed.