Taking Connor(70)

My legs feel loose and Jell-O-like as he stands. “Roll over and lay on your stomach,” he instructs me. Slowly, I force my limbs to move and obey his command. He crawls on top of me, kissing his way up the back of my thighs, giving one of my ass cheeks a hard bite that makes me gasp, before making his way up my back. The tip of his erection is pressing against my opening, slipping back and forth through my wetness, teasing me. I arch my ass up to aide him, and after a moment he pushes inside of me. When he’s fully seated, he gathers my hair and fists it, pulling my head to the side as his mouth finds mine, letting his body weight rest on me. I’m completely at his mercy. He withdraws slowly and pushes back in again.

“Do you really love me?” he whisper-growls in my ear as he nips at my lobe.

“God, yes. I love you. I love you so much,” I pant, my heart ready to burst with emotion, my body riding high on the sensation of him inside of me.

“Then let me be your man, Demi,” he says, his pace picking up slightly.

“You are, Connor. You’re my man,” I promise, my voice rising an octave as he drawls me closer to release.

“Then let me handle this,” he continues before kissing my neck, the scruff of his day-old beard coarse against my delicate skin. “I need you to let me do this.”

“You need me to give up on you?” I manage between pants.

“No,” he murmurs in my ear. “Not give up on me. Just give in to me, Demi. Let me take care of you.”

I attempt to push up in a move of defiance, but his weight is too much, and the position of my arms is awkward preventing it. I open my mouth to protest, but he thrusts inside of me, hard, hitting the deepest part of me, that place that lies somewhere between pure ecstasy and pain; that delicious spot. I cry out, my mind waging war on my body; fighting to get him off of me or beg him to never ever stop.

“Connor,” I plead, unsure of what exactly I’m pleading for. But something tells me he knows. He’s breaking me; forcing me to fight the ingrained part of myself that would never let someone I love do something that would hurt themselves, especially for me, and instead submitting—handing over my free will in the name of love.

“That’s it, baby. Let it go,” he coos as he pulls out slowly and thrusts back in, hard, hitting that spot once more. I shriek and can’t understand why I can’t seem to fight him. I want to. I want to argue and yell and scream at him for asking me to sit back, for using his body to manipulate me, but the fight in me gets caught on a sob. I’m crying, sobbing really, as he moves in and out of me, kissing me sweetly, his hand fisting my hair, gripping me in a firm but gentle way. The moment is brutal in the most profoundly exquisite way. I’m agreeing to his terms. I’m agreeing to let him do something that he has no business doing. And I’m agreeing to it because I’ve given myself to him. He owns me. And while it breaks my heart to lose my voice in this argument, giving myself to him this way is the most freeing feeling I have ever felt. He needs me to give myself to him this way. To trust him. And I love him so much, I’ve just handed it over.

I can feel his body tense as he moves faster. He’s already wrenched my orgasm from me, the wetness slick between us, and he’s close to his own. His breath hitches and tiny grunts escape him as he pounds against me and between my sobs, I tell him I love him. I tell him how good he feels. I tell him to let go with me—that I’m here—that I’ll always be here. When he releases, he groans loudly as if it feels so good it hurts as he throbs inside of me, then collapses. Through ragged hot breaths, he kisses my shoulder and cheek that is wet with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, slipping to the side and pulling me against him, my back to his front. “I don’t think you’ll ever know how beautiful that was; how much that meant to me.”

I nod, weeping quietly as I gather his fist in my hand and kiss it softly. He’s not talking about the sex, all though it was amazing and beautiful. He means how I succumbed; how I let him take his place in my life as my man. “No one has ever given themselves to me like that, Demi,” he continues. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I promise.”

In his embrace, I continue to weep, and he holds me, his arms strong around me. When I calm down, my breathing normal, I ask him in a husky voice, “Tell me what happened to Blake? Tell me about killing the man that hurt him.”

Connor presses his mouth to my shoulder and stays there, and I can tell he’s trying to decide if he should share this secret or not. “Blake was eleven. I was fifteen,” he begins. “Grams was a good woman, but her love always has come with unlimited forgiveness and her daughters took full advantage of it. My mother came back more often than Blake’s. And every time she did she’d bring some f*cking loser home with her.”

I squeeze his hand and kiss it, letting him know I’m here; that it’s okay to share this with me.

“Richard Malone,” Connor says the name, his voice stern. “He was a drug dealer that wore enough cologne to gag you. Fuck,” he groans. “Just the thought of it has me fighting a gag.” He pauses for a moment and clears his throat. “Taking care of a kid recovering from heart surgery was no easy job. Poor Gram’s did her best. One day, Blake was sleeping, and she needed milk and bread. She thought she could rush to the store and get back before Blake woke up. Richard came over looking for my mother, and when he knocked on the door, Blake woke up and let him in. He was too doped up to really sense danger at the time.” He stops and rolls to his back. I quickly turn and lay my head on his chest as he rubs his head with his free hand. “I skipped school that day. I was always doing something stupid, and I got caught by Grams, who happened to be on her way to the grocery store,” he chuckles for a brief second before letting the humor drop. “She sent me home.”