Brynn bites her lower lip, tosses down the pancake, and lifts herself onto the kitchen counter. She grabs me by the neck, pulling me so I’m standing in between her legs. “That’s where you’re wrong, Connor. All those things we did last night, I also want to do in the light of day. Right now, actually.”
She reaches down, slipping a hand into my sweats. She grins. “I think you want to do those things too.”
Fuck yes I do.
Sorry, pancakes. Cover your eyes and close your ears.
13
Brynn
I wentover to Connor’s house last night expecting a painting.
I don’t want to analyze it. I don’t want to think about it at all, but, of course, that’s not going to be possible. I could say things I don’t mean. Telling him that last night and this morning was an isolated incident would be the smartest thing I could do.
Or I could do what I really want to do, which is jump him right now. That would be unsafe, obviously. He’s operating a vehicle. Now that I’ve done it once—okay, three times—I want it constantly. Blame it on me being parched, in the proverbial sense. Before last night I hadn’t had anywaterin a very long time. Connor’swateris everythingwatershould be. Refreshing, delicious, and satisfying.
Watching him drive is a chance to study him. He has strong forearms. Hands that knew exactly what to do with me. Biceps that bunched and hardened when he lifted me and carried me to his room. He’d buried his face in my breasts while he walked, and I thought I was going to die right there on the spot.
I didn’t know last night was going to happen. Honest. When Connor refused to look at me as I sat there, exposed, my emotions boiled over. I realized how starving I was for the touch of a man. And not just any man. I wanted Connor.
Thinking about him this way makes me want to have sex with him again. And again. And again, and again, and again. Placing two fingers upright on the console, I walk them over in a sneaky but obvious way. Connor looks down at my fingers and laughs, watching them as they get closer to him. The red light turns green, and he looks up to drive. I don’t have to pay attention to the road, so I can continue my quest.
My fingers walk up his thigh and to their destination. Connor’s eyes flick to me when I brush against him. “Brynn,” he says, his voice low. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
He glances down, where my fingers brush back and forth across the front of the same sweats I found him in this morning, then back up. “You’re insatiable.”
“For you, I am.”
He turns onto my street. “It’s a good thing we’re here, then.”
I rub harder, for good measure. He groans softly. I grin. “In case you’re wondering, that was my invitation for you to come inside.”
He pulls up to my house and throws the truck in park. “You better believe I plan on coming inside.”
He laughs an evil little laugh as my mouth drops open. “Don’t do it too quickly, or I might be horrified.” I’m getting good at this rhyming game.
He shifts in his seat. I can tell he’s thinking of a retort, but I’m making it difficult.
After a moment, he says, “We better get out, before I fuck you curbside.”
“Yes!” I yell, clapping my hands. “You win. Let’s go inside, so we can both win.”
We’re halfway up the front walk, our feet pounding the pavement, when someone calls our names. “Brynn! Connor! Thank God.”
Cassidy rushes across the small length of grass that separates our driveways. “My sitter called in sick and I have nobody to watch Brooklyn. I knocked on your door twice, but nobody answered, and I thought that seemed weird because you’re always home—” Cassidy’s lips press together. Her eyes grow in size as she looks from Connor to me. Is it obvious I’m wearing yesterday’s dress? Maybe not. It’s just a sundress. “Anyway,” she fumbles, trying to get back on track. “Please say you’ll watch Brooklyn for me. I can’t call in for my shift.”
Panic swiftly replaces desire. Me, watch a child? Asmallchild. Um, no. No no no no no.
“Sure,” Connor answers.
Instantly a thousand erratic, panicked butterflies zoom around my stomach. I want to bend over right there on the cracked sidewalk and be sick. Everyone is oblivious to the pandemonium in my stomach. Connor makes some kind of joke that I don’t register, and Cassidy presses her hands together like she’s praying.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. The next time you come in”—she points back at herself—“your Cuban is on me.”
“Sounds good,” Connor says, smiling down at me. I scowl at him.
