Page 25 of Conquering Conner

Eleven

Conner

I take the stairs because I don’t want the elevator to spit me out into the atrium. I don’t want to have to cross it, feeling all those eyes on me. Not when I can still feel her. Hear her.

Taste her.

Not when I’m so fucking hard I can barely walk.

I might not give a fuck about social decorum but even I know that rocking a horse-sized hard-on in a public building isn’t something that would be considered appropriate in polite society.

So, I take the stairs, as fast as I can, cutting left when I hit the ground floor, so I can push through an exit that feeds directly into the parking lot. Climbing behind the wheel of my car, I start it up and slam it into reverse, tires chirping as I hit the brakes and press the clutch before shifting into 1st.

It’s 4:35PM. I have twenty-five minutes.

Thankfully, my shop is only a few blocks away. When I pull up, Lena Ford is blaring, and Tess is buried in the last of the service trucks. The same one she was working on when I left.

Declan’s.

It bothers me that she insists on working on it herself. Will argue with me when I try to do it. It bothers me but right now, it’s barely registering. I’ve got bigger things to work about than Tess’s low-key obsession with my dickface brother.

Cutting the engine, I leave the keys dangling from the ignition. Popping the door, I leave it hanging open, in too much of a rush to bother closing it. Despite the racket she calls music, Tess notices me. Shouts at me as I streak past her.

“Hey, I thought you were meeting—”

“Forgot something,” I shout back, hitting the stairs to my apartment, taking them two at a time.

She turns down the music. “Can you call Dickface and tell him his truck won’t be ready until tomorrow afternoon? It needs—”

Again, I don’t let her finish. “Yup,” I bark at her before I knock my shoulder into the door, pushing my way through it before I slam it closed and lock it.

I’ve got my pants worked open and jerked down around my hips before I even get to where I’m going, hand jammed into the front pocket of my jeans.

I took her panties.

Pulling them out, I fall back onto my bed, boots planted on the floor, fist clenched around the wad of silk and lace in my hand. They’re soaked. Still warm.

Jesus.

Tess is downstairs.

She’s got her music up so loud she can’t hear shit.

Henley is expecting me to pick her up in a matter of minutes.

Henley.

My cock twitches in response, a hard jerk that has me gritting my teeth around a deep, rumbling groan.

Am I really doing this?

Yeah, motherfucker, you’re doing this. You can’t be around her without wanting to fuck her. You can’t fuck her without wanting to kiss her and you can’t kiss her.

You can’t.

I can’t do this either. It’s wrong. Even I know that.

Since when do you give a fuck about wrong?

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