Page 21 of Ripped

“Don’t worry,” Connor says, slowly navigating the stairs.

He says his ankle is fine, but I see him being cautious with it and it gives me a little buzzy feeling that he’s listening to me.

“We’ll start with something easy and work our way up to horror movies.”

I’m behind him, carrying a big bowl of popcorn—salted and buttered for Connor’s benefit—so he doesn’t see the alarm on my face. I’m not a film buff by any stretch of the imagination, but I can enjoy a feel-good movie every once in a while, even some action ones too. I draw the line at horror films though. I’ll have to find something to distract him before we get anywhere close to scary.

“Is this going to be one of those ‘the book is better than the movie’ situations?” I ask, hanging back to let Connor pick a spot.

He claims one side of the long couch and if I’m smart, I should go for a recliner on the far side of the room. I take the other side of the couch and set the bowl of popcorn between us. It’ll have to do.

“No, it’s not. The movie is fantastic.” Connor’s bent over his computer, fiddling with the trackpad.

I grab a few blankets from the basket in the corner and drop one at Connor’s feet. “Have you read The Count of Monte Cristo?”

Connor’s eyes dart in my direction, then back to his computer. “It’s a long book, okay? I’m more of a moving pictures kinda guy. Have you read the book?”

I scoff and put on my best Queen’s English. “Of course I have. In university.”

“Show off.” Connor smirks as he spreads his blanket across his lap. His feet are tucked up under him and he slides down until his head rests against the back of the couch.

The film flickers to life on the screen in front of us and beside me, Connor keeps up a steady crunch of popcorn. He’s so engrossed already, eyes glued to the screen even though it’s still only the opening credits.

Earlier, on the kitchen floor, it was a miracle I managed to roll off him. When he shoved his thigh between my legs, when he ground himself against me… even now, I’m getting hard remembering it. He wanted to kiss me. I saw it in his eyes. I felt it in the way his hands tightened on my waist, the way his lips parted and his body molded to mine.

This attraction isn’t one-sided anymore. That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to act on it. Connor isn’t the least bit over what happened with Miles and Wyatt, and anything that happens now is only going to be a knee-jerk emotional reaction. It’ll be revenge, a rebound. I don’t want him to do something he’s going to regret later. I don’t want to be the thing he regrets.

Connor shifts on the couch and his knee bumps the bowl of popcorn. I catch it before it goes tumbling to the floor. It’s almost empty now and I should set it aside so it’s out of the way, but I keep it between us. It’s a flimsy reminder that I need to keep my distance.

He stretches and folds his arm behind his head. We’re close enough that if I turn toward him, I’ll be staring straight into his armpit. The scent of body wash wafts over me, warm and spicy, making me want to lean in a little closer. I want to run my nose across the soft skin of his neck. I want to lick the strong line of his collarbone.

I need to resist temptation and remember why he’s in my house in the first place. Connor is off-limits. It doesn’t matter how much my body craves his touch. It doesn’t matter how much he might be attracted to me in return. Neither of us is in a place where we can make rational, informed decisions.

Connor isn’t watching the screen anymore. He’s watching me. The side of my face heats with the weight of his gaze and I can’t not turn to meet it. Under the flickering lights of the movie, his eyes are dark and there’s no mistaking the want radiating off him. It would be so easy. Just a few inches from my side and a few inches from his and I’ll know what those lips feel like on mine. My breath hitches in my chest. My fingers curl into the blanket on my lap so I don’t reach for him.

The longer he stares at me and the longer I stare back, the more difficult it is to list all the reasons why we shouldn’t do this. Connor takes the bowl between us and I don’t stop him when he moves it off to the side. He extends his arm across the back of the couch, and when it brushes against my hair, I slide down until I’m on my side, head on his thigh. He rearranges my blanket for me, making sure I’m covered from neck to feet. Then he rests his arm so it’s draped along my body, hand on my stomach.

I can’t breathe. Every inhale brings in more of his clean, alluring scent. Every exhale settles his arm more heavily on my side. My lungs burn with the need for oxygen and when I finally succumb, I’m done. He’s all around me and it feels so goddamn good. It’s too much. I can’t resist it. I don’t really want to.

My eyes drift shut as I sink into him and let him envelop me. Just for a little bit, just for tonight. This isn’t any more than what we’ve done already. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s fine.

I drift in and out of semi-consciousness while the Count of Monte Cristo doles out his revenge, and when I finally open my eyes again, the screen is black and the credits are rolling. Connor’s fingers are combing through my hair and oh god, my dick is hard and my balls are tight and fuck, I want him so much.

I force myself to sit up and every cell in my body protests. I force myself to stand and my legs are on the verge of revolting. I busy myself with folding up the blanket, keeping my eyes pointed anywhere but at him.

Connor powers down the system and turns off the lights. We climb the stairs in silence. The air is heavy and thick with our mutual desire. I have to actively measure the distance between us to make sure I don’t unconsciously drift closer to him.

In the kitchen, I fill a glass with water and hand it to him. His fingers brush mine and a spark zings straight through me, landing in my groin. I gasp. Connor’s gaze shoots to my face. I pull my hand away and it’s unsteady as I fill a second glass for myself.

He follows me up to the second floor and I pause before turning to go up to my room on the third. Connor’s standing too close. I can feel the heat of his body through our clothes. He doesn’t go into his room, and when I lift my gaze to his, I can see my own mess of emotions reflected in his eyes. Common sense battles with overwhelming desire and it’s a toss-up which one will come out on top. I have a sinking feeling that lust is going to win.

“Goodnight,” I force myself to say.

Connor leans an inch away from me. Instead of making it easier to breathe, there’s an invisible tether tugging me toward him. I grip the banister to keep myself from following him into his room.

“I, um, need to go get my things from the apartment tomorrow,” Connor says, looking off to the side. “Is it okay if I bring stuff back here?”

“Of course. Do you…” This is probably a bad idea. “… need help?”

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