Hard.
I grit my teeth, my face heated, but the spot between my legs reacts much differently. I ache for him to slap me there. God yes. My insecurities about him leaving, not loving me completely, become shelved in the back of my head. And I concentrate only on how this feels. I leave my mind behind, something that I can only do when I am riding a boozy wave.
He slides the strawberry in my mouth, the green end sticking from my lips, and I rest the fruit on my tongue, careful to not dig my teeth into it.
Connor massages my ass with his large hand. I hear his heavy breaths behind me as he strokes his cock at the same time. I’d like to watch, but I have no say in that. So I’m left to imagine what he looks like as his cock swells, as his lips part in heady pleasure and his head tilts back. I’ve seen that adrenaline-fueled “I am close to passing out” look before. I’ve seen his muscular ass tighten as he jerks forward. And there’s nothing more I want to see than all of that while he’s so deep inside of me.
His fingers dip into the wet, dying spot, nudging my panties to the side.
And I spasm at the sudden touch. I taste the sweet strawberry before I realize I’ve bitten it clean in half. I chew and swallow. Maybe he won’t notice. Yeah fucking right, Rose. His IQ is higher than yours by one percent.
His hand whips my ass, and I gasp, then wince, and glare. “That fucking…hurt,” I retort slowly. But as soon as I say it, his fingers return to the needy spot, and he rubs my clit. Ohhh…I melt instantly, and I think I whimper into the mattress. I don’t know what else to call that foreign sound.
“You’re too drunk to have my cock in your mouth,” he says.
I scoff at that declaration, but the aftertaste of sweet strawberry says he’s right and I’m very much wrong. But even drunk, I can’t surrender so easily. “I am not.”
He suddenly sits me up by pulling at my tied wrists, but my spine still faces him. I feel him shift on his knees, the bed rocking with his weight, and his hard cock poking at my back. “Connor,” I moan, close to begging.
“How do you feel?” he asks. “Besides dizzy from the alcohol.” He clenches a chunk of my hair and pulls so my chin juts upward and I can see his eyes as he stares down.
“I feel…” I blink a couple times as I try to form the words. I lick my lips and say, “Like I want you to do anything to me.” Just uttering the words shallows my breath.
He stares at me with a hard, possessive gaze, and his arm extends over my shoulder, and his fingers fit back inside me again. But he doesn’t move.
“Elaborate.”
“I…need you…to move.”
He takes out his hand quickly, and he forces me on my knees. The blood rushes to my head, and he spanks me again, the sting more numbed by the booze than before. He must notice because I don’t whimper or moan or flinch forward.
He sighs in frustration and starts untying my wrists.
“Wait, no,” I say. “Stop.”
“Just months ago, you were telling me to stop from touching you. Now you want me to keep on doing so, and I’m still not going to comply with your order, Rose.” He tosses the belt aside and turns me onto my back, my head relaxing into a pillow. “You know why?” he asks, his hands on either side of my shoulders as he hovers over me.
“Because you’re an asshole,” I snap.
He pinches my cheeks with one hand. “Because you’re wrong. I won’t fuck your mouth, your pussy or your ass when you’re drunk. I’ll fuck you when you’re sober.” He kisses me roughly on the lips before saying once more, “Elaborate.”
On what I feel.
I stare into his deep blue eyes. Lost in the power inside them. And I take his hand for a second, and I fit it between my legs, his gaze never breaking from mine. “This is yours,” I tell him. “That’s what I feel.”
I’ve never wanted a man to toss me around how they want, how they like, using me to their desires so much before. And in this moment, I realize it doesn’t matter what I believe outside the bedroom. In life I can be powerful, but here, I can trust him to fill me with his power, his strength. That has to be okay. Because beyond all thoughts, all logic, it’s what makes me feel so fucking good.
His lips rise. “Ca vous a pris pas mal de temps.” It took you long enough.
“How long do we have left?” I ask him softly, his body beginning to blur.
He strokes my hair. “Pour toujours.” Forever.
I smile as everything fades to black.
CHAPTER 27
CONNOR COBALT
I dry my wet hair with a towel and button my pants, watching Rose sleep peacefully, tucked in a red and brown quilt. Before I put a shirt on, she stirs with a low groan and squints in the darkness. The only light comes from a sliver in the bear-printed curtains.
“Good morning, darling.” I sit on the edge of the bed and grab the water off the nightstand. “Comment te sens-tu ?” How do you feel?
She slowly rises against the headboard, a hand to her temple. Her hair sticks up in five different places. I try hard to conceal my smile, but seeing Rose this disheveled happens—almost never. And I adore this side of her just as much as any other.
“I have no idea what you just said,” she yawns with a hand to her mouth. “My hangover has destroyed your French.”
“Impossible,” I tell her. “Your hangover can’t defeat me.”
She’s too tired and hung over to banter. She just yawns again. “Really…what did you say?”
I pass her the water and she takes a small sip.
“How do you feel?” I repeat.
“Like I spent five weeks prepping for the Academic Bowl Championships.”
“So not that bad then?” I smile.
Her eyes narrow. “Not all of us were able to study for two hours and retain every single piece of information.”
“I studied more than two hours for the collegiate championships.” I reach over and grab the Advil on the nightstand and pop the cap. “You just weren’t at Penn to see me, which was a shame. We could have studied together.” I pause before I add, “I’m an excellent tutor. Just ask your sister.”
She rolls her eyes but there’s a smile behind them. Because if I didn’t tutor Lily in economics, she believes we wouldn’t be here today. But I make my own fate. We came together because we both wanted to be here more than anywhere else. We both had choices, and we both said yes to this, to us.
That’s not fate.
It’s just desire.
And determination. Ambition. Resolve.
We have it all.
“How much do you remember from last night?” I ask, expecting the answer to be something I hate. I’m almost certain everything with the strawberries and beyond has been swept from her mind by vodka. I’ve already come to terms with it, but before I drifted off to sleep, all I wanted was for those moments to be recorded and ingrained for life. What if they never happen again?