“Maybe I fucking lied.”

I bite back an even wider grin. “I get it. You didn’t want to hurt my feelings. I bet you don’t really find me beautiful. Or smart.”

His eye twitches, like he’s dying to contradict me on that. It’s sweet. It makes me want him even more.

I step closer, drawn by his heat, crossing that last line. Crane up my neck. The hem of my shirt brushes against his sweats. The truth is that I find him ridiculously attractive in ways that have nothing to do with how handsome he is. Yes, I would love to have sex with him. That specific desire sparked inside me at some point during the day and has steadily grown harder to ignore, heavier at the bottom of my stomach. Right now, though, what I want is for him to hold me, and to hold him back.

Circling my arms against his waist feels so, so lovely. “Here,” I say, letting my forehead fall just below his collarbone. “Isn’t this nice?”

He grunts, but it’s a yes. His erection presses against my stomach, hard, immense.

“If you want me,” I say simply, “you should have me.”

He must agree, because I’m being spun around. The wall is suddenly behind me, pushed into my back, and a split second later Conor’s muscular thigh is slotting between mine. An unexpected pressure right there, between my legs.

I gasp.

“Is this what you want?” he murmurs—and yes. It is. Not all of it, but enough that I’m already losing track of my surroundings.

I try to arch up, to chase his mouth, but he’s too much taller and not helping at all. Doesn’t matter, though. His hands are exactly where they should be, on my hip and lower back, tilting me in the perfect position for the meat of his thigh to hit…

“Oh my god,” I moan.

He makes a clicking, soothing noise, but doesn’t stop. I reach up, nails scraping against his scalp, the short hair at his nape, as my hips move in search of more friction. My underwear is soaked. I wonder if he can feel the slick mess of it through the fabric of his sweats.

“It’s okay,” he reassures me, and apparently I needed that. There is nothing particularly romantic about this, nothing sophisticated or delicate about the way he grinds me over his body, but it feels like the most intimate experience I’ve ever had in my life.

So intimate, I cannot do this alone. I bend my neck back, desperate to meet his gaze. He’s above my shoulder, forehead against the wall, breathing ragged and quick. Our eyes lock, and I blush all over.

“Conor,” I start, and I want to say more. The underside of his cock pushes roughly against my hip bone, and I want to touch it. But before I can, pleasure bursts inside me and I come, stupefied by the aftershocks of my own body, the ungainly, quaking tremors that seize me. Having an orgasm in front of someone is always a vulnerable, baring experience. Conor watches me lose control, irises swallowed by his pupils, and it just makes the experience even more erotic.