On the drive home some of that heaviness from earlier returns. Connor looks like he'd snap in half from one little shove. I've never seen him drive this way before, it's the first time he didn't look totally at ease behind a wheel. He sits upright in his seat, he appears uneasy. His hands rigidly gripping the wheel, shoulders stiff. By the time he pulls into a spot nearby the entrance of my apartment the air between us is charged, my skin pickles with an anomalous awareness that has the little hairs on the back of my neck rising.
Connor walks me into the building and rides up the lift with me all the way to my front door like a gentlemen. He even waits for me to pull my keys out before I turn to him to tell him goodnight. I didn't realize how special these quotidian things could feel, but that might just be the fact that it's Connor doing them. He's smiling again, that special little smile crafted just for me. "I had fun tonight." I say shyly. Oh, so now you're suddenly shy? What happened to all that confidence from earlier when you practically jumped him?
"Me too," he reaches up to rub the back of his neck. Awkward. That's how the action looks, like he's trying to find the right way to escape. Maybe tonight didn't go as well as I thought. Well, there was that whole abusive foster home debacle at the beginning, perhaps that's when I ruined it and he was just kind enough to not embarrass me by turning around and driving me straight back home. Oh, well I did say I'd enjoy this as long as it lasts.
"So…" I begin, "I guess I'll ju-" I don't get to say anymore because abruptly Connors got my face gripped between his massive hands, his long fingers twining into my hair and he's lowering his face to mine. I get barely a second to react before the kiss turns heated. I turn to liquid in his hands, right now his hands are all that's holding me together.
Holy Shit! And I thought the kiss earlier tonight was good, evidently he'd been holding out on me. His kiss is firm, demanding but still soft and patient. He still tastes like candy and I think I might be addicted. His swipes his tongue against my bottom lip and my temperature shoots up to volcanic levels, my stomach dips delectably. "I've wanted to do this all night," he mumbles against my mouth. My knees are going to give out.
Somehow I have the presence of mind to attempt to open the door, any one of my neighbors could come out into the hallways and see us. Without breaking the kiss I try to slide the key into my door, and miss several times before I eventually manage it. It's a testament to my determination to never let Connor stop kissing me like this.
The door swings open behind me and it strikes me that I'm leaning against the door a moment before I stumble without its support at my back. Connor grabs me around the waist before I hit the ground. He huffs a breathy chuckle against my lips and I attach my lips to his again. How is one man so damn perfect. This should not be legal. We stumble into my darkened apartment and Connor kicks the door shut behind him. Then we're bumping couches and chairs, and stumbling over rugs on our way to my bedroom. There are clothes being discarded the whole way and the obscure thought that I'm lucky to live alone flits through my mind. Just as quickly I feel Connors fingers against my bare skin, the cold metal of his rings making contact with the overheated flesh of my waist.
I need to touch more of him, I tug at the hem of his white shirt and he gets the idea because he breaks away long enough to pull it over his head and then after a moments pause, he's back to kissing me. I run my fingers over his broad shoulders feeling the hard muscle beneath his alabaster skin, when my hand encounters the first irregular bump I ignore it. The further down his back my fingers roam the more I feel, I pull away. What is that? I look up at his eyes and he seems to know what's going on before I ask. In the dark I watch his eyes turn hard, see them close up and when he opens them again he's looking at me with such torment I just want to make it all better. "Con-"
"Don't." one little word but it carries so much weight. I watch his throat work for a moment, his Adam's apple bobs twice and realization slams into me like a truck going two-hundred miles an hour. .
"Foster home number eight?" it comes out as more of a breath than a question but I know he knows what I want to know.
"Among others…" he's just standing there miserably, hands at his sides, fists clenched. He's waiting for me to decide if I still want this. He thinks this might change how I see him. How many times has that happened to him before that he's come to expect it? For a moment I'm angry and then I'm determined. I want him to know this doesn't change anything. I move with a pertinacious single-mindedness. The moonlight and the watery glow of the streetlights help me see his alabaster skin in the pitch black room. I find the first scar on his chest, not two centimeters from my face and place my lips against it, then move onto the next. Dragging my lips across every inch of exposed skin, I kiss every one of his scars that I see.
It takes less than a minute for him to snap, instantaneously I'm flat on my back. Connor hovers over me, his eyes tell me he got my message loud and clear. We watch each other for a second; the molten steel of his eyes heating with each tick of the clock, there's gratitude there too. I know what it feels like to be marked by the worst experience of your life, I try to convey that without shattering the precarious silence. I take ahold of his hand and bring his fingers down to my abdomen, just above my belly button. I see the moment he feels it, the bullet wound, his eyes alight with understanding. "I have one too." Is all I say. But I know he understands what I mean.
I know how it feels, I see you. I see you for all that you are and all that you've been through and it doesn't scare me.
When I wake up I'm tangled in sheets pinned to the bed by the weight of Connors body curled around mine. His strong arm rests across my belly, his head nestled into the space between my neck and shoulder. The small puffs of his breath tickle my skin and I fight against the sensation of my body coming awake. I want to stay like this a little longer, bask in the afterglow.
I turn in his arms to face him, the early morning light coming in through the gaps in the curtains falls across his angelic face. The light makes his silver hair appear white, sleep robs his entire face of color. For a moment he looks carved completely in marble. He reminds me of some statue of a long forgotten Greek God. My eyes trace over his face, he looks so peaceful, and then down to his torso where the sheet is draped lazily over his lower body. There are raised scars along his chest and abdomen. Deep furrows scattered among what look like slashes, cigarette burns and cut marks I realize. My stomach twists uneasily. That someone could do this to a child; fourteen years old, maybe younger. Just thinking it makes me furious. I want to hunt down everyone who's ever hurt him.
"You're staring." Connors deep, sleepy voice cuts through my thoughts. His eyes are still closed but he's smirking in my general direction.
"Bite me," I roll my eyes, and then regret it a second later when he literally bites my arm. Shrieking, I try to wiggle away from him in a very unflattering manner. I don't get far before he's pinned me beneath the weight of his body, I rest my hands against his chest. I look tiny by comparison. "Are you always like this first thing in the morning?" I ask on the end of laugh.
"Like what?" he mumbles, while occupying himself with running his lips up an down the length of my throat. His lips leaving heated trails against my skin, my body warms at his touch. Wow. Is everything with this man so… intense? I should probably respond to his question. What did he ask? Does it even matter?
No, probably not. I sigh a satisfied little sound as his mouth finds mine and then everything goes hazy. All I know is I need for us to always be like this. We spend the rest of the morning that way trading lazy kisses back and forth, until we actually can't stay in bed any longer because Connors stomach starts making weird gurgling noises.
Chuckling, I get to my feet and snatch a shirt from the dresser on the way. It's something old and worn; something I've had since high school probably but I can't bring myself to care, I feel too good right now. Opening the door and making my way to the kitchen, I yell over my shoulder "Do you want eggs?"
"Actually, you guys only have time for cereal." Emma's voice responds. I scream, a shrill sound leaving my body at the shock of seeing her in my kitchen. Connor comes around the corner casually pulling on his shirt that he picked up from the hallway, still in only his black underwear, and nods at Emma as if this is normal for him.
"How long have you been here?" I ask when I've finally calmed my heart enough to be sure it isn't going to burst in my chest. I lay a hand on the still racing organ, just to reassure myself.
"Only the longest hour of my life," she says, pulling a disgusted face. So, she's been sitting here listening to us. Well, that's not a total invasion of privacy. "You guys sounded busy so I didn't want to interrupt." She shrugs carelessly.
Connor snorts and makes his way past me toward the bathroom. "There are new toothbrushes under the sink," I tell him then turn on Emma with deadly ferocity. "What are you even doing here?"
"We all have a date today, remember?" we? Who's we? What is she talking about? My face must show my confusion because she follows it up with "Dastan, Anne, You, me and now apparently Connor are going to see some off off-Broadway show today." Right. Good God, that's going to be awkward.
I groan and drop my head into my hands, "That's not going to be fun."
Emma's voice comes on the end of mine as if she couldn't hold in her response for even a second, "I think you've had enough fun." I glance up to find her wiggling her eyebrows at me. Ugh, she's never gonna let me live this one down.
I cross my arms defensively over my chest, the shirt I'm wearing rises a little higher on my thigh exposing my skin to the cold. I feel the goosebumps break out over the surface of my legs but ignore it in favor of leveling Emma with my most no-nonsense look. "Do you have a death wish?"
"Do you know how I'm statistically most likely to die?" she asks jovially. That's Emma, she loves statistics and numbers. She's always been obsessed with keeping everything in order, and nothings more ordered and uniform than numbers. Usually I find it to be a cute quirk of hers, today I'm just annoyed.
"At the hands of your very pissed off best friend?" I offer with a glare that could rival Dastan's.
"An accident." She corrects primly, as if she were correcting a case of bad grammar. I grit my teeth against saying something nasty and settle for sarcasm instead.
"Well, that's how it's going to look," I mumble under my breath but I know she hears me because she huffs an indignant breath through her shiny pink lips. As she opens her mouth to say something that's no doubt going to annoy me more there's a knock on the door. I look to Emma with raised brows, am I expecting someone?
She gives me a vexatious look and now I'm expecting trouble. I turn to answer the door but Connor beats me to it. He's got all his clothes on now, his jeans are still unbuttoned but at least everything is covered.
It's Dastan and Anne. Standing in the doorway is my ex-boyfriend and his current girlfriend and their both staring at Connor with a look of shock, as if their not sure they got the right apartment. I see the moment it all clicks in Dastan's eyes, his gaze drops to where Connors jeans are unbuttoned, up to my face and then back to Connor. Brushing a hand through my hair to make sure I don't look like I've just taken a tumble with hippopotamus, I know it's pointless. They've definitely noticed my disheveled state and Connors presence is a very clear indication of what must have happened in this apartment.
I'm not ashamed of it, why should I be. It's not like I'm doing anything wrong, but I can't stop my face from growing hot with embarrassment. I can't look him in the eye. It's absurd because he's standing there with his new girlfriend but I feel like I've betrayed him. What's wrong with me. I focus on the shirt he's wearing instead, a dark blue Henley. He's got a leather jacket thrown over it and the buttons at the top aren't done which exposes that tattoo, as well as a silver chain with a pendant that's obscured by the neckline of the shirt.
Connor greets Anne and there's a tense moment before she responds in kind. I keep staring at Dastan's shirt, I feel his eyes on me. I shouldn't be feeling this way, he shouldn't have this type of power over me. Biting down on the instinct to run, I meet his eyes. He's looking at my shirt, and his face is entirely open. For a moment, I'm astounded. I can see every thought cross through his onyx eyes. I watch the emotions flitting through his face like pictures on a slideshow. Confusion hurt, anger, pain. I see it all, in that order and I'm not sure what to make of it. I look down at my appearance searching for the cause of that look on his face. I don't see anything unusual, unless he's upset that I'm standing here wearing a guy's shirt. But that's dumb because it's not even Connors shirt, it's his.
Dammit!
I'm wearing his shirt, after having just spent the night with someone else. How could you be so stupid, Kiera?
"I didn't know you were coming with us, Connor" Anne says conversationally. I glance at Connor, remembering there are other people in the room. He's looking between me and Emma and Emma is watching Dastan.
"Uh, we kind of lost track of time," I offer sheepishly, scratching the back of my neck. The shirt rides up again and I drop my arm all too aware of the eyes on me right now. I shrug and Anne smiles.
"Understandable" she winks. I'm sure I'm scarlet from my hairline all the way down to my ankles. I laugh gracelessly.
"We're going to a show in the city," Emma interject obviously informing Connor of the plans he's just been included in.
"You don't have to go if you don't want to," I add because I'm not sure where exactly we stand after last night but I don't want him to feel obligated or like I have expectations he has to meet. "I don't know if you've got other plans or if you even like the theater or you know just don't want to so it's cool if you don't." someone stop me, please.
Connor just smirks, sliding his hands into his pockets and affecting an easy confidence, "Do you want me to?"
Uh, is he serious? I'm not sure if he's asking if it's okay, or if it's something else but right now I just really want to spend more time with him. "Yeah," I say tucking my hair behind my left ear self-consciously.
"Okay, then I'd love to." He smiles at me, the same smile from last night. My smile.
"Okay," I say breathily. I'm conscious of the fact that we have an audience but right now none of them matter. It's just Connor and I and there's so many things in his eyes I just want to decode.
"Oh, you two are nauseating!" Emma makes a gagging sound from behind me. I spin around without a second though, scoop up the first thing I find on the floor-my discarded shirt from yesterday- and chuck it at her big fat head. She catches it mid-air and flings it back but I duck just in time. Bad move.
I'm transfixed as I watch it sail through the air and land right on Dastan's shoulder before sliding onto the floor. The bra that I didn't realize was rolled up inside it hooking on the zipper on his jacket. He looks down and I hold my breath waiting for him to say something nasty as I've come to expect. It seems like the entire room is waiting on his response.
He snatches it off his jacket and dangles the lacy red scrap off his index finger and levels me with an unamused look. "Well this is new," my eyes bulge so far out of my head they feel like they might fall right out of their sockets. "Go get ready before you make us late Bubbles." He says and he sling shots my bra back me. It hits me in the chest and I let it drop to the floor again because I'm too flabbergasted to do much else. Did he just…I don't even know what's going on right now. But I do know he just called me bubbles, the way he did when we were kids. Is he trying to be… nice?
I look to Emma for confirmation and she's smirking at me, so I'm not the only one who heard it. "Get a move on, I don't wanna miss the show." Dastan interrupts again. "We all know it takes four hours to make you look decent enough for public consumption." He rolls his eye good naturedly and he's smiling the way he's always smiled at me and for a second the world feel right.
"Shut up, Dimples." I respond without misusing a beat and then I bolt into the bathroom, dodging the pair of jeans he snatches from the ground and chucks at me, it hits the bathroom door a second after I close it.