Page 139 of Shameless Royalty

My face burns.

Goddamn him.

I pull back slightly, arching a brow even as my cheeks go hot. “Bold of you to assume I even want your heart, Cunningham.”

Connor smirks, and for the first time in months, it’s real. His fingers curl under my jaw, his eyes dark and amused and so fucking soft it makes my chest ache.

“You sure about that, Babyface?” he murmurs, voice thick with something teasing, something warm.

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the way my lips twitch. “Shut up.”

His smirk grows, his grip tightening just enough to make my breath hitch.

Fuck, I missed this.

I meet his gaze, watching the way his pupils dilate, watching the way his lips part slightly, waiting, wanting.

And fuck it, I want it too.

I lift my chin slightly, tilting my head just enough to close the distance. “Will you kiss me now, you bastard?”

The smile that splits Connor’s face wrecks me because it’s pure fucking joy. A light I haven’t seen in so long, one that makes my heart stumble, makes my ribs feel too fucking tight.

Then he’s moving, one hand sliding into my hair, the other still cradling my face as he pulls me in, his lips slanting over mine in a kiss that destroys me.

It’s not desperate. It’s not messy.

It’s deep.

Slow.

Like he’s relearning me, like he’s memorizing me, like he knows we have time, but he’s not going to waste a single second of it.

And when I sigh against his lips, when I let myself sink into him, let myself take this, I know.

I know I never stopped loving him.

And I know I never fucking will.

He leans me back onto the bed, still kissing me, still touching me like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go, and I feel it—

That feeling I’ve been chasing my entire fucking life.

Like I’ve come home.

His weight presses into me, solid and warm, his hands bracketing my face like I’m something he doesn’t want to lose again. His lips move against mine slow and dirty, like he’s savoring this, like he knows we’re not racing against a ticking clock anymore.

I sigh into the kiss, my fingers sliding up his arms, over the muscle there, the tension still lingering in him, even now. He’s holding himself back, like he’s afraid of pushing too far, of breaking whatever fragile thread we’re balancing on.

But I don’t want distance.

I want him.

I grip his shirt, pulling him down, letting my body melt into his, letting myself take the warmth, the heat, the fucking relief of him being here. Being mine.

When Connor finally breaks the kiss, I barely have a second to catch my breath before he’s dipping his head, his lips trailing across my jaw, down to my throat, pressing soft, lingering kisses that make my stomach tighten and my fingers curl against his back.

And fuck, I can’t hold it in anymore.

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