Page 150 of Shameless Royalty

“Mine,” he growls against my lips, voice deep, rough with need. “Always mine, baby.”

Connor’s hands move over me like I’m something precious he’s been denied for too long, touching every inch of skin with a reverence that makes my heart ache. My breath catches as he strips me slowly, like he’s savoring every second of it.

There’s no rush, no urgency; just this raw, aching intensity in every touch, every brush of his fingertips. It’s like he’s branding me all over again, erasing every moment we’ve been apart.

He peels off my shirt, his calloused palms sliding across my chest, down my stomach, tracing over every scar, every line, every piece of skin he knows so intimately. He follows his touch with his mouth; slow kisses are peppered down my neck, my collarbone, along my ribs—gentle, as if he can’t get enough of feeling me beneath him again.

And fuck, it’s been too long. Five months without him felt like an eternity, but now he’s everywhere—hands and lips and tongue and teeth, reclaiming every inch of me, making me shake beneath him.

Our eyes lock, and for a second it’s like everything else disappears. Just him, hovering above me, his green eyes burning with hunger and a tenderness I’ve never seen before. It hits me harder than any words ever could.

Connor’s fingers slip into mine, threading tight, holding me like he never intends to let go. He leans in slowly, pressing a kiss to my throat, trailing soft, careful kisses along my jaw, the stubble scraping deliciously against my skin. Every kiss feels like an apology, every gentle bite a promise he won’t leave again.

I wrap my arms around his neck, fingers digging into his blond hair as his mouth finds mine again. Our bodies fit perfectly, molding together like we were made for this. When he grinds his hips into me, I feel him, hard and ready, and I groan softly against his lips. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, needing more of him, needing everything he’s willing to give.

Connor’s hands slide down, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling them down along with my briefs. His eyes never leave mine, heavy with desire and unspoken promises. I lift my hips to help him, biting back a moan when the air hits my bare skin.

His touch is possessive, steady, his palm wrapping around my cock like he owns it. My hips jerk into his grip, my nails dragging down his tattooed arms as pleasure races through me.

He strokes me like he wants to draw this out—make me feel every fucking second. My breath hitches, my chest heaving as he presses hot kisses down my throat, lingering just long enough to leave marks that’ll last for days.

I realize then that this is the first time we’ve been intimate without Connor saying anything filthy. It’s just the two of us, showing each other instead of using words.

I can’t help the way my body arches, silently begging for more. Connor seems to know exactly what I need without me even saying a word, like he never forgot how to read me. He grabs the lube off the bedside table, his eyes darkening as he slicks his fingers and presses them against my entrance.

My breath hitches, a shudder racing down my spine, and Connor pauses, eyes locked on mine, making sure I’m okay. I nod quickly, gripping his wrist and guiding him closer, silently begging.

He eases inside, slow and careful, stretching me gently. My body trembles beneath him, my eyes fluttering closed as I take him in. It’s been so long, but it feels like yesterday, feels like coming home.

“Connor,” I gasp, arching up to meet him, desperate and aching.

He presses his forehead to mine, breathing harshly as he works me open with slow, careful thrusts of his fingers. His free hand strokes my thigh, tracing soothing patterns on my skin. He’s careful but deliberate, like he knows exactly how to bringme to the brink, exactly what spot to press and curl to make me lose myself completely.

My hips buck up against his touch, desperate and wanting, and the look in his eyes turns hungry, almost feral. He pulls his fingers free, gripping my thigh and positioning himself between my legs, slicking himself quickly before lining up. Our eyes meet again, and my breath catches at the intensity I see there.

He sinks into me in one steady, unhurried push, our bodies fitting together so perfectly my eyes sting with the force of it. It’s raw, bare, without any barriers between us—nothing keeping us apart anymore. His body trembles above me, muscles tight with restraint, giving me time to adjust, but I roll my hips up impatiently, needing more.

“Fuck,” Connor groans low in his throat, and his control snaps. He starts moving, slow and deep at first, filling me completely with every thrust. His hands are everywhere, holding my hips, gripping my thighs, sliding up to tangle in my hair as he kisses me, messy and desperate and perfect.

My nails drag down his back, clinging to him as pleasure burns through me. Every movement, every kiss, every breath between us is a reminder of what we’ve lost, of what we almost threw away. And it makes every sensation stronger, every touch searing into my skin.

He shifts slightly, thrusting harder, deeper, making me cry out. I bite down on his shoulder to muffle the sound, and he groans low in his throat, his hips snapping forward again.

I feel every inch of him, every breath, every heartbeat as he fucks me like he needs this more than air. He slows down for just a second, threading our fingers together as he thrusts harder inside of me, his cock dragging against and hitting that spot that makes me see stars.

My body tightens, shaking under him as the pleasure builds into something overwhelming. When I come, it happens withouthim even needing to touch my cock, spilling hot between us, leaving me trembling and gasping beneath him.

Connor growls softly, his head falling to my shoulder as he thrusts once, twice more, and then his hips stutter, burying himself impossibly deep inside me. I feel him pulse; the warmth of him spills inside me, filling me up like he’s marking me from the inside out.

He stays there for a long moment, holding me tight, his breath ragged against my neck. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close, and neither of us speaks. We don’t have to. The silence says everything we’ve left unspoken.

Eventually, he lifts his head, brushing his thumb over my cheek before pressing his lips to mine softly, tenderly. The kiss is slow, careful, as if he’s afraid I’ll break beneath him.

He doesn’t have to say anything.

His eyes say everything.

I’m exactly where I belong.

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