Page 105 of Shameless Royalty

His grip on my waist tightens, his breathing heavier, his hips pressing ever so slightly against mine, and I feel him—hard and warm through his boxers. My stomach clenches, heat flooding through me as my fingers curl against his skin.

“Connor,” I breathe, and he groans, his lips brushing against my throat.

“Love when you say my name like that,” he mutters, dragging his tongue along my pulse. “Like you fuckin’ need me.”

I do. God fucking help me, I do.

His hand slides down over my hip, teasing the waistband of my sweats, and I arch into him slightly, my body moving on instinct, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

My breath stutters and my fingers dig into his shoulders as he keeps going, his lips and tongue tracing a path down my neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against my skin. He moves with intention, like he’s learning every reaction, every sound, every place that makes me shiver.

His mouth trails along my throat, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin there, and I know what he’s doing. He’s marking me. He’s branding me in the only way he can right now, given the state I’m in. And I fucking let him, tilting my head slightly to give him better access.

And then he bites.

Not hard, not enough to really hurt, but just enough to make me gasp, to make heat pool low in my stomach, to make me feel fucking desperate.

Connor chuckles against my skin, the sound rough and smug, like he knows. “Give me that sound again, gorgeous,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the spot he just bit.

I want to say something back—something smart, something bratty—but my brain is too foggy with need to work properly. I arch into him instead, silently demanding more, and he fucking delivers.

“See what you do to me,mo stóirín?” he murmurs, brushing his lips along the curve of my jaw. “Every time you look at me with those big blue eyes, every time you argue, every time you fuckin’ breathe—you make me lose my goddamn mind.”

His hands move, slipping beneath my shirt, pushing it up inch by inch, his thumbs brushing against my ribs, my stomach. His fingers spread wide, covering my skin like he owns it, like he’s claiming me with his touch alone.

He’s so fucking careful.

So fucking gentle.

And it makes me feel like I’m going to break.

“Connor,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking for.

He groans, leaning back just enough to gently pull my shirt over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him. His green eyes darken as they roam over me, his jaw clenching like he’s holding himself back.

From need because of me, or from anger because of the bruises all over my torso. I’m not sure.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”

His hands return, skimming over my bare skin, tracing every bruise, every scar, every fucking part of me that’s his to touch. He leans down again, his mouth finding mine, and just as I start to lose myself in it—

His fucking phone rings.

Connor growls against my lips, ignoring it, his hands tightening on my hips as if that’s what’s important right now.

I pull back just enough to glare at him. “Maybe you should get that.”

He groans, dropping his head against my shoulder. “Maybe they should fuck off.”

The phone keeps ringing and I sigh, shoving at his chest. “Connor.”

He mutters a curse, reaching for the phone, still hovering over me. He barely glances at the screen before frowning. “Sofia?” he whispers.

My stomach plummets.

Who the fuck is Sofia?

Before I can even process the sudden burst of cold jealousy, Connor presses the phone to his ear, irritation lacing his voice as he listens to the person on the other end. “What do you mean you’re outside?”

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