Page 88 of Problematic Summer Romance

“To consort with boys, to have sexual desires, to choose who to satisfy them with.” A still moment. “Conor?”

His frown is displeased.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

He nods once.

“You are so fuckingboring.”

The line of his jaw softens. His exhaled huff could be laughter, too. “Thank you, Trouble.” He pushes away from the door, crossing the room to me. In the soft, warm light of the floor lamp, his hair is pitch black. Without the speckles of gray and fine lines around his eyes, this Conor could easily be a boy, ten years younger than I know him to be.

And he wouldstillbitch about being too old for me.

“Do you do it on purpose?” he asks, standing squarely before me. We haven’t been this close since Edinburgh. I’ve taken off my T-shirt, and his head dips to look down at me, fingertips tracing the top elastic of my bikini bottoms, stopping right above my belly button.

Suddenly, violently, I am light-headed. “What?”

“The stuff you wear. You do it to drive me out of my mind, don’t you?”

I glance at myself. I didn’t have a chance to go shopping before this trip, or I’d have bought the flossiest piece of nylon-spandex blend on the discount rack, just to annoy the shit out of him. But the bikinis I already owned are style over skimpiness. Retro.Vintage high waist. Lots of polka dots. Jade calls them myhipster librarian swimsuits.

“You don’t even know how grateful you should be, Conor.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s not revealing at all—”

“It’s not aboutrevealing, Maya.” His fingers dip down past the waist of my bottoms, and my breath catches. “It’s the way you take over the space around you. You remind me constantly, loudly, indecently, of all the little things that make youyou. It’s impossible to escape, and it makes meveryangry.”

His hand inches down, and I bite my lower lip. “I’m sorry for being myself.”

“You should be,” he says, but the last syllable becomes something groaned and choked and dragged out, and he’s touching me right between my legs. I’m wet, because…because of him. It’s not new. But maybehedidn’t know, and when the tips of his fingers first brush against me, his eyes flutter closed. “Fuckme, Maya.” He seems to sink back into himself for a heartbeat. All his muscles clench, as though knowing that I’m this ready triggered an earthquake inside him.

“That’s what happens every time I see you,” I say. My hand finds his thigh. “I hope you think about it from now on. Every single time we are together.” He’s hard. I can feel the heat of his erection between us. My palms travel upward to cup him, and—

I wish I could say that it surprises me, the way he grips my wrist and traps it against the wall. But just like everything else, this has to be onhisterms. He doesn’t want to be in control of me, I don’t think, just of himself. For that, however, he has to minimize environmental interference. Keep the variables constant.

I grin, feeling troublesome. “Like I said,boring.”

“Can you be good? Just for once?”

“I’ll think about it.” My free arm reaches up. Locks around his neck as I pull him down to me. “What’s it like?” I ask against his ear, inhaling sharply when his fingers slide between the slick lips of my cunt. Conor smells like a night out, faint traces of cigarette smoke and brine and sweat, but underneath it all it’s justhim. I want to lick the skin of his collarbone, so I do. “To be this boring?”

“You may think I’m boring,” he murmurs against my ear. “But I’ve been fucking superhuman for so long, when it comes to you. Since Edinburgh.”

The tip of his middle finger sinks inside me, just one digit, and my nails dig into his nape, feeling the thrum of his blood underneath. There’s his thumb, too, lazy circles around my clit, glorious, perfect pressure, delicious friction. He listens to every sound I make, pays attention to the way I move against him, and…What turns me on the most, even now, is the moan that feels dragged out of him. The fast, shallow rhythm of his breath that tells me he’s as into this as I am.

“And after that?” I ask him.

He closes his eyes. Slides deeper. I consider myself lucky: I’m easy, responsive. I’ve always been quick at finding my pleasure, alone and with partners. This, though, is different. It’s not just my body—Conor is in my brain, pushing into my soul.

“What about in Austin, Conor?” The pad of his finger strokes the right spot. My body contracts against him in surprise.

“Fuck, you—unbelievable.” His teeth open at the base of my throat. He lets go of my wrist and his hand finds my hip, twitching, tightening around it.

“Do you remember that night, a little over a year ago?” Heatrises within me. Between us. My words are breathy, choppy, damp against the fabric of his shirt. “You needed to talk to my brother. But he was gone, and I opened the door, and—”

His silentyesvibrates through me. “You had been asleep,” he says through clenched teeth. I wrap both arms around his neck, press my breasts against his chest, and he swears under his breath.

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