Page 72 of North

I didn’t push him away.

I should have.

I should have told him to fuck off, walked away, and left him standing there in the dark with his whiskey and his cruel words.

But I didn’t.

Because he was right.

And I fucking hated it.

“Just leave, Connor.” My voice wasn’t steady. “You got what you wanted, so go. That’s what you do anyway.”

His fingers slid along my wrist, a slow, deliberate touch. “Nah.” His smirk deepened, full of something dark and knowing. “I want a taste of your perfect, princessy cunt.”

Heat flooded me, shame curling around my ribs. He was drunk. He was a prick. He was a mistake waiting to happen.

And yet—

I was already following him to my bedroom, pretending I didn’t see the curious glances, or hide away when Vic started looking for us.

Pretending that I didn’t care that he left the light off as he shut the door behind us. No hesitation. No second thoughts. He wanted this. And I did, too.

I just wanted more as well.

I barely had time to breathe before he was on me, his mouth hard and bruising, his fingers tangling in my hair, yanking me to him.

I gasped against his lips, but he swallowed the sound.

Connor kissed me like he owned me. Like I was something to be taken. And fuck, I let him, because this was the only way he was going to let me have him.

I let him press me against the wall, let his hands slide up my thighs, under my dress. Let him rip my panties off like they were an inconvenience.

His fingers slipped between my legs, teasing, taunting.

“Jesus, Summer,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “You’re soaked. You like this, don’t you? Being bad?”

I whimpered, breathless as he smacked my clit. My pussy gushed. Fucking traitorous body.

He chuckled darkly, dragging his thumb over my clit. “Pretty little liar. Acting all high and mighty, but you’re just as filthy as the rest of us.”

His words made my stomach tighten, and my breath shatter. He slapped my pussy again and I spread my legs wider. I should have slapped him instead. But I didn’t. I moaned his name and bared myself to him.

Connor growled, his fingers pressing deeper, curling inside me, finding that spot that made me choke on my next breath.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Good girl.”

I hated how much I melted for that.

Hated him.

Hated myself more.

Then he dropped to his knees, shoved my dress up, and—oh fuck.

His tongue was rough and demanding, a sharp contrast to the way his hands gripped my thighs, holding me open.

I clawed at his hair, my head thudding back against the wall, my body trembling as he devoured me.

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