Page 143 of Rules of Association

The slide of his hands, one to the back of my neck and the other to the side of my face, said that he liked my head angled just so, giving him full access to part my lips with his own and lick a slow tentative touch inside. The press of a body moving closer to me, his slim but muscular waist parting my legs and leaning as far as our positions would allow, said that he wished he could be closer. And the deep rumbling sound of his groan as he let it rise from his throat and into my mouth said that he appreciated it when I sucked him a little deeper just to see how he would react.

In a second, I had forgotten where we were.Whowe were. Which way was up or down and maybe even my full name. All I could think about was Connor. He felt so good. His hands placed possessively over me, because I was his. Just like he was mine. Connor. Whose lips were just as soft and good as I always imagined, his tongue even better. Connor who knew how to touch me, hard in some places, soft in others, without ever having done it before. Connor…

Connor.

Suddenly, I pulled back. The second our lips ripped apart it was like a record screeched over all those sensations. Everything around me halted. Everything but the crazy crackling of my skin and burning of my belly. Where was I?

It was Saturday. I was with Connor. My head still hurt a little, but for different reason than banging it against the ground… And Connor had just kissed me.

Don’t freak out Celestia.Do. Not. Freak. Out. What had he said before? He needed this? Maybe he was just scared.Or maybe he was having another one of his crazy-person attacks like he’d had in his bathroom.

I shook my head just slightly, trying to clear it. No. Everything was fine.Just open your eyes and everything will be fine.

I did, and to a certain degree, I was right. My best friend was still there. He hadn’t spontaneously burst into flames just because we had crossed a line I’m pretty sure we were not supposed to cross as friends. He was right there still looking like him. Fine and fucking glowing in all his brown-skinned glory.

But in another way he looked…weird. His lips looked swollen, his chest rising and falling just slightly faster than usual, his eyes dazed and yet wholly focused on me.

Even weirder, I had no clue what he was thinking.

“Better?” I asked, and what the hell? Did my voice really sound like that husky wanting thing I just heard or was I imagining it?

It must have, because his eyes flicked between mine then down to my lips then back again. “Think so.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?” he echoed. His eyes narrowing on me. I nodded, and I don't know how to explain the change in his face, but I knew it was an expression that I dreaded. I dreaded it down to my core. Sincerity and admission and who the fuck cares what else was crossing that face. And knowing Con like I do, I just knew—knew—he was about to say something that could very well change us forever. “Cee, I—”

“Don’t say it!” I blurted. His eyes went wide with surprise, his eyebrows raising as he leaned his head back slightly to look at me. I coughed, trying to recover. “I mean…I meant; you don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

“You get it?” he asked. I nodded, and his eyes narrowed into something darker than before. “I don’t think you do.”

“I do, Con,” I basically pleaded. “I really,reallydo.”

I didn’t. And heknewI didn’t. And what did that do? It pissed him off. I could tell by the way his shoulders got bigger, broader, like he was taking in a breath to steel himself. Againstme.

Oh God.

This was exactly what he had done before he’d closed off. I was just getting him back. I had just kissed him, whatever that meant! He couldn’t be shutting down on me again.

“Okay,” is all he said before he started to move away.

Fuck!

Dropping the ice pack, I darted hands out to latch onto whatever I could grab first. His shirt. Both my hands twisted into the fabric in a desperate squeeze. Halting him in his place and causing him to run his calm, steady gaze from that point of contact all the way up my arms my shoulders then face until he met my eyes. Where he just stared.

Yep. He was pissed.

“Don’t be mad,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

His lips flattened. “Do you even know what you’re sorry about?”

I opened my mouth to say the first thing that came to mind, but nothing did, so I closed it again. But judging by the feeling of my heart beating wildly—it hadn’t stopped pumping like a track star’s from the kiss onward—I knew I had to saysomething. “I don’t honestly, but I don't want you to go. Not like this, Connor.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That look on your face,” I explained, my voice hoarse. “The distance. I don’t want it. Not again.”

He sucked in a swift, angry breath, hissing, “You don’t seem to knowwhatyou want.”

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