The Dare (Briar U Book 4)

It’s late when Conor and I get back to my apartment. I leave him on the couch watching TV while I take a long, hot bath. I put on my relaxation playlist and turn off the lights except for a couple of candles on the bathroom counter, and for the first time in a week, I feel some of the tension leaving my body.

It was mortifying explaining the situation to my mom while Conor drove the three of us in his Jeep tonight. I was sorry I was the reason she called off dinner with Chad and Brenna, but when I tried to apologize for spoiling her plans she wouldn’t have it.

“My daughter comes first,” she’d said firmly, and it was as if all the times she’d neglected me in the past had just disappeared. Today I was her first priority, her only concern. Everything had ceased to exist for her but me, and for that I was grateful.

After a chain of text messages, Abigail, Sasha, and Rebecca met us at the police station. I had a good conversation with Rebecca before we made the decision to go through with filing a report. Both of us were hesitant. Her because of what her parents might think; me because of the added exposure. Eventually, we came around to the idea that we could turn this into an opportunity for something positive. We didn’t ask for this, but rather than hiding, ashamed, we could take our power back. So with the beginnings of a plan in mind, we walked in there together. Stronger.

As Abigail’s mother explained to us over the phone, Massachusetts doesn’t have a specific revenge porn law. If Abigail herself, for instance, had uploaded the video, it might not have been a crime. However, Jules and Abigail’s ex Kevin can be charged under other state laws for the unauthorized access to Abigail’s phone, the Kappa cloud server, copying the video, and uploading it without consent. Mrs. Hobbes believes, and the officer we spoke to agreed, that there’s a strong case.

I didn’t ask what would happen to Jules and Kevin, or when. I don’t particularly care, as long as they’re punished. My mother, however, called Briar’s dean of students at home and scheduled a meeting with him first thing tomorrow morning. By the end of the day, I suspect Briar will begin the process of expelling those two.

My brain is still spinning. Dominoes in my mind have yet to fall. Just the click, click, click of a thousand consequences rapidly colliding toward an eventual conclusion at some distant time, in some future place.

The panic has subsided, though. The overwhelming cord of dread around my neck has loosened. Instead, I’m bursting with ideas, surging with adrenaline. I’m sure the chemical stimulation will fade soon and I’ll crash a few days from now to sleep for a week. Until then, dot, dot, dot.

After I get out of the bath and put on my pajamas, I stand in the hall for a moment watching Conor on the couch. His eyes are closed, head lolled to one shoulder. His chest rises and falls on deep, restful breaths.

He’s remarkable. Not many guys would have reacted to the situation the way he did, appreciated the gravity of the violation rather than making light of my humiliation.

But that’s Conor. He has an instinct toward empathy that most guys don’t. He’d rather make people around him feel good about themselves, even when it provides no personal gain for himself. More than anything, that’s what I fell in love with.

I was foolish to think I needed to protect him. He’s the strongest, most resilient person I know.

I’m tempted to let him sleep a while longer, but as if he senses me watching him, his eyes blink open and find me in the shadows.

“Sorry,” he says huskily. “Didn’t mean to crash on you.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s been a long day.”

A nervous silence ensues. Conor shifts around collecting his phone and keys from between the couch cushions.

“Anyway, I’ll get out of your way. Just wanted to make sure you were okay after everything.” He gets up to leave, coming around the couch.

“No,” I say, stopping him. “Stay. You want anything? Are you hungry?” I catch his arm and then release it like it bit me.

I don’t know how to be around him now. The ease between us isn’t here right now. It feels stilted and forced. But there’s also this indefinable urge to be near him that grows stronger the longer he’s here.

“Not really,” he says.

“Yeah, me neither.”

Shit. This is awkward. As far as I can tell, we’re still broken up. Despite everything we’d been through with each other over the past few weeks, I don’t know how to approach the subject. I mean, I stood outside the Kappa house and shoved a knife through this chest. He came back to help me in a time of need, but that doesn’t mean all is forgiven.

“We can, um, watch a movie?” I suggest. Baby steps.

Conor nods. Then an almost imperceptible smirk dances across his lips. “You inviting me to Netflix and chill?”

“Damn, you’re easy. I mean, jeez, Conor, have some respect for yourself. You’ll never find a good woman if you’re always giving the milk away for free.”

He sighs dramatically. “My mom keeps saying the same thing, but I never learn.”

We laugh, still standing all stupid and nervous in the middle of my apartment. Then his expression sobers.

“We should talk,” he says.

“Yeah.”

He leads me over to the couch to sit. Facing me but staring at his hands in his lap, he struggles to find a place to start.

“I don’t know where your head’s at or what your expectations are. I don’t have any, I want you to know. You’re going through something, I get it, and I want to be here for you, but only as much as you want me to.” He shrugs awkwardly. “Whatever that looks like.”

I open my mouth to interject, but he holds a hand up to say he isn’t finished yet.

After a deep breath, he continues. “I made out with another girl last night at a party.”

I briefly close my eyes. “All right.”

His throat dips as he swallows. “I got hammered and it happened. She took me to a bedroom to do more, but I couldn’t go through with it—physically or emotionally. Honestly, though, it was more of a physical impairment. I might’ve gone through with it if the equipment was working.”

I nod slowly.

“I wasn’t thinking straight. Then afterward, I felt sick about it. It wasn’t like I set out to find a revenge lay or to get over you with someone else. I was hurt, confused, pissed off, so all I wanted to do was drink my feelings. Shit got out of control.”

“We were broken up,” I tell him sincerely. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I do. I want to. Because I don’t want any more secrets. Not mine, anyway. I don’t want you to ever have a reason to doubt or mistrust me.”

“I do trust you.”

He looks up, and in his cool gray eyes I see the wounds I’ve inflicted. The insecurity I’ve instilled. A month ago I would have said Conor Fucking Edwards was impervious to everyone and everything. Completely immune to heartache.

I was wrong.

“Then why?” he asks roughly. “Why did breaking up seem like the only solution?”

“Because it’s what I’ve always done. I hide.” Shame clamps around my throat. “Hiding felt like the safer option, the path of least embarrassment. Just cut ties and escape and everything will be okay.”

“I wish you’d trusted that I would be there for you.”

My eyes widen. “God, no, you don’t get it—I had no doubt you’d be there. That was the one thing I knew I could trust. But I didn’t want to put you through all that.”

I swallow hard because suddenly my throat feels too tight and dry.

“I need you to know something,” I start. Gulp again. “I didn’t mean any of those awful things I said to you. I only said them because I needed you to accept the breakup. It was wrong and hurtful and I’m so sorry I didn’t have the nerve to tell you the truth.” Tears sting my eyelids. “I was afraid of what you’d think of me, that you’d be embarrassed by me. It was humiliating enough to deal with all this myself. I didn’t want to make it your problem, too. Didn’t want you to see me differently.”

“I only see you.” He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over the inside of my wrist. “Just as you are. I don’t imagine you as some impossible ideal. To me you’re…real.” His lips quirk in a half-smile. “Stubborn, opinionated, pushy, funny, intelligent, kind, too hard on herself, snarky, sarcastic, jaded, yet somehow a closeted optimist. I fell in love with you for you, T. Nothing you could say or do would embarrass me. Ever.”

“Considering how we met, right?” I say, smiling.

“I knew you were nervous. Scared shitless, even.” His thumb continues its soft caresses across my skin, lulling me into a calm I haven’t felt in days. “Still, you were brave and so refreshingly honest. I was having dirty thoughts about you right away, but my favorite thing about you that first night was that you were completely unpretentious.”

“Yeah, it was pretty much the hair for me,” I say solemnly. “Oh, and the abs. The abs are good too.”

Conor laughs, shaking his head. “You’re such a brat.”

“For real, though, I’m sorry. For all of it. I freaked out and made a rash decision. It just seemed like the only thing I could do at the time.” I put on a firm tone. “I need you to know that I’m on board with whatever career path you choose. You do have prospects, and whatever you decide will always be good enough for me. That bullshit I fed you when I ended it was just that—bullshit. I didn’t mean a single word of it.”

He laces his fingers through mine, squeezing. “I get it. We both made mistakes.”

“Thank you for sticking by my side even though I was pushing you away. For not turning your back on me.”

“Never.”

Leaning in, I place a kiss on his lips.

He hesitates, just for a beat. Then, as if he’s suddenly convinced it’s really happening, his hands go to my ribs and pull my body against his. His kiss is soft but greedy. Sweet hunger and gentle need.

“I still love you,” he whispers against my mouth.

“I still love you,” I whisper back.

Getting to my knees, I straddle his lap as he slides to lie back against the armrest. My fingers tangle in the long, silky strands of hair at the base of his neck.

“Is it too late to plead temporary insanity?” I ask.

“I thought we were going to pretend the whole breakup was a vivid fever dream.” Conor’s thumbs drag slow, agonizing strokes under my breasts.

“I could go along with that.”

I kiss along his jaw, his neck. In response, his fingers dig into my skin. He’s hard between my legs, hips rising to meet me. I pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. Then, with unhurried attention, I explore his bare chest with my mouth. I kiss those glorious abs, nip at the skin just above the waistband of his jeans until he shudders and his sinewy muscles contract.

“Can I?” I murmur, tugging at his belt.

Conor nods tightly, jaw clenched, as if it’s taking all his effort to lie still. It’s that coiled, kinetic strength of him that’s always attracted and intrigued me. A man so at once peaceful and dynamic.

I free his erection from his jeans, stroking the thick length as his hands reach above his head to grip a throw pillow. He watches me with anticipation, rapt and eager. “Fuck, Taylor, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

My sweet-talking man. Smiling, I take him in my mouth. Slowly, at first, then with more intent. I moan at the masculine taste of him, the heat of his cock as it slides through my lips.

“So beautiful,” he mumbles, sliding his fingers down to cup my head, play with my hair.

I suck and lick and tease until he’s panting and groaning. I could do this forever, but it’s not long before his hand brushes the side of my face and his hips pull away to signal I have to stop unless I want this to be over quickly.

So I straddle him again, pressing myself against his hard cock, grinding on his shaft. Conor grabs my ass with both hands, urging my movements.

I tug my shirt over my head, and his attention moves to my breasts. He cups them, kneading them in both hands, his thumbs playing with my nipples. Then he adjusts his position and sits up, one arm wrapped behind my back to support us both. He lowers his head and sucks one nipple into his mouth, while his fingers tease the other. Within seconds my insides are twisted tight, my clit is throbbing, and I can’t stand the teasing any longer.

“I want to be inside you,” he breathes.

“Condoms are in the bedroom.”

With no warning he stands us up and carries me to the bed. He puts a condom on while I shimmy out of my pajama shorts. We’re both naked now, breathing hard, gazes locked.

Then he growls, “C’mere,” and I smile and climb on top of him.

I lean down and press my lips to his, and just as he parts them to let my tongue slide into his mouth, I deliberately come down on his dick. We both moan, delighting in the sensation. He fills me completely, his body satiating my every aching need.

He doesn’t rush me. Hands resting loosely on my hips, he lets me set the pace. Find my own perfect rhythm where every plunge sends pleasure skittering across my nerve endings. Soon I quicken my movements, riding him with greater insistence.

Conor bites down on his lip but can’t stop the low, quiet groans that build in his chest. And when he can’t control his body, he grabs my tits with both hands and thrusts his hips into me. Harder, faster. Both of us sprinting toward magnificent release.

He knows my body, sometimes even better than I do. Sensing my need, he presses his thumb to my clit and starts rubbing. Gentle at first, then applying more pressure as I rock forward and back on his dick, finding that perfect angle where he’s deep inside and hitting the sweetest spot.

“Oh, fucking fuckturtles, I’m coming,” I choke out, and his answering laughter heats the air around us.

I’m too mindless with orgasm to laugh back. My muscles clench in a cascade of pure bliss, and I collapse on top of him as my body trembles wildly. He chases his own orgasm, pumping into me until he finds his own release a moment later, moaning my name.

Afterward, we’re hot and sweaty and clinging to one another.

“I missed you,” he says, breathless.

“I missed us.”

“Let’s stop breaking up, deal?”

I’m not sure how I got lucky enough to meet Conor Edwards. Like all the times the world took a shit on my shoes were leading up to this one big I’m sorry gift. Sometimes we make all the wrong decisions, end up in all the wrong places, and still find exactly where we’re supposed to be. Conor’s my happy accident. My wrong place, wrong time, exactly right guy. He taught me how to love myself against my best efforts, showed me an image of myself I’d never believed was there. Strong. Beautiful. Confident.

And I’ll never take that for granted again.

Rising up on my elbow, I peer into his sated, heavy-lidded eyes and smile. “Deal.”