He stands and pushes his chair under the table. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do,” he tells me.

My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “How do you think I could ever let you do that?”

“Because I said so.”

“I’m going to harass the reporters,” Dusty says, before standing and heading back outside.

“I don’t care what you say. I’m going to call Jim right now and tell him everything.” I drop the blanket and head toward the living room when he grabs me and pulls me back, wrapping his arms around me, my back to his front. He kisses the back of my head, then moves his mouth to my ear.

“Demi,” he breathes. “I need you to trust me. I need you to let me take this.”

I struggle in his hold, but it’s no use. He’s too strong. “The hell I will,” I growl as I continue to try and wiggle my way out which only makes his hold tighten.

“You will.”

“Why? Why would I sit back and watch you take the fall?” I cry.

“Because I love you goddammit!” he yells as we crumple to the floor. He pulls me down, so we’re laying on our sides as I sob. “I love you so fucking much. I WILL NOT let you go down for this.”

I cry harder.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s going to be okay,” he whispers as he places sweet kisses on my shoulder. I struggle again and this time he lets me get up. I jump to a stand, he slowly moves up, so that’s he’s sitting, looking up at me.

“It’s not okay! How dare you tell me you love me and then expect me to watch you go to jail and leave me. Do you think I want to lose you? Do you want to leave me? Do you think I could ever sit here, free, while you rot in prison?” I don’t let him answer. I run upstairs and slam the bedroom door behind me, flinging myself on my bed. I cry for what seems like an endless amount of time before my hurt and grief pull me under into a deep sleep.

When I wake up again, it’s dark. The lamp from the street shines through the window illuminating the room faintly as I lay there, restless, my stomach grumbling from hunger, as I haven’t eaten all day. Silence rings through the house so loud it’s almost deafening. I wonder if Connor is in the house, somewhere, silently brooding, waiting for me to come back downstairs. Or if he’s in his apartment. I’m so angry with him. How could he even think I would let him own this thing we did alone? But as angry as I am, I’m filled with a feeling I haven’t felt in so long.

Love.

I love him.

I love him for how selfless he is. How willing he is to throw himself in the flames and burn alive to protect me. I’m so consumed with emotion, with need for him, I don’t wait another second. I head downstairs in search of him and find the house dark and empty. When I walk out on the back porch, I can see the lights are on in his apartment. Quietly, hoping to avoid being seen by any reporters as I’m still in the same white silk robe, I tiptoe up the stairs to his apartment. I don’t knock, but open the door quickly and walk in. Connor is sitting in his recliner, a beer in his hand, the radio faintly playing So Help Me Girl, by Joe Diffie in the background. His head whips around at the sound of me entering, and he moves to stand, but I hold my hand up, stopping him. He’s almost naked, only wearing a pair of white boxer briefs.

“I love you, too,” I blurt out and his eyes close as if he’s just experienced the most profound relief; as if he’s been in pain, but suddenly medicated. Walking around the couch I approach him and stand in front of him.

“We will figure this out together. One way or another, Connor. We’re a team now. I need you. I need you so much the thought of losing you now steals the breath right out of me.”

He leans to the side and places his beer on the coffee table. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises.

As I untie the sash of my robe and let it slide off my shoulders, wafting to the floor and pooling at my feet, I stare down at him, my eyes locked on his, I tell him, “I know that, baby. And I won’t let anything happen to you either.”

He sucks in air through his teeth as his gaze lazily roves up and down my body. I don’t move even though every nerve in my body is screaming to feel him. I wait and let him see me, all of me. When he stands, he’s only a few inches in front of me as his hand cups my face, his thumb grazing back and forth over my cheek. My chest rises as my body recognizes his touch. His hand slides down slowly, his fingers dragging, gently digging into my flesh until he reaches my breast and cups it roughly. A small moan escapes me. As his thumb flicks my hardened nipple, I watch him. I watch how his gaze turns darker, his mouth parts, how his body rocks toward me ever so slightly as if he’s fighting the urge not to crash into me. Watching a man so virile, so strong and rugged, hold back; practice the discipline of fighting urges so he can drag out a moment and milk it for every beautiful drop of meaning he can is awe inspiring.

Connor Stevens awes me.

When his eyes move back to mine, we watch each other. He’s looking at me now; he wants to see how his touch affects me. I arch my back slightly, so my breast pushes into his hand. Again, it’s a silent conversation. We don’t need words. He knows I’m telling him I want more—need more.

Suddenly I’m yanked up, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands cupping my ass. Still, we stare; his eyes never leave mine as he moves. In a few short steps, he’s reached his bed and slowly, he sits me on the edge. Dropping to his knees on the floor, he kisses me before nibbling his way down to my breast and sucking my nipple in his mouth. I groan. He continues his descent as his hands spread my knees. I fall back and pull my feet up, placing my heels on the edge of the bed and opening myself to him. The first flick of his warm tongue over my clit, my hips thrust up, but his large hand finds the lower part of my belly and pushes me back down, holding me there as he assaults me in the most violently beautiful way with his tongue and mouth. My hands fist the comforter as I pant and moan, rocking slightly into his mouth until my body feels as if it comes apart and breaks into a million tiny pieces of ecstasy.

My legs feel loose and Jell-O-like as he stands. “Roll over and lay on your stomach,” he instructs me. Slowly, I force my limbs to move and obey his command. He crawls on top of me, kissing his way up the back of my thighs, giving one of my ass cheeks a hard bite that makes me gasp, before making his way up my back. The tip of his erection is pressing against my opening, slipping back and forth through my wetness, teasing me. I arch my ass up to aide him, and after a moment he pushes inside of me. When he’s fully seated, he gathers my hair and fists it, pulling my head to the side as his mouth finds mine, letting his body weight rest on me. I’m completely at his mercy. He withdraws slowly and pushes back in again.

“Do you really love me?” he whisper-growls in my ear as he nips at my lobe.

“God, yes. I love you. I love you so much,” I pant, my heart ready to burst with emotion, my body riding high on the sensation of him inside of me.

“Then let me be your man, Demi,” he says, his pace picking up slightly.

“You are, Connor. You’re my man,” I promise, my voice rising an octave as he drawls me closer to release.

“Then let me handle this,” he continues before kissing my neck, the scruff of his day-old beard coarse against my delicate skin. “I need you to let me do this.”

“You need me to give up on you?” I manage between pants.

“No,” he murmurs in my ear. “Not give up on me. Just give in to me, Demi. Let me take care of you.”

I attempt to push up in a move of defiance, but his weight is too much, and the position of my arms is awkward preventing it. I open my mouth to protest, but he thrusts inside of me, hard, hitting the deepest part of me, that place that lies somewhere between pure ecstasy and pain; that delicious spot. I cry out, my mind waging war on my body; fighting to get him off of me or beg him to never ever stop.