Lockdown | Conor Mason

Never Tasted So Sweet

Despite all the many times I'd lay in bed late at night, thinking about Conor, envisioning his soft, plump lips, wondering what they'd taste like on mine, what they'd feel like pressed against my skin, leaving kisses and sweet words in their wake...

None of it had prepared me for this.

His lips were soft, so incredibly soft, and yet so supple, dragging warm kisses slowly down my neck, his tongue darting through them to taste my skin. His warm breath drew gooseflesh across my shoulders as his arms wrapped around my waist, holding me tight against him.

The sensations overwhelmed me, making me dizzy and needy and a little bit crazed.

Then his sparkling eyes lifted, and those perfect lips were on mine again. I couldn't help the low whimper that emerged from my throat as I cupped his face in my hands, and through his kiss I felt a smile pulling at his lips.

Playfully he nipped at my bottom lip with his teeth, and in retaliation I pressed my tongue into his warm mouth, grazing it across his teeth as my lips sank firmly into his. I felt a prick of satisfaction as a low moan escaped his throat.

My hand ran up his neck, grasping at his hair as we kissed. He hummed and his hands moved to the small of my back, resting lightly just above my butt. My body arched automatically in response, my head bowing, our foreheads connecting as he groaned at the friction between us.

"My god, Amelia." His voice was barely a whisper, and low, so much lower than usual. It sent a flutter through my insides.

"I've...god, I've wanted this for so long."

Those eyes met mine again, looking up at me with an adoration I couldn't comprehend, couldn't fathom as possibly being put there by someone like me.

My mind swirled. How could I, the sort of odd, blunt, shy girl from next door, possibly be something he wanted? Sure, he wanted me right now, but wasn't it much more likely he was just lonely and touch-starved from months of lockdown?

But his eyes. I couldn't pull myself away from them. Wide, and deep, and truthful. Those eyes didn't lie, did they?

"That can't be true. You're crazy."

The words left my mouth and for the ten millionth time in my life, I wanted them back. I just looked at him, unable to speak again for fear of saying something equally daft.

But he knew me by now. Knew that half the time I said the wrong thing, or at least felt like I did, and worried I'd do it again, so instead chose to shut up.

He grinned wryly, then nudged the tip of my nose with his.

"And why is that so hard to believe?"

He lifted my hand and began placing kisses on each of my fingers.

My eyes fluttered closed as each press of his warm lips on my skin sent me further and further into bliss.

"The first time we met," he began, and I shrank into myself, my cheeks coloring with the memory of how brusque I'd been that day many months ago when he'd knocked on my door.

"Oh my god, Conor —"

"You were so adorable!" he laughed, ignoring my protest. "Like, 'who the fuck is this guy, get away from me and don't give me COVID!'"

"I'm sorry!" I screwed my eyes shut and buried my reddened face in his shoulder.

He laughed even louder, resting his chin on my shoulder. "And me, the big rock star, all full of myself, like 'yeah check me out, I sing in a band,' and you were like 'cool story bro'!"

"I didn't.. I mean, what was I supposed to — auggh!"

Conor cut me off with tickles, attacking my waist, and I squirmed, giggling, as I tried to retaliate but to no avail as his deceptively strong hands grasped my wrists and held them firmly.

"But then, that night," he continued, stilling me with the softness in his voice, nearly a whisper. I stopped wriggling and looked at him, suddenly shy again.

"When you came out onto the decking, all freshly showered and glowing...I mean, fuck."

"You're a bloody liar, I looked like a bedraggled wet rat in those joggers and that raggy sweatshirt—"

Without warning Conor pushed me sideways onto the sofa cushions. I landed on my back with his body stretched above mine, his hands either side of my head, his face inches from mine. His eyes were lit with fire.

"You were a fucking vision," he growled, and I gasped as his lips caught mine in a kiss so deep and seeped with passion that my toes curled inside my fuzzy slippers.

He broke the kiss and stared down at me, his eyes softer now, adoring. I reached up to gently caress his cheek.

"I — I felt it too," I managed, and he smiled so wide it made the whole room light up. "But I tried to ignore it, I mean, I never in a million years thought you'd go for a little weirdo like me."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He shook his head again. "You're gorgeous and hilarious and wonderful, and no I will not hear any denials," he said over my protests.

"Besides," he said quietly, "it's me who's the little weirdo."

I sensed it immediately, the hesitation, the feeling of not being good enough, or masculine enough. I wanted to take that part of him and smash it to pieces, wanted to shake him and tell him just how perfect he was. But of course I just managed something dumb.

"I like weird," I said, grinning. He grinned back, tonguing his cheek slyly. "And as for 'little,' well."

I dropped my voice, a spark running through me, spurring me on as I felt the heat of his body hovering just inches above mine. He needed to know just how sexy he was to me, how incredibly hot I found him.

I glanced down at his chest and slid my hand down the front of his shirt. He sucked in a slow breath as my hand reached the top of his jeans and fluttered over his exposed skin.

"You're plenty big enough for me. Not to mention...unbelievably sexy."

With my words I grasped his belt loop and pulled him down, close enough that our hips met.

And sure enough, I felt it: his hard length pressing against me through his jeans. It sent a pulse of desire through my so strong that I felt momentarily dizzy, watching his eyes go wide with a hunger that I knew matched my own.

I rocked my hips ever so slightly, just enough so the friction sent his eyes rolling back in his head, a quiet "fuck" escaping his lips.

I was never this forward. I never made the first move. I hadn't been with anyone in so long that I'd thought I'd forgotten all about this stuff.

But the need inside me fueled my veins with a confidence I didn't know I had in me. I squared my eyes to Conor's. They were blown wide, dark with desire.

I moved my mouth to his ear. "I want you, Conor," I said, and felt his body clench and gasp as I caught his earlobe between my teeth and flicked it with my tongue.

"I want you so," I breathed, "fucking bad," I finished, dragging my tongue to his neck and dipping down to suck on that sweet spot where his neck met his shoulder.

"Fucking hell," Conor growled, and in a swift movement he'd scooped me up, his hands hooked under my thighs and my legs wrapped round his waist.

As he carried me to the bedroom, and I did my best to distract him with my tongue lathing his neck, I felt my monster slippers slide off my feet onto the floor in the middle of his living room.

I couldn't help but giggle into his neck as, moments later, he placed me gently onto his bed.

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