Fine. Two can play.
Thinking of all the almost-there touches he’s tortured me with, I decide it’s time for payback. A striptease might do the trick. I start with my shirt, peeling itoff inch by inch. Slow. Deliberate. Then I unhook my bra, letting the straps slide down my arms like silk.
His eyes track every movement, and with each layer I shed his body gets tenser. His chest rises faster. His eyes darken until there’s nothing soft left in them, only hunger.
When I’m down to my panties, I smile up at him, sweet as sugar.
Teasing.
He’s not amused. His arms fold across his chest, biceps bulging, jaw clenched. I watch the muscle tick in his cheek. His stare is so sharp, it could cut glass.
“Take them off,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I lose whatever patience I have left.”
“Fine,” I huff, like it’s no big deal. I hook my thumbs into the sides of my panties and shimmy them down, slowly, then toss them aside.
There’s nothing between us now.
Carrson lays down beside me, his body a furnace against mine. His hand finds its way back between my legs, his fingers stroking, light, almost lazy, across my clit.
I gasp, one hand flying to his forearm, my fingers digging in, hard enough to leave marks. Maybe even draw blood.
He dips lower, close enough to make me cry out, but then he pulls back. He moves to my thighs instead, spreading me open, his eyes flicking between my face and the apex of my legs. His fingers slide through my wetness, finally making real contact with my clit, his fingers firm, purposeful.
My back arches off the bed. I moan, hips moving to the pace of his hand without thought. Carrson bites down on his lip as he watches me, his dark eyes unblinking.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “You’re so beautiful, Laurel.”
Suddenly, I forget how to breathe.
Every instinct screams at me to close my legs, cover myself,run. To hide before he can see too much. Before he realizes I’m not some untouchable seductress, just a girl with shaky hands and a history that still owns too many pieces of her.
I lock up, freeze, and squeeze my eyes shut as if by not looking at him, I can make this all go away. That’s a mistake because when I close my eyesall I see is a black dress ripped on the floor, stained with my blood. All I hear is my voice begging Preston to stop.
Carrson’s talking, saying something to me, but I can’t hear him over the roaring in my ears combined with the sound of my breathing. Fast. Panicked. Too loud.
His hands are on my shoulders, shaking me gently. He’s saying my name, over and over again, soft but urgent.
By the time the fog lifts, when sound starts to make sense again, I’ve curled in on myself. I force my eyes open. Carrson’s there, all his earlier teasing, cockiness, and dominance gone. He hovers over me, his eyes wide and brow creased with worry.
I raise a trembling hand to my face, fingers brushing over my cheeks. They’re wet with tears. Strange. I don’t remember crying.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer, the words barely making it past my lips as shame crashes over me. Here I am, naked, vulnerable, with the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I’m a blathering mess. It’s humiliating.
Carrson pulls the blanket up, covering us both. Without a word, he lifts me and shifts us until he’s lying on his back and I’m draped across him, my cheek resting against his chest, the reassuring thud of his heart under my ear.
He wraps his arms around me, holding me just tight enough to feel supported, but loose enough that I can breathe. I like this position because I don’t have to look him in the eye. I don’t want to see the regret on his face. Or, worse, his fuckingpity. I don’t want to watch as he says good-bye, which is stupid because I’m the one who’ll be leaving at the end of this school year. When he goes to Ashport with his father, and I go back to normal college life. Or at least semi-normal.
Good-bye is not what he says though.
Slowly, like he’s picking his words with care, Carrson murmurs, “Before…you know…had you ever?”
I know what he means.
Before Preston. Before prom night.
Had I ever had sex.
My tears are slowing. I shake my head against his chest, letting the motion speak for me because Idon’t trust my voice not to crack.
