His hands make quick work of my jeans, shoving them down my hips along with my underwear. The cool air of the room hits my bare skin and I shiver, but then his palm slides around to grip my cock and my brain feels like it shorts out.
I hear him fumbling with his own clothes behind me, hear the metallic slide of his zipper. Part of me wants to turn around and watch, wants to see him, but I can't move, can't do anything but brace my hands against the wall and try not to shake apart while I wait.
His fingers press into me without preamble, testing, stretching. I'm so wet it's almost embarrassing, slick coating his hand and dripping down my thighs, and he slides in easily enough that I know he can feel it too. One finger, then two, curling and spreading, and I push back against his hand with a desperate sound I don't recognize as my own voice.
His fingers withdraw, leaving me empty and aching. Something bigger presses against my entrance, blunt and hot, and I have just enough time to draw a shuddering breath before he pushes inside.
The sound I make isn't human. My vision whites out at the edges and my fingers scrabble against the wall, looking for purchase and finding none. He's big, bigger than I expected, and even wet as I am there's a stretch that borders on too much. He doesn't stop, doesn't pause to let me adjust, just keeps pressingforward in one long relentless slide until he's buried to the hilt and I can feel him everywhere.
For a moment he holds perfectly still, his forehead dropping to rest against my shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gasps that match my own. I can feel him trembling with the effort of not moving, can feel his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave bruises.
Then he starts to move, and I stop thinking altogether.
It's brutal from the first thrust, hard and deep. He fucks me like he's trying to break me apart. I take it all and beg for more with sounds I can't control. His hips slam against my ass in a rhythm that drives me up onto my toes, drives the breath from my lungs with every impact, drives every thought from my head until there's nothing left but sensation.
I'm making noise, I'm dimly aware of that, but I can't tell if it's words or just sounds.
He bites my shoulder without warning, sinking his teeth into the muscle hard enough to bruise, hard enough that I know I'll be wearing the mark for days. The pain is sharp and bright and perfect, cutting through the pleasure just enough to make it more intense, and I reach back blindly to grab a fistful of his hair and pull until he hisses against my skin.
The pressure builds in my belly with every thrust, tension coiling tighter and tighter until I'm shaking with it. I'm close, embarrassingly close given how little time has passed, and when he reaches around to grip my cock I nearly sob with relief.
His hand strokes me in time with his thrusts, rough and perfect, and when I come it hits me like a wave, so intense that my knees buckle and the only thing keeping me upright is his arm locked around my waist.
He follows a moment later with his whole body going rigid against my back, a groan tearing out of him. I feel him pulseinside me and some deep animal part of my brain purrs with satisfaction at the knowledge that I did that to him.
Then it's over.
We stand there for a long moment, breathing hard, his weight heavy against my back. The sweat is cooling on my skin and my legs are trembling with aftershocks.
He pulls out carefully, and I wince at the sudden emptiness. I hear him step back, hear the soft sounds of him adjusting his clothes.
I turn around slowly, leaning against the wall because my legs aren't working properly yet. Carter is already pulling up his slacks, his face turned away from me so I can't read his expression. His shoulders are tense.
Carter buttons his pants and retrieves his ruined sweater from the floor. He pulls it on over his head, hiding those scratches, and locates his shoes by the door.
He doesn't look at me once.
His hand pauses on the door handle, just for a second. A hesitation so brief I might have imagined it, then he opens the door and walks out without a backward glance.
I stand there against the wall, half-dressed and thoroughly wrecked.
I find my clothes scattered across the floor and get dressed slowly, wincing at tender places. The bite on my shoulder throbs when I pull my shirt over my head, a dull pulse of pain that makes me shiver.
The elevator down is quiet and the service corridor is empty. Carter is nowhere to be seen. I slip out the side entrance into the cold night air.
In the cab home, I lean my head against the window and watch the city slide past without really seeing it.
I should probably think about what I am going to do about this. Instead, I think about Carter's hands on my hips. Carter's mouth on my neck. The sound he made when he came.
We didn't say a single word throughout. We just fucked in silence, nothing but grunts and groans as the pleasure hit.
6. Carter
Fuck me. That was stupid. I had aplan. I’m walking back to my car in the bitter cold of the winter night and mentally kicking myself for being such a damnedidiot. That couldn’t have gone more badly wrong.
I was going charm Jamie Dean into backing off his crusade against my family.
Were you?A small voice in my head asks.Were you really? And that plan? What exactly was it? You knewexactlywhat you wanted to do. You’ve been obsessing over it.
