He reaches past me—so damn close his scent wraps around me, warm and rich, hot cocoa and whiskey, something dangerous and delicious all at once—and grabs a glass from the cabinet above my head.
The bastard.
My fingers clamp around my mug, heart pounding, heat flooding me in a way that has nothing to do with coffee. And then, just as easily, he moves back—like he didn’t just steal every damn thought from my head, flip my stomach inside out, leave me raw and buzzing.
He turns to the sink, fills a glass, drinks. Ignores me.
I should be relieved. I’m not. My chest rises and falls too fast, my grip strangling the mug, thighs pressing tight as slick gathers, shameless and needy.
Carson takes a slow sip, eyes cutting to me over the rim, smirk curling.
Smug. Arrogant. Asshole.
I scowl, wrenching my gaze away before I do something reckless—before I let him pin me against the counter again and find out just how far he’ll take it.
“I hate you,” I mutter, taking a long pull of coffee.
Carson chuckles, low and rough. “No, you don’t.”
And he’s right. I don’t.
His smirk sharpens, smug bastard knowing damn well my pulse is racing, my breath shallow, my thighs pressed tight as I lose the fight against the pull between us.
And he’s not finished.
He moves in, slow and deliberate, crowding my space.His glass of water sits forgotten on the counter as his arms cage me in, hands braced on either side. Trapping me.
Heat floods me, thick and intoxicating, only worsening when he dips his head, lips grazing the shell of my ear.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he murmurs, teasing, taunting.
I swallow hard, clutching my mug like it’s the only thing tethering me. “Thinking about what?”
His lips curve against my skin. “Last night.”
A full-body shiver rolls through me, and I hate how easy it is for him to get this kind of reaction from me. His fingers ghost down my arm, barely touching, but enough to make me ache for more. He wraps his fingers around my coffee mug, easily taking it from me, and places it to the side.
“The way you fell apart for me…” he murmurs, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of my throat. “The way you sounded as I gave you orgasms. How your body gripped me tight, unwilling to let me go.”
A strangled sound tears from my throat, and I can’t fight it—I turn into him, moth to flame, reckless and starving. His lips are right there, and I don’t think. I can’t. I grab his face and crash my mouth to his, the kiss desperate and hot and everything I’ve been denying.
He groans against me, hands snapping to my waist, grip bruising as he drags me flush against him. Solid heat, hard in all the right places.
I moan, tilting my head, giving him more, giving him everything. Letting him devour me, letting him own the kiss, own me. And maybe he has been waiting for this, maybe I have too—fuck, I don’t care anymore.
I don’t care about the fact that this is stupid. That we probably shouldn’t be doing this. That there are other people who have a key to this apartment and could walk in at any second.
I just care about this. About him. About the way his handsslide up my body, about the way his mouth moves against mine, demanding, devouring.
His tongue brushes against mine, and I whimper, my knees going weak as heat pools low in my belly.
Carson growls, gripping my ass and lifting me onto the counter, stepping between my legs, pressing himself exactly where I need him most.
I need more.
My fingers fist in his hair, tugging, and he groans, pulling back just enough to bite at my bottom lip. I moan into his mouth.
“Peaches,” he rasps, his forehead resting against mine, his breath hot and uneven. “Tell me to stop.”
