In fact, I’m spurred on by the sounds Carter makes whenever I take him a little deeper. His eyes bore into mine whenever I look up, checking the look on his face.
It’s pure filth.
Raw, feralneed. Adoration like no other.
I twist my hand to gather his balls every time I slide all the way back. There’s no way I’ll ever take his whole length down my throat, but I don’t think he minds.
“Hailey,” he rasps a moment later. “Out, pretty girl.”
I don’t let him move. I want his taste coating my tongue as he spills, and I want to be the one who gets him off.Menot his hand.
He gets the hint and stops fighting. I feel the moment the orgasm explodes at the base of his spine because he completely stills before his inhibitions snap. He thrusts into my mouth, hips jerking without rhyme or rhythm while I milk him dry.
He doesn’t go deep. Every stroke is just about perfect, allowing me enough room to swallow as he empties on my tongue, my throat contracting along his cock.
I’m so proud I could float a few inches off the ground.
The litany of guttural grunts, gasps, sharp inhales, and curses falling from Carter’s lips makes me work that much harder for the few seconds it takes his orgasm to die down.
I release him with a pop when he’s done, his fingers slowly untangling from my wet hair. Wiping the corner of my lips with one finger, I look up, meeting his dark, satisfied eyes that sparkle like never before.
“I’ll get better,” I say, rising to my feet. “Give me time.”
Instead of words, he takes my face in both hands to kiss me long and hard. It’s not his usual restless, intentional foreplay kiss. This is more. So much more. Words without sound. Soothing, calming, loving.
I wrap my arms around his neck, giving in to the kiss, almost melting in his arms.
“How are you doing?” he asks, his nose skimming mine. “Are you okay?”
“Perfect.”
He moves his hand between my legs and pushes one finger inside me before his features relax. “Wet. You got off on that, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Good. Oral is supposed to be fun for both parties.”
“It was.” I smile, kissing his forehead. “I’ve been dying to see you lose control.”
He smirks, gently patting my butt—a silent command to move away. “I’ll never lose control around you.” He grabs a bottle of hair shampoo and spins me around, lathering a generous amount through my long locks.
Darius did that too, but I don’t care. He’s just a distant, blurred memory, like a dream I had years ago.
“Which part did you enjoy?” Carter asks.
“Um... the way you taste. And the look on your face when you came. And how you flexed your fingers in my hair.”
I can’t see his face, but I swear he’s smiling. It’s in that small puff of air he pushes down his nose: content amusement.
33
CARTER
Istride into the high-rollers’ bank in Columbus with Broadway by my side, our steps echoing throughout the elegant, marble space.
Ryder’s right behind us, lugging a small, sealed case holding the grotesque keys—Alex’s fingers and eyes.
Broadway’s been whining about the stench of decay since we picked up the case from the dedicated freezer in my loft. I had one installed when I sent my men on their mission to the graveyard.
