Chapter Seven
~ Macon ~
The world outside the house didn’t follow us inside. It stayed on the gravel, in the cold, in the exhaust cloud of Carter’s father’s Mercedes. The door closed behind us with a soft click, and all the air that filled my lungs was his, that green-apple tang that never left my memory, even after weeks apart.
Carter hovered by the stairs, chewing the inside of his cheek, hands curled tight in the cuffs of my old flannel. He looked at me like he half expected to get hit, half expected to get kissed, and didn’t know which he wanted more.
The adrenaline from the driveway showdown was still in the marrow of my bones, making my hands shake, making my vision narrow to the line of Carter’s throat and the wild tangle of his hair. He was mine, and the last half hour had been a lesson in what I’d do to keep him.
I waited for him to speak, to make some joke about my alpha posturing, or maybe crack a line about whether I could still carry him up the stairs in his condition. But Carter didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, eyes wide and wet and burning with the same hunger that was eating me alive from the inside out.
I closed the gap between us in two strides. He didn’t flinch, but I saw the flutter at his throat when I braced a hand against the banister, caging him between the wood and my chest. He was trembling—not with fear, but with anticipation. I could feel it in the way his breath caught, in the way his hand fisted the fabric over his belly.
I tilted his chin up with my knuckle. “You did good, out there,” I said.
He made a sound, half-laugh, half-shudder. “So did you.”
I grinned, slow and mean.
His smile faded, replaced by something soft and defenseless. “I need you,” he said, barely above a whisper.
I didn’t waste another second.
I bent down and kissed him. Not gentle, not even close. My mouth crashed into his, teeth clacking, and his lips opened for me like they’d been waiting their whole life for this.
I tasted the faint iron of his blood—must’ve bitten his lip, or maybe he’d done it to himself, worrying over every word he never got to say. I licked it away, tongue stroking deep, and his hands came up to my chest, fingers splaying against the cotton like he needed an anchor.
I pressed him into the stairs, pinning his body with mine. Our hips aligned, the press of his cock against mine a live wire. He arched up, trying to close the last distance, and I used my weight to hold him there, letting him feel every pound of muscle I’d ever put on.
He whimpered into my mouth, a raw little sound that made my skin go hot.
I pulled back just enough to breathe. “Upstairs,” I said.
He nodded, wild-eyed, and I scooped him up, one arm under his knees, the other around his back. He was heavier than last time, belly soft and full against my ribs, but I could have carried him through a hurricane and never stopped.
We made it to the bedroom in record time. I nudged the door shut with my foot and set him on the bed, watching the way the mattress dipped under his weight. The room was dark but for a slice of sunlight across the sheets, and in that line of gold his hair glowed, every strand alive.
Carter shivered, eyes fixed on me, waiting.
I stripped off my shirt, then my jeans, never breaking eye contact. My cock was already hard, pressed against the cotton of my briefs, leaking at the tip. He licked his lips, and I saw his pupils go black.
“Clothes off,” I growled.
He scrambled to obey, yanking the flannel over his head, fumbling with the buttons. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath—never did, as if he thought he might get lucky—and his skin was flushed with color. His belly was round and perfect, rising out of his hips like a dare.
I knelt over him, palms on either side of his head, and let my gaze roam. His nipples were darker, swollen, the areola wider than I remembered. I brushed my thumb across one, and he gasped, hips jerking.
“Sensitive?” I asked.
He nodded, teeth digging into his lower lip.
I pinched the bud between thumb and forefinger, rolling it slow. Carter writhed, back arching, the motion pulling his belly taut. I bent down and sucked it into my mouth, tongue circling, then grazed it with my teeth just to see him jump.
He moaned, loud and helpless, one hand flying to my hair, tangling hard.
I palmed his belly, massaging the skin. It was tight and hot and beautiful, the evidence of everything we’d made together. I cupped it, thumb tracing lazy circles just below his navel, and felt the ripple of his abs under the skin.
“You like that?” I said, voice thick.
