He leans in and brushes his mouth lightly across mine, then pulls back to check with me. His gaze is heated, but he waits until I nod.
Sinking his fingers into my hair, he pulls me tighter against him, and I clutch at his shirt, holding tight both for my own balance and against the idea of him pulling away again.
His tongue teases mine, tasting. It’s slow and gentle, restrained even. Nothing like before.
I raise up on my tiptoes to kiss him back, to deepen it beyond this almost chaste exchange, but with his hands in my hair, he keeps that bare distance between us, only closing it at his leisure.
Frustration builds in me, and it takes me a second to figure out what’s going on. The gentleness, the soft touches.
“Stop being so careful,” I say against his mouth, my voice raspy. “You’re not going to hurt me.” Certainly not any worse than I’ve already been hurt, and those aches and pains are already fading. For possibly the first time in my life, I’m grateful for the nonhuman portion of my heritage.
To prove my point, I lean forward and bite his lower lip. Justfor a second. Enough to remind him of those earlier encounters. The desperate noises he pulled from me, the heat of his breath on my inner thighs as my knees weakened, that hot wet stripe of his tongue against my center.
He exhales sharply against my cheek and his hands drop to my hips, squeezing tight and yanking me against him.
That is more like it.
He thrusts against me, his erection solid and unforgiving, so close to where I need it. A needy whimper escapes me.
“You are infuriating, you know that,” he says in my ear. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
“I’m safe enough,” I say breathlessly. “I’d rather you fuck me, if that’s an option.”
His hands tighten on me involuntarily and when he leans back to search my face, his pupils are blown wide.
Yeah.My smile might be a little too self-satisfied at that moment. I suspect he will make me pay for it in a way that we’ll both enjoy.
Taking my hand, he leads me silently away from the living room, down the hall to the closed door of his bedroom.
The space is dominated by an oversized bed, king for sure. Possibly whatever is larger than that. And it’s not just a mattress on the floor, but an actual bed with a wooden frame. The polished headboard and footboard gleam in a curling scroll shape.
The whole thing barely fits in here. And what little space is left has been taken over by books. Psychology texts, random nonfiction titles on persistence, deep work, and the brain. A few novels scattered in the mix, includingThe Hobbitby Tolkien,The Strangerby Camus, andThe Age of Innocenceby Edith Wharton.
Is there anything sexier than a guy who reads? If so, I haven’t found it.
Carter releases my hand to stroll toward the bed and prop himself up on the footboard, watching me.
I start to follow him, but he holds his hand up, stopping me in place.
“Your back. Let me see it.” He folds his arms across his chest, giving me a stern look.
I scowl at him. If he’s thinking thathe’sgoing to decide that I’m too injured, he has another think coming.
My instinct is to argue, but then a better idea dawns.
Instead of turning my back and lifting my sweatshirt, I reach down and pull the whole thing off over my head.
While facing him.
I put my hand on my hip in challenge, the cool air skating across my bare breasts, nipples taut. Bras haven’t exactly been a priority in the last couple of days, when I’ve lost access to my entire wardrobe. Plus, with layers of coats, sweaters, sweatshirts, they weren’t really necessary.
And I’ve never been more grateful. I’ve felt Carter’s hands on me, his mouth, but I never realized how electrifying his attention on my skin would feel.
His gaze pours over me, like he wants to memorize every curve. Everything tightens under his focus, as if my body knows what’s coming, anticipating the hot suction of his mouth, the talented pinch of his fingers.
His throat works audibly. “Turn around,” he says, voice raw and hoarse.
“Come over here, and make me,” I offer. It’s always this waybetween us, the push and pull of control, of power. It’s just usually a little more contained, restrained by time and location.
