Oh my God, did I really just do that?
I’ve never been this forward with a man before. I’m not sure what’s come over me.
I look from the towel on the floor up into his eyes. His incredible hazel eyes that are currently begging me not to pick up the towel. Not to give it back to him.
I want to pick up the towel. Ishouldpick up the towel. But the way he’s looking at me is unlike any way I’ve ever been looked at before. Even by my own husband. So—even though this can go nowhere, and regardless of the fact that I’ve fallen in love with every man I’ve ever slept with, and ignoring my mind screaming at me that this is a colossal mistake—I throw all caution to the wind and walk into his arms.
With zero hesitation, he hoists me up and I wrap my legs around him as he carries me into his bedroom, shutting the door with his foot before pressing me up against the wall. I look down into his eyes, loving the way he’s holding me like my weight is inconsequential. He’s strong, protective, and confident, yet somehow vulnerable. All the things I love in a man despite having hooked up with men who were the complete opposite.
“You sure?” he asks. “Because if I get you out of this robe, I won’t be able to control what happens next.”
I swallow at all the images swirling through my head. All the things that could happen next.
“That came out wrong.” He winces. “This will only go as far as you want, Kenna. I prom—”
“Carter, will you shut up and kiss me already?”
A radiant smile works up his face as I lower my head and press my mouth against his.
Instantly, his lips part and his tongue finds mine in an explosion of all the best flavors, leaving my head swimming in dizziness. This kiss is nothing like the last one. It’s not light and flowery and gentle. It’s intense. Urgent. As if we both got to the point where weneedit more than want it. Like our hunger for each other has become so powerful it’s feral. We devour each other’s lips, tongues, mouths, until we’re panting so hard it’s difficult to breathe.
He shifts me in his arms and walks me over to the bed. He lays me down and I’m enveloped by the scent permeating his sheets. My eyes close as I bathe in the smell that’s inherently him. It’s a fantasy I’ve had frequently over the past week… to be surrounded by him. Consumed by him. And now I’m living it.
The side of the bed dips with his weight, and my eyes open as he climbs on top of me, hovering, staring into my eyes, maybe asking permission. I reach up and pull his head down toward me. When his lips meet my neck, I groan. When his hand slips beneath my robe and over my thin cami, skimming the underside of my breast, I arch up into him. When he presses his erection against my thigh, my arms snake around him, hands grabbing the firm globes of his ass as I hold him against me.
“You feel so good,” he sighs into my ear.
He sits up and straddles me, pushing the two halves of my robe aside and lifting my cami to reveal my breasts. “Kenna.” He blinks and stares at my bare chest like he’s at a total loss for words. “You’re… Jesus, you’re perfect.”
Carter’s voice—low, throaty, and so incredibly sexy—is like butter on warm bread. OnlyI’mthe one who’s melting.
Maybe it’s because he called me perfect when no other man has. Or because I haven’t done this in well over a year. Perhaps it’s because he’s taken on the role of white knight to my damselin distress. But before I can attempt to figure out exactly why I’m having this physical, emotional, and, let’s face it, existential reaction to being near him, his mouth comes down on my breast and all sense of… everything… vanishes. It’s just him and me, and we’ve entered this bubble where it’s just us. No kids. No money issues. No volatile exes. No estranged fathers.
No fear.
Just pure unadulterated joy.
As his head swivels from breast to breast, toying, nibbling, and tasting each nipple, I run my hands down his strong back, feeling every muscle, every rib, each light wisp of hair. With gentle fingertips, I trace his tattoo from memory, certain the intricate design will be etched into my fantasies until the end of time.
He sits up and shifts off me. “One of us is still overdressed.”
I glance down at his penis. It’s hard and long and twitches under my perusal. “It’s definitely not you.” I hold my arms out to the side in an invitation for him to do the honors.
He wastes no time. Gently, he slides my arms out of my robe like he’s unwrapping the most delicate, fragile present. “Arms up,” he rasps.
Pulling my cami over my head, he tosses it aside as his gaze homes in on my sleep shorts. They almost come off by the sheer will of his heated stare. Sliding them down my legs is nothing short of torture. When my panties follow, every graze of his fingers both tickle and tantalize my thighs, my inner knees, my toes. He retraces his way up my legs, this time with his tongue.
I cry out an audible whimper.Seriously—what’s come over me?
He stops, pulls back, and looks up at me with concern. “Kenna? You okay?”
“Sookay,” I say, my head falling back onto the pillow.
Chuckling, he resumes his position down…there. The anticipation of what he’s going to do next has my heart pounding against my chest wall.
The question is answered when he sinks a finger inside me. When he adds a second, I push myself on him, needing him deeper. Longer. Needing him so desperately it’s like I’m not even myself anymore. Over the past five minutes, I’ve become utterly obsessed with the man in this bed.
Who am I kidding? I was obsessed with him long before then.
