With a deep sigh, I start hobbling.
I’M ALMOST to my suite when my legs finally give out beneath me. Cursing colorfully, Carter manages to catch me before I hit the stone floor. He sweeps me up into his arms, cradles me against his chest like a child, and starts striding down the hallway. If I had any remaining energy whatsoever, I’d be utterly embarrassed for causing such a scene in front of the entire household. I’d also probably wonder what conclusions the staff would jump to, seeing me in my stepbrother’s arms. But in this moment, all I feel is exhaustion as he wrestles open my door one-handed and carries me over the threshold.
The room is dark and oh so quiet. The only light trickles through the glass terrace doors. It’s begun to snow outside, the falling flakes muffling the whole world. I watch them drift as Carter sets me down on the bed, cradling my head gently until it hits the pillow.
I stare up at him, lost for words. It’s been the worst day of my life — full of unimaginable sorrow, unspeakable pain. And yet, there’s a part of me that is comforted by his touch, soothed by the feeling of his hands on my skin. He is a salve to the jagged wound inside me. One I’m not sure will ever heal.
“I’ll let you rest,” Carter says lowly, eyes full of sharp-edged thoughts I can’t decipher. “You’re exhausted.”
He starts to stand, but I reach out and grab his arm. There’s an urgency in my grip. A sort of desperate fear at the sudden thought of him walking out that door, leaving me alone in the dark with a mind full of memories I can’t hold at bay for much longer.
“Please… stay.”
A jolt moves through his body, like I’ve electrocuted him. “I don’t think that’s the smartest idea, Emilia.”
“Please, Carter.” My voice drops to a whisper, barely audible. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
His jaw tightens and I know he’s deliberating. I see the conflict warring in his eyes. He doesn’t want to leave me, but he knows it’s probably wrong to stay.
Wrong for me.
For him.
For both of us.
Whatever look he sees on my face is enough to sway him. Moving cautiously, as though navigating a minefield, he stretches out beside me on the bed. For a long time, we just lay there looking at each other.
Not touching, not talking.
He stares into my eyes, into my soul, and I know he’s reading all the darkness inside me, swirling around like poison with no outlet.
I make a sound — half sob, half sigh — and his careful composure falls to pieces. Without a word, he reaches out and pulls me close, until we’re plastered so tight together I can’t tell where I end and he begins. His strong arms envelop me, warm and safe. His legs tangle with mine, careful not to put any weight on my bruises.
When he embraces me, something shatters deep within my soul. I thought my heart was too numbed with ice to grieve any more, but I was wrong. I thought I’d done all my crying earlier, but I find there is still more to come. My limbs shudder violently as tears trickle out into the crook of Carter’s neck. I am physically incapable of coping with the enormity of this pain. This loss is too great to unpack all at once. Too mammoth to fathom its full scope without time and distance.
After a while, I feel the telltale moisture of tears against the crown of my head, and know I am not the only one in this bed being ravaged by the utter grief of this day.
Together, we weep.
We mourn.
When our sobs finally taper off, I lay my head on Carter’s chest and curl my body around his warmth. And there, as I listen to the steady thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat, I allow my tired eyes to drift closed, safe in the knowledge that he’ll be here with me, when the nightmares come.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE TRUCK IS BARRELING CLOSER, closer, closer and there’s no stopping it. I hear the sound of bullets whizzing over head. I hear Simms telling me to run. I hear the firefighters yelling for their wives and children, frantic with fear. And loudest of all, I hear the screams.
So many screams, ringing out in the air.
Screams I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
Screams that—
“COME ON, LOVE. WAKE UP.”
There are arms around me, holding me close. Tethering me to the real world. Keeping the horror at bay.
“Shhh. You’re okay, Emilia. You’re okay.”
My feverish screams die out as consciousness returns with a jolt. My heart is pounding double-speed. Carter’s arms are still wrapped tight around my body.
“You’re okay,” he repeats in a soothing voice. “I’ve got you.”
I crane my neck to meet his eyes, whimpering softly. “The truck…”
“I know, love. But it’s over now. You’re safe.” His hand strokes my hair. There’s gravel in his voice. “I promise. I will keep you safe.”
There’s no room for doubt in his tone. He means every word.
My heart expands. I pull in a gulp of air and try not to focus on how close my face is to his, or how good it feels to be pressed against the hard planes of his body. I hate myself for even noticing. For being able to feel anything at all besides grief or loss or pain.
By all rights, I should be dead right now.
How can I possibly be thinking about this?
Perhaps that’s precisely the problem, though: I should be dead. I came so very close. And there’s a part of me — a recklessly off-the-rails part, the part that’s still a little numb and a lot shocked by everything that’s happened— whispering dangerous things in my ear. Things about living life to the fullest while I still have a chance. Things about holding on to the people who matter most, before I run out of time.
I survived.
I survived when, by all accounts, I should have died.
I survived and I am home, I am here, in his arms.
My soul is a husk of bottomless grief. My mind volleys wildly between contradictory feelings from one moment to the next. Sorrow for those who were lost, coupled with an unbearable sense of relief that I did not share their fate. Above all, guilt. Guilt for living. Guilt for the selfish surge of joy I feel in realizing I am still alive.
I know from my courses there’s a technical term for this.
Survivor’s guilt.
But just because I can slap some textbook label on myself doesn’t help me wade through my conflicted feelings any faster. Nor does it help me understand why, at this vastly inappropriate time, a time of loss and lament and letting go… more than anything, all I want to do is lose myself in Carter’s strong embrace and never resurface again.
I look at him, and the pain lessens.
Not much.
But enough that I can breathe again.
It’s strange — Carter and me, here, together. A silent room, snow drifting down outside. It’s like we have slipped into some alternate universe.
Was it only a day ago we’d decided to be enemies?
How distant that feels, now. How acutely absurd.
We have been whittled down to our purest elements by the barbaric events we experienced. There’s no more bullshit left between us. No pretense or anger or mind games.
Our gazes are locked; I can’t look away. There are deep shadows beneath his eyes — evidence of his sleepless vigil. I want to trace them with my fingertips, erase them with a kiss. I want to lean forward, press my mouth against his, and forget about the world outside this room for a while.
Thankfully, I manage to pull away before I cave to the impulse. My cheeks are stained red as I sit up. I’m mortified by myself. By my own weakness. I hope he doesn’t notice my blush in the dark. I hope he can’t discern the shameful desire saturating my bloodstream, mixing with the pain already pumping there.
“I need to shower,” I whisper. Between the dust and debris from the explosion yesterday, the germs and grime from the hospital, and the sweat from my fitful sleep, I’ve never felt dirtier in my life.
Carter sits up too. His breaths are a bit uneven but when he sp
eaks, his voice is steady. “Do you want me to call someone to help you?”
I glance at him. “Would…”
“What?”
“Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“Tell me,” he orders softly.
I can’t look at him. I look down at the bedspread instead. “Would you help me? I just… I don’t want to be around anyone else, right now. I’m not ready to face the rest of the world. Only you.”
There’s total silence in the room for a long moment — so long, I begin to think he’s not going to answer me at all. But then, so softly I can barely hear him, he simply murmurs, “Okay.”
I try to walk to the bathroom, but the ache in my battered body makes it impossible. The pain meds have definitely worn off. I cry out, almost falling, but Carter manages to catch me for the second time tonight. Carrying me into the bathroom, he sets me on the shallow stone bench inside my walk-in shower, then kneels down so we’re at eye level.
“Do you—” He breaks off, swallowing roughly. “Do you need me to—”
I shake my head and reach for the drawstring of the sweatpants they dressed me in at Fort Sutton. They’re huge — probably the former property of a military cadet — and they slide easily to the tiled floor. My thighs press against the cold stone as I reach for the bottom hem of my shirt and begin to pull it up over my head.
Carter averts his eyes, turning to the valve controls embedded in the wall. He turns on the rainfall setting, sidestepping to avoid the sudden torrent. I stare at his back, watching as he shoves a hand beneath the stream to test the water temperature. Once it’s perfect, he sets my bottle of shampoo and conditioner on the bench beside me.
“There. Good to go,” he informs me without turning, his voice tight. “I’ll be just outside the door. You can call me when you’re done and I’ll bring you a towel.”
I push shakily to my feet, using the wall as a brace to keep the weight off my leg with the worst of the bruising. Shuffling a step closer, I watch the muscles flex beneath the fabric of his t-shirt when I reach out and lay a hand on his back.
“Carter.”
His name is a plea on my lips.
Letting out a low, pained groan, he turns to face me. The look in his eyes when he sees me standing there, stripped to the skin, nearly makes my quaking knees give out completely. His gaze drags down my body, taking in every curve, every slope, every infinitesimal detail.
Any other day, I’d feel self-conscious or stupid for putting myself on full display. But after everything that’s happened, there’s no room in my head left for embarrassment. And no desire in my heart for any more barriers between us.
Steam is filling the bathroom, fogging up the glass cube around us. Carter’s whole body has gone rigid with tension. I can see it in his every muscle and tendon. He doesn’t close the gap between us, but the unadulterated longing in his eyes tells me how ardently he wants to.
“Emilia… let me get someone else,” he begs, eyes still drinking me in. “Please.”
“But I want you.” I take a shaky step toward him. “I need you, Carter.”
I need you to make me feel alive again.
I need you to remind me that I didn’t die today.
That there are still things worth living for, worth fighting for.
His expression is a study of mismatched halves — pain and longing warring in equal measure. He wants this too. Badly. Maybe even more than I do. He’s just better at controlling himself.
I take another shaky step. This time, I nearly lose my footing. He sees my stumble and grabs hold of me before I fall. The minute his hands hit my bare skin, I know it’s over.
Conflict, meet resolution.
Dragging me to his chest, his last shred of self-control slips away, leaving only need behind. His need to feel me in his embrace. His need to reassure himself that I’m still alive, still here with him.
He clutches me closer, fervent fingers pressing harshly into my skin. His eyes are pure fire. His voice is a tortured growl. “You’re injured. You’ve been through so much. And I’m probably going to hell for saying it… for even thinking it… but, god, Emilia… I need to touch you. I need it so badly, it’s burning me up.”
“Touch me,” I breathe. “Please, touch me. I’m burning too.”
His forehead comes down to rest on mine. He’s breathing just as hard as I am. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“I know,” I murmur back, staring up at him. “It’s probably the worst idea we’ve ever had.”
He kisses me, then — his mouth coming down to claim mine without another beat of hesitation. It’s the kind of kiss I’ve only ever dreamt about. The kind of kiss you read about in books or see on movie screens, but never get to experience for real. The kind of kiss I didn’t know someone like Carter Thorne was capable of giving.
It’s full of tenderness and warmth, but also passion and heat. A dance of lips and teeth and tongues that makes me dizzy with desire.
The best kiss I’ve ever had…
On the worst day of my life.
He backs me slowly beneath the torrent of water, heedless of his clothes getting soaked. Pressing me up against the tile wall, he pins my body with his hips as his mouth devours mine. My hands wind around his shoulders, clinging tighter, and I arch my back until there’s not a single molecule of space left between our bodies.
For a long while, with the water streaming down, he merely kisses me. Thoroughly, ravenously, as though making up for all the lost time since we last found ourselves drowning in each other. It’s been an eternity since I felt the press of his lips, since my breasts brushed the hard planes of his chest, since my fingers slid up into his hair.
Too long.
Far too long.
With every move he makes, Carter Thorne sets off fireworks in my nerve endings, from the top of my head to the space between my thighs.
I never want it to stop.
Never want him to stop.
He shifts closer, cupping my face with his hands. I gasp when I feel his hard length throbbing against my thigh through the wet fabric of his pants. When my hand reaches down between our bodies to stroke his cock, he gasps too.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his mouth moving to my neck. I feel the scrape of his teeth against my jugular vein and nearly come undone at the sensation. “God, Emilia, I’m sorry. I just meant to kiss you, just once, some chaste fucking peck of comfort, and now…”
“Shhh,” I breathe. My fingers find the bottom hem of his shirt and tug it up over his head. He helps me, flinging it aside with impatience. It hits the tile with a splat, but I barely hear it. All my focus is absorbed by the sight of Carter’s magnificent bare chest. His abdominal muscles ripple beneath the rainfall. There are beads of water on the dark line of hair leading down into his pants. I have the strangest urge to lean forward and lick them from his skin, to taste every part of him I can get my mouth on.
Carter doesn’t give me the chance. I catch a glimpse of the dark promise in his eyes and then he’s kissing me again, tongue spearing into my mouth as his hands begin to roam my body. He touches me everywhere — palming my breasts, caressing my sides, moving down, down, down, until his fingers slide between my legs and find my core. My head falls back when he pushes one finger inside me, then a second, sending volts of electricity through my system.
Sweet Christ.
He’s barely touched me and I’m about to come.
“Let go, love,” he murmurs against my neck, sucking the tender flesh. His fingers move again and I cry out, consumed by pleasure as an orgasm rockets through me at lightning speed.
He kisses me as I come down, swallowing my soft cries as the aftershocks fade from my system. I lean back against the shower wall, eyes half-lidded, and try to regulate my breathing. I hold his gaze as my fingers tug his zipper down in slow, torturous degrees. His dark blue eyes dilate with desire as his pants slide to the floor.
Nothing left between us, now.
Carter’s cock springs free,
huge and rock hard. He groans as I wrap my hand around him and begin to stroke, the warm water only adding to the exquisite sensation of his length moving beneath my grip.
“God, Emilia…”
I increase my speed, more than happy to drive him wild, but he’s had enough teasing. With a fierce growl, he lifts me clean off my feet and begins to carry me. Half of me thinks he’s going to pin me up against the wall and fuck me senseless right there in the shower.
Instead, he strides out the glass doors, across the bathroom, and into my dark bedroom. Water streams off us, leaving a wet trail across the stone floor all the way to my bed, but I don’t even notice. And, if I did, I wouldn’t care.
Carter throws me onto the pillows and comes down on top of me. I feel his cock poised at my slick entrance and barely have time to wrap my legs around his hips before he plunges inside me, sheathing himself to the hilt.
His name is on my lips like a mantra as he moves in relentless thrusts, driving me to new heights of pleasure with each stroke.
Carter, Carter, Carter.
Our eyes are locked but, for once, we don’t have a wordless conversation. Because there’s no need for words.
This, here… the two of us, together…
It defies all definition.
Eludes all explanation.
This man will ruin me, if I let him, I think, scoring my nails down his back. And I will destroy him in return.
I combust into another orgasm at the same moment he does, pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever experienced spiking inside me. And I know it’s because, deep down, the emotions I feel for this man — this infuriating, stubborn, intoxicating man — are also unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
There’s a word I could use to describe the things I’m feeling. A word I would use, if I was a bit more brave and a little less smart.
A tiny, four-letter word…
…with enormous, far-reaching implications.
I don’t say it.
I don’t even think it.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
Torrid Throne: The Forbidden Royals Trilogy, #2 Page 18