She pulls her hands away from her face, carefully, shakily, before she looks at me again. “What I have to say could get us both in deep trouble.”
I can’t. Can’t fucking do it anymore. I have to touch her. I lay my hand on her bare thigh and squeeze. She gasps, and I lock my jaw before moving my hand farther—under.
“I’m pretty sure we’ve already crossed that line,” I say.
“Locke…”
“If you tell me to stop, I will.” And I would. But shit, it’ll take all the reserve I have left to walk away from this vision, pooled on my floor, tousled like I’ve already had her.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispers. “And that’s what scares me so much.”
I lighten my grip on her thigh, stroking with my thumb. “What I’m feeling for you, it’s real.”
“Don’t lie to me.” She’s still looking at me, but her eyes are glittering harshly like they’re filling with tears.
“It’s not a lie.” And I realize, with trepidation, that it’s not. I want this girl, more than a quick fuck, more than a one-night stand, more than a training run to get back to the Locke everyone knew and wanted to fuck. And I want all of her. Right now. “Let me prove it.”
“I…”
My hand moves from her leg to the back of her neck, caressing through the soft strands of her hair curled from the humidity, and pulling her close enough that I can lean forward, touch my forehead to hers.
“We can’t,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“I know.”
She tilts her face up so our noses brush and our lips are the barest breath away.
If it’s an invitation, I’m taking it.
I start by licking the seam of her mouth, testing. I don’t want to scare her, and if she doesn’t want this, I’m not going to force it. But when she opens for me, when her tongue tentatively meets mine…
I’m a goner.
I cover her hot mouth in a second, our tongues twining, and I take her with that kiss as if I’m already driving into her. She meets me all the way, groaning, and my cock hardens at the sound. When she submits, her head tilting back, her mouth opening wider, I move on top of her, both of us sliding until she’s on her back. Her legs make room for me, and my free hand slides down the fabric of her dress until I meet warm, goose bumped flesh. I squeeze the back of her thigh, this time much harder, eliciting more groans, more frantic movements from her hands. She scratches as she pulls me closer, her nail tips grinding through my shirt and into my shoulder blades, but I crave the pain, her reaction. I want her naked underneath me.
One of her hands escapes, cups the back of my neck, her fingers twining through my short hair. I move until I’m under her skirt, shifting her underwear to the side…
“Wait,” she pants. “Stop.”
I freeze, both of us breathing heavily.
“We can’t—we can’t have sex,” she says.
“Okay.”
My cock aches, pulses to be let loose, but I’ll keep it in my pants. For her. Though, boy, it fucking hurts.
I start moving off her, but she stops me by gripping my biceps. “Wait. Stop,” she says again.
“Okay?”
“I…I don’t want this to end.”
“Carter, honey,” I say through the blue balls. “You gotta be clearer with me, here.”
“To…” Her gaze slides from mine, thinking. “To keep doing this. But only this. God, I’ve wanted this.”
I think I can follow her words, but I have to be absolutely sure. My hand’s still cupping her thigh, so I trace the soft, sensitive skin lightly. “Do you want me to keep touching you?”
She breathes out, “Yes.”
The tips of my fingers brush against her sex. “Like this?”
When she tips her head back to the ceiling, her back arches. Her chocolate hair falls from her shoulders, darker than night. Her plump, dewy lips part for her moan. I might come on the spot. “God,” she breathes, “I’m going to hell.”
I stroke, and she’s hot and wet against my fingers. I slip in. “I’ll be there to greet you, baby.”
Her hips move in tandem with my fingers before she realizes it, her eyes closed, chin tipped to the ceiling. When she bites her lower lip, an approving growl escapes me, and I bow down, taking that lip for my own.
Her groan vibrates through my mouth, spearing right for my dick and I grind in tune with my fingers, our sex-fueled dance silent against the floorboards, but setting us alight inside.
“Locke…” she says, brows furrowing, teeth digging into her lower lip. “I think I’m…oh, God, I think I’m going to…”
“Come for me,” I say, and don’t recognize my voice. It’s a low bass, so vibrating that I need to put it to good use.
She opens her eyes when I stop moving, and they’re full of questions. I flick her a grin before going down.
“Oh…I don’t…”
Her hands pull at my shoulders, but it’s a weak effort. She’s still in the throes I’ve caused, and damned if I’m going to let her insecurity take her out of it.
“Let me,” I say, but it’s muffled, because my mouth is on her stomach, kissing, sucking, as I push her dress up her body.
“I…”
My fingers take up the dance again. Her chest heaves, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me.
Fuck, she’s hot. The sexiest creature I’ve ever seen, writhing on the hardwood. I’m so hard I want to grab her legs, open them in a V, and torque into her as she screams my name.
Carter deserves more than that. A gentle guide.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t put expert skills to use.
My tongue finds her, replaces my fingers, and everything about her—the silky feel, the wetness, the swell of her passion, has me growling, wanting to dive deep and own.
Her elbows fall out from underneath her, and she smacks onto the floor as her cries increase in sound. She’s so startled she covers her mouth with her forearm and screams, a forced effort to muffle her pleasure.
I take it all in as I do what I do best. I wonder if she can feel my smile.
Carter’s hand comes down, and she grips my head as much as she can, asking me to go further, harder, and I’m happy to meet her demands.
Her cries increase; the intensity is impossible to endure. She’s bucking, heeding to my hands, my mouth, and I coax her to keep going, keep falling, drop entirely into my control, my pleasure, and I’ll make sure she never wants to leave.
“Locke,” she says over and over, and it’s like a new drug to try, a hit I’ll take again, as I stroke and kiss and suck.
And bite at just the right time, a sharp, surprising pleasure, that takes her exactly where I want her.
Her back arches, her grip on the back of my head tightens, and she breathes out a long, heat-soaked cry that I’ll hear well into my slumber.
Carter goes slack, everything except her belly going up, then concaving in, with heaves. I rise, but kiss certain places on my trip back up, ensuring the connection. Letting her know I’m not going anywhere.
Her gaze is faded and to the side when I place my palms on either side of her shoulders. I’m gripped with sudden anxiety. “You okay?”
She blinks, her throat bobbing. But when she looks at me, all worries drift away, because she smiles. “That was…I have to recover.”
I trace her lips with my thumb. “Take all the time you need.”
But her eyes take on an eerily sober light as my thumb catches. “Kiss me again. Please.”
The seriousness of her request gives me pause, but I do as she bids and replace my thumb with my mouth.
It’s softer this time, more controlled. She sucks on my lower lip gently, scraping with her teeth, and I angle, so she gets more access.
Carter lets go, and when she does, she’s holding my face in her hands. “I just wanted to make sure it’s real.”
I swallow because her stare is derailing something inside,
an organ usually so well-protected in its cage of bone. “It is.”
“Okay,” she says, gliding a small thumb across my cheek. She offers a soft uptick to her lips, and I’m nearly toppled.
“I should sleep,” she says. “I think I’m going to be super tired tomorrow.”
“Oh, ya think?” I say, voice back to normal.
I lift off and offer her a hand to help her rise. She takes it, straightening her skirt, and I’m amused at the modesty. As if I hadn’t just explored every crevice of her with my tongue.
“You want some water, maybe?” I ask.
“That’d be great.”
“One sec.”
I move to the kitchen, grab a palm of ice, toss it into a cup, and fill it with water from the sink. When I come back to the main room, Carter’s setting up the couch with a spare set of sheets she must’ve found…somewhere.
Freaking Astor.
“You’re going to stay on the couch tonight?” I ask, handing over the water.
She takes a few quenching gulps, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. My dick, left to its own devices during this entire nightly exchange, throbs longingly.
“I don’t want to disturb Lily. I’ll probably be up a lot.” She gestures to the water glass as an explanation.
Before I give any time to talk myself out of it, I say, “This couch is terrible for sleeping. Believe me.” The mere memory of crashing out on it a little over an hour ago has me rubbing my lower back like a grandpa. “Why don’t you sleep with me?”
She freezes in the middle of taking another sip.
“In my bed,” I amend. “Only that.”
“No funny business?”
I cock a brow. “Not unless you ask.”
She hesitates. “Promise?”
“Pinky swear.”
But she doesn’t take my proffered little finger. Instead, she says, “You have more restraint than the college girls ever gave you credit for.”
I smile with my teeth, my dick stiff and uncomfortable beneath my shorts. “Don’t think I ain’t suffering for it.”
She looks down as if she can tell, and every part of me wants to push her down on her knees and get those swollen, red lips around my dick. Spill into her and really make her mine.
After looking me up and down, Carter gives me a coy glance before spinning away. My eyes narrow on her retreating ass, and I wonder if Miss Jameson is offering a teasing good-bye as a test. Or if she really wants more.
I trail after her like a horny mutt, hard cock bobbing along, and I realize with horror that I’m willing to do anything she asks if only to have those peachy cheeks in my palms again.
And my knee?
Fuck if I feel any pain at all.
21
Carter
Light cracks through the spaces where my eyelids haven’t shut properly. When I blink, it hurts. Like, all the spaces in my head feel the sun, spearing and heating and melting with its rays, and I sit up, groaning, with a hand to my forehead.
The mattress groans with me, and it’s more comfortable than usual. In fact, it encases my legs like a heavenly, firm pillow meant only for angels. It’s a good mattress.
And that’s the key word.
Mattress. Not my futon.
I space my fingers apart so I can tentatively survey where I am, how I might’ve gotten here, and why I’m only in my bra and underwear.
C’mon brain, work for me. Give me the recall I need to figure out my environment and where Lily—
“LILY!” I screech awake and scramble out of bed—Locke’s bed, Locke’s room—rushing around for some item of clothing and settling for one of his tees.
“Omigod, what have I done?” I say to myself, practically pulling out my hair on both sides. I’ve left Lily all morning when I should’ve been the first to see her, to pick her up and wish her good morning and see her face, so happy that night was over and people were back to smile at her…
I spear through the armholes of the shirt and straighten it while storming out of the room when the door opens on its own.
“Why bother investing in an alarm clock?” Locke says as greeting, Lily content and eating a cheese string in his arms. “When I have you to scream us into submission at any cost?”
I cross my arms. Blow an errant strand of hair out of my face. “I panicked.”
“I can see that.”
“Woke up thinking I overslept.”
“You have. Because I let you.” Locke loses his grin just a little bit. “You looked tired.”
I lick my lips, processing, memory finally kicking into gear. “You slept beside me last night?”
His grin all but vanishes. “You don’t remember?”
“No. I do.” I comb a hand through my hair, then casually pull it out when it gets caught in the tangles. “Everything’s taking a minute. I was convinced Lily was—”
“Left alone to cry in her crib until you came to get her?”
The words would’ve been cutting, had Locke not gentled them. “Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Lachlan Hayes, Lily’s father, and I’m told I’m a great Plan B.”
A stone of shame plunks to the bottom of my stomach. “Locke…I didn’t…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
His flat gaze tells me to worry about it.
“I should’ve figured you’d be with her,” I try.
“You’re not at the top of your game. I get it.” But there’s still no liveliness to those eyes. “We’ll be in the main room when you’re ready. I’m sure Lily’d love to play with you a bit before she goes back down.”
“I remember, Locke.” The hoarseness to my tone gives him pause. I hope. “Not just Lily, but you. I know everything that happened last night.”
He shows me his profile. “Good for you.”
Locke clicks the door shut.
What the fuck just happened? I glance around the room as if it can give me answers. Maybe in a way, it can. Locke and I came in here after…everything…on the floor outside. He helped me out of my dress, and…oh.
My fingers drifted to the spot on my neck that he kissed while pulling the fabric off me.
But that’s where it ended. We didn’t go any further. I asked him to stop, and he did. We got into bed together, and when I asked him to put his arms around me, he did. And those lips came down on my neck again—gentle, sweet—before I drifted off.
It was a perfect, beautiful moment, prefaced only by an extreme ecstasy that makes me shiver—just thinking about his tongue—all of which I ruined in one single, named scream.
Lily.
I still didn’t trust him with Lily. Never mind me.
My reflection catches my eye, and I see the tired bruises in the hollows, the ghostly pallor coating my face. Since Paige died, I’ve been paler than usual, lighter in weight, emptier in a lot more places. But this is a new low of exhaustion, and I press my fingers to my cheeks and stretch the skin there, just to be sure.
Yep, a skull looks back.
Paige warned me that all the stress would catch up to me if I wasn’t careful. She said it while prone in a hospital bed, our second visit in a month, another round of chemo dripping through her veins, and instead of listening to her, I made it my fault. Turned it into guilt over Paige worrying about me when she had so much to fear already.
My best friend being gone forever has me seeing our past a lot more clearly. Like how she could read every transmission of guilt across my face and what she must have felt because of it. About anyone attempting to dismiss their problems in front of Paige because hers were so much worse. How incomplete that must have made her feel because no one was trying to relate to her anymore.
No, forget that—no one was confiding in her anymore. She was sick. Terminal. Suffering enough. So, other problems morphed into determination to fake it better so Paige could focus on what was more important. Her health. Her survival. Her fight to keep fighting, since anything less would mean she wasn’t trying to beat cancer hard enoug
h.
And somehow, that determination made me believe I should be less of a friend to her.
Oh…the guilt. It was in treble now.
Paige.
Locke.
Lily.
What the fuck am I doing?
Getting sexually involved with Lily’s father after specifically being warned off by his sister, and my promising to stay away. Not simply for Astor, but for me. My sanity. My everything.
I whimper at the mirror. Here I am, standing in his T-shirt after a night of fooling around, and instead of having a happy time eating breakfast with him and Lily at the kitchen countertop, I’m hungover and brimming with mistakes—most of which were caused by my stupid mouth.
The mouth Locke claimed for himself last night, sucked and bit and tongued into submission. I could probably still taste him if I tried.
“Ugh!” I curl my lip in disgust at myself. Even now, I can’t get my thoughts in line with logic. Astor said last night that Locke and his friends thought mostly with their dicks. I wonder what the equivalent for girls is.
Grimacing, I think I know the answer and turn away.
To give myself something else to do other than wallow in my own limited self-worth, I rummage around the bed for my purse, which I’m sure I carried in here at some point, since it has my phone and, more importantly, blush. I must give myself more color before approaching Locke and pleading with him to like me again. Appealing to him as a husk of myself didn’t seem like the right approach.
I spot the tattered strap of my small leather clutch peeking out from under the bed and bend down to get it. When I drag it out, it snags on something that rattles, and as the item rolls into my vision, my heart doesn’t plummet.
It stops.
I pick up the orange cylinder, the pills clicking against each other inside. Even though I’m pretty sure what the prescription will say, I read it anyway.
Lachlan R. Hayes
HYDROCODONE / ACETAMINOPHEN, 7.5-750 MG
Take one tablet by mouth
Every 6 hours as needed for pain
I fall onto my haunches. Every part of my body goes slack, except for the hand holding the bottle. It’s stiff, tight, and if it weren’t for the plastic, I’d shatter it right here and now.
Trusting You Page 16