To my surprise, she pushes up to her knees. And in a move that has my dick begging to blow over, she tucks her hair behind her ears while looking right at it.
“I want to…” she says tentatively. “Can I…can I touch it?”
“Honey, you can do whatever you damn well please.”
She scoots forward on her knees, and I tip my chin up and bare my teeth, at an angle she can’t see, because all I’m desperate to do is grab her by the back of her head and get those juicy lips on me. I can still taste her, though, and that has to be enough. I scrape my tongue across my lower lip, savoring the sweetness.
Carter raises her right hand and encloses it over my shaft. I groan—can’t help it—and close my eyes, bending into her grip.
She starts moving it, up and down, and I’m following the pace, hips bowing, but the dry friction is making it uncomfortable.
Carter bends her head and spits, offering a natural lubricant that has me doing everything in my power not to ram down her throat.
I look down and blink. She must see the confusion on my face, because she asks, “What? Does that gross you out?”
“The exact opposite, actually,” I grind out. “But…”
She tilts her head, the picture of innocence that I just want to fuck out of her, over and over. “But what?”
“I thought, uh…” I’m deeply aware of her hand, still tight on my cock. “I thought you might be a virgin.”
Carter peals out a guffaw. “You…huh? You did?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Am I that prudish to you?” She asks it in a way that’s more amused than mad.
“No, not at all.” Fuck. I’m backpedaling. I’m scrambling for words, and this gorgeous girl is ready to jerk me off, and I’ve initiated awkward conversation. “It’s—well, you’ve been kind of skittish…”
And now I’ve referred to her as a horse.
She laughs again, but it’s a light sound, not a humiliating one. “It’s been a while, is all. A long one. And I’m not…as talented…as you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, with full knowledge that my dick has been made into a slip-and-slide, by her, and she knows what to do with that fucking hand. “I’ve been dreaming about that mouth of yours around my dick. How you’d leave your lipstick marks on it.”
Even in the shadows, I see her expression darken with desire. “You have?”
“Hell, yes,” I say. “So why don’t you show me.”
She smiles, and it’s with confidence. Hoo-ya.
And when Carter bends down, she leaves her eyes on mine.
Fuck. Yes.
Each movement forward, each movement back, she doesn’t tear her gaze away.
Not as talented, my ass.
I grin, meeting her with thrusts, watching her take all of me. And when she purrs, lets loose a little, delighted sound at how I fill her mouth—that’s it.
I bury my hand in her hair and pull out, but not because I want to stop. Oh, hell no. Because I need to bury myself in her, right fucking now.
Carter squeals when I toss her onto her back, her body so light, firm, and toned in my hands. I cover her with mine, my face up against hers, and I kiss her, long and deep. Her lips are swollen, from both my kisses and my dick, and I groan.
She spreads her legs underneath me, tightens them around my hips.
“Right now, Locke,” she says against my mouth. “Right now, before I lose it.”
I don’t need to be asked twice. In one maneuver, both of us so slick, wet and hot, I go deep. Carter cries out, her nails carving crescents onto my shoulder blades. I lift onto my hands so I can see her better, so I can spot each and every firelight in her gaze as I pound, circle and urge her into another orgasm.
I look down, where we’re connected, a few times. I want to see all of her, imprint every single movement and sound into my memory.
She’s the one for me.
I pause, frozen mid-thrust, at the errant, unwanted thought.
“What?” she says, her voice more breath than sound. “What is it?”
I shake myself out of it. “Nothing. I’m good.”
“Okay,” Carter says, but she’s still unsure. I have to hammer any uncertainty out of her. Out of me.
So, I do.
We work together, she and I, both of us finding the perfect pace, the smacks of our bodies turning us on, and when I come, I see her face. I watch her go half-lidded when she orgasms, and I curl my lips before taking hers and pouring the sounds of this new intoxication into her mouth.
27
Carter
Reddish gold sunlight hits the side of Locke’s body, sending the hairs on his arms sparkling. I want to run my hand down, collect some of that golden dust, but I’m enjoying the quiet, watching his chest rise and fall. The black crescents of his lashes are still—he’s having a peaceful sleep.
I’m used to waking up early, and I mean super early, because of Lily. Yet, I’ve even beat her this morning, and while I have one ear directed to hear her cries, I’m tangled in Locke’s sheets, his warmth mixing with mine, and I couldn’t be happier.
Oh, I’m going to be so sorry for this.
But not yet. Not now. I burrow deeper into the pillow as I lay on my side, enjoying the view.
Locke grunts and flops onto his back. After a startled snore, his eyes blink open.
Nerves tighten my belly. We haven’t spoken since, well, since. I don’t know how he’s going to react, but memories of the woman I first met him with, Tara, and how she was so seamlessly booted from his bedroom without so much as a see ya later…Locke may not want me here. He’s famous for one-night stands. When it comes to more than that, two-night stands even, nobody knows. It’s a rarity for him—if it exists at all.
Yet here I am, waiting for him to turn, notice me, and see the oh, shit in his expression.
His head tilts, and I brace.
“Hey,” Locke says, throaty with morning dew. He smiles.
I mirror a tentative one back. “Hey.”
On a grunt, he turns to face me, swinging an arm around and hooking me closer. Locke kisses my forehead before I nestle into the curve of his neck and chin.
This isn’t what I expected, but it’s everything my heart wants.
“You okay?” he asks above me.
“Yeah, why do you ask?”
“Because I can feel you blinking nonstop down there. Your eyelashes are tickling the shit out of me.”
I laugh, push away slightly. Guilty. “I was just thinking.”
“You think too much. Get back here.” Locke scoots me against him. “Jeez, you’re stiff.”
“I—crap. I do think too much, I’m so aware of it, and I’m trying—”
“Lily’s middle name. Is it James because of you?”
His strokes haven’t differed, his light grip on my body indicating no pressure in every sense of the words. I know what he’s doing, but I respond. “Yeah. Part of my last name.”
“You must’ve meant a lot to Paige for her to give Lily your name.”
“We were all each other had,” I say honestly, and I’m content to be speaking to his chest instead of his eyes. I don’t feel as much guilt down here, on how much he missed out on. “We bonded over green Skittles.”
Locke lifts his head from the pillows. “Say again?”
“We stress-organize. I thought I was the only one. But in freshman year, while studying in the library for finals, we were at the same table. Someone brought a family pack of Skittles. I kept my attention on my textbook, but out of habit, I started separating the candy into color-coded piles. Then eating the green ones because that’s the only flavor I like.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been on a strict athletic diet most of my life, but don’t they all taste the same?”
I gasp like he’d just flung a dead rat at me. “No, Locke. They do not taste the same.”
Locke darts his chin back. “I stand corrected.”
“And I look
up from my book,” I continue, “and Paige is doing the exact darned thing. And…” I laugh at the memory of us, mirroring shock. “That’s how we first bonded.”
“That’s sweet, you know.” Locke strokes my shoulder. “A nice memory to have.”
“It is. And when she got pregnant, and we found out it was a girl, we were over the moon. Scared as hell, but excited.”
“That…I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.”
I don’t mean to, but I stiffen, and he starts tracing calming circles on my back. “I’m not asking you this stuff to get mad. I really want to know. Talk to me. When you guys found out she was pregnant when Lily was born…I want to know all of it. If you’ll tell me.”
A few seconds of silence pass as I figure out what to say and how to condense everything Paige and I went through to pillow talk. But if Locke has proven anything these past weeks, it’s that he deserves a part in the beginning of his daughter’s life.
“When Paige took the pregnancy test, she cried,” I say at last. Locke continues his gentle circles. “We’d just graduated, got our internships, found an apartment near the beach. I came home with groceries and found her crying in the kitchen, on the floor, with an open jug of milk beside her. She’d gone to make tea while she waited for the results, and found out before she could pour the milk in…and she just collapsed. Right where she stood.”
“That’s awful.”
I nod. “I went down on the floor with her, and she told me. I’ll always remember how cold the tiles were, compared to her hot skin. She was red, blotchy from crying for who knows how long. And we talked. After she told me…God, my stomach dropped to my toes. And when we discussed what she wanted to do, I was willing to support whatever she decided. And she didn’t figure it out right there, by our kitchen sink. She took a few days…I never asked who.”
Locke pauses at my sudden change in topic.
“I never asked her who the father was. Not then, not after. She and I…we coped with our loneliness in different ways. I’m estranged from my family because they can’t accept my art, my creativity—but that’s a topic for another time. Paige lost her parents in a car accident when she was young. Not having a mom or dad or both, it can really screw with a kid’s mind, and it did with ours. I coped by doing what I was supposed to—graduating with a business degree and getting into data science. Maybe my dad would notice me then. Paige…Paige coped by throwing herself at men. She didn’t care who it was, wasn’t looking for relationships, and spent most of her college weekends doing just that. I don’t judge her for it. She liked sex, liked the lack of commitment. So, I assumed it was another one of those college boys she never seemed to have a problem going after.”
Locke’s tracing of patterns has all but stopped. “She didn’t seem like that kind of girl…”
I rise on my forearms. “She’s not. She’s loving and kind and smart and sacrificed everything for her child. Just because she enjoyed screwing around—”
“Not what I was getting at, Carter. I only remember how she was with me.”
I bring my shoulders down from my ears. “Oh.”
“Go on. Tell me about how Lily went from a literal peanut size to what she is today.”
“Lily made her so, so sick,” I say, my lips growing wide with a smile. “But all Paige could eat was burgers. That’s all she wanted. Lily’s DNA is half Big Mac, I gotta tell you.”
Locke chuckles.
“And she made Paige huge. Like, Paige had these tiny stick arms and legs and this giant, perfectly round belly. Lily was born at seven pounds, six ounces. By the time we were in the hospital, and some god-like nurse stuck an epidural in her, Paige was screaming for Lily to get out of her house.”
“Was it…uh, I don’t know how to ask this. Was it good labor?”
“Sure. If you call fourteen hours of contractions a great time.” I give him a light punch on his belly. I’m still on my elbows, looking down at him. “Only two hours of pushing, though…is this too much? Is this TMI?”
He shakes his head. “No. Nothing about Lily is TMI.”
I smile again. “Good. I was there, at one of her legs, a nurse was at the other, and Lily was born into this world screeching.”
“That’s my girl.”
“She was perfect. Oh, my God, she was. And was laid right on Paige’s chest. Paige stayed in the hospital for about two days, and because of visiting hours and…not being family…I was restricted in seeing them, but they were happy. Paige was terrified, still, of course, but the nurses were helpful. Except, Lily wouldn’t latch, no matter how hard everyone tried.”
“Wouldn’t latch?”
I glance down at my breasts, half covered with a white sheet. “On the nipple.”
Locke’s brows jump. “Ah.”
“Maybe TMI now?”
“Never. Go on.”
“Things get…a little worse by this point.”
“Do you want to stop talking about it?”
I shake my head. “You deserve to know. And now’s as good a time as any. A newborn is…taxing. They scream a lot, and you don’t know why. Could be gas, colic, a bad day, just pissed off, you don’t know. And with Paige having so much difficulty breastfeeding, that added a ton of pressure on her.” I pause to swallow, staring at the folds in the sheets in the small space between us. “It went downhill, fast. Paige cried a lot. I’d go into her room where Lily would be asleep in her bassinet, and Paige would be curled up and sobbing on her bed. I’d get her some tea, ice water, rub her back, simply sit with her or lie with her, take shifts with Lily, but it wasn’t enough. She went on autopilot. Feed the baby, rock the baby, put the baby down, go to her bed and cry. I think…” I ponder this a moment, wondering how much I should say. “I think she had postpartum depression. And I was working on a way to tell her to get help, that it didn’t mean she was a bad mom, but I wasn’t sure if this was the way all new moms were—especially single ones. By the time I summoned up enough courage…Paige decided to do it herself. Go to the doctor, see about her problems with breastfeeding, and then speak to the doctor about talking to a therapist, maybe. She knew.” I shake my head, saying softly, “She knew something was wrong, and not just physically.”
“I wish—I know you two didn’t want to tell me, didn’t think I was that kind of guy, but I wish you would’ve come to me then.”
I nod. “We were so naïve. So brutally tired and scared. There’s only about a two-year gap between then and now, but I feel like I’ve aged years.”
Locke finds my upper arm and squeezes gently. “Your year has been condensed into two weeks for me.” He grins, and I can’t help but smile back.
“So, we go to the doctor,” I say on a tired sigh, determined to finish. “And that’s when she finds the lump. That’s the exact moment every purpose, every distraction of ours, funnels into one thing: cancer. And whether or not she had it. Turned out, she did. Stage four.”
Locke’s gaze shutters, as if he’s traveling back into his own time. I’m about to nudge him, to ask what’s wrong, but he beats me to it. “I can’t say anything to make it better, but I’m so sorry.”
I press my lips together. “Do we…can we stop here? I can tell you more, but I need a break.”
“Of course. Abso-fucking-lutely.” He finds a dangling strand of my hair and plays with it for a moment. “How about we enjoy the now for a minute? Before we start overthinking the situation and Lily starts screaming and our morning is changed to an egg and banana breakfast.”
“Our toothless dragon’s favorite,” I say, but lay against his shoulder, stroking his stomach.
“I love that baby, don’t get me wrong,” Locke says. “She’s become my everything. But right now, all I want to think of is you.”
My breath catches. I lift my head. “You mean that?”
He tucks a loose tendril of hair behind my ear. “I think about you, Carter. All the damn time. Last night was…”
“Special,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” He smiles again, stroking a thumb across my cheek.
I’m close to basking in the glow of this morning and believing everything he’s saying. But I’m naïve to think I’m any different from any other girl he’s had in this bed. Maybe he’s said the same to them before he low-key takes a shower and waits for them to leave. Maybe it’s all he knows because he’s never tried to look deeper into anyone’s soul since he’s too busy gifting out orgasms like candy.
My time here is limited, and that could be exactly why I’m naked on this mattress with him.
“Want me to put on the coffee?” I sit up, taking the sheets with me, suddenly modest.
“Didn’t I say we should enjoy this quiet time together?” He folds an arm to the back of his head, stretching his torso. My mouth waters as his muscles ripple.
I glance at the clock on his nightstand. “Six o’clock. My body timer refuses to let me lie in bed longer than that. I should get Lily’s bottle ready, her food…”
“Carter,” Locke says gently.
“…she’ll be up any second. We really should get up, Locke.”
“We don’t have to.”
“But I do,” I say, and his brows furrow. “Look, I’m giving you an out, okay? Just take it already.”
“I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
“I’m different from your usual, and—”
“My usual?”
“Yes. You can’t kick me out on the down low, because one, I live here, and two, there’s a baby in the other room I’ve been helping you take care of. Thus, I’m slipping out of this bed, going to the kitchen, and giving you time to make this less awkward and we can go about our day—”
“Wait a sec—”
“Let me do this, Locke.” My arms go limp at my sides.
He sits up, the sheets falling from his chest and pooling on his thighs. Exposing him in a way that makes me want to stay in this spot forever. “I think there’s been a massive miscommunication here.”
“Don’t you get it? There isn’t. I’m being totally open with you. We don’t have to make this more than what it is.”
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