STUFFED (The Slate Brothers, Book Two)

by Harper James

  “You used me,” I snap as I grab the door.

  “You’re using Carson right now,” he shouts back, and I freeze in the open door frame. Is he right? Yes— and no. I was using Carson originally, I suppose, but now…

  I don’t know.

  I slam the door behind me, with no idea where I’m going— or what I’m going to do when I get there.

  12

  Because my parents have the worst timing in history, I come home to see a series of glossy law school booklets they’ve mailed me waiting on the table. I trash them immediately and hurry past my alarmed suite mates to my bedroom. A few moments later, there’s a light rap at my door.

  “Astrid? Everything okay?” Arianna asks through the door.

  “Yeah. No— just drama with the paper,” I answer through poorly disguised tears.

  “Everything’s cool with Carson?” Jess asks.

  “We’re fine,” I answer. Is that a lie? I’m not sure— because I’m pretty positive that we aren’t fine, but also that we are for a few hours at least, before I tell Carson all that I know and all that Devin plans to print. Devin still wants me to write the story, but I know that’s just for appearances— the information he found about the alibi will get printed one way or another. At least if I write the story, I can try to put a decent spin on it—

  My phone chimes. It’s a text from Carson.

  Carson: You’re going to need to hurry up at your meeting, Astrid, because I’ve got a list of things I want to do to you and it’s long.

  I try to smile, but god, I can’t go over to his place right now. I’m a mess, weepy and red-eyed and totally makeup-less, now that I’ve practically rubbed my face all over my pillow. The outfit I knew Carson would love is now crumpled up on the floor, and I’m wearing duck pajamas. I’m pretty sure that if Carson saw me right now, the list of things he supposedly has to do to me would grow infinitely shorter.

  Astrid: I think I need a rain check for tonight. Tomorrow?

  It’s only a few seconds later that Carson calls.

  “Is everything alright?” he asks over the phone, sounding genuinely worried.

  “Yes— just some drama with Devin,” I answer. I try to keep my voice steady, so he can’t tell I’ve been crying.

  “What’s going on?” Carson asks.

  “Nothing I want to talk about right now,” I say with a sigh. I know I need to tell Carson about the alibi, about Devin sending me intentionally to the game that day— just like Carson worried— but I can’t go through it all again right now. I need at least a few hours to calm down and think it all through.

  Try to find some options that don’t feel like the end of the world.

  Carson makes a noise in his throat, then says, “I’ll pick you up in about ten minutes.”

  “What? Carson, I’m already in pajamas—“

  “Then wear pajamas,” Carson says, and I can tell he’s grinning in that arrogant way that I love-hate. “We’re not going anywhere public. Just to a place on campus I like. Trust me.”

  I do trust him— and he trusts me, far more than he should. I agree, and a few moments later Carson’s car is outside. I’ve changed into jeans and a t-shirt that are at least a single step up from the duck pajamas, and I stop to hug Arianna and Jess to thank them for worrying about me. When I slide into the passenger seat of Carson’s car, I’m instantly soothed.

  “You look amazing,” Carson says, and leans over to kiss me on the mouth, gently but deeply. I practically sigh into his lips.

  “It’s not a short skirt,” I point out apologetically.

  “It’s not the clothing that makes you look amazing,” he answers as he kicks the car into drive and we ease away from my apartment complex. He slides a hand onto my thigh, but doesn’t creep it up high— it’s for comfort, not arousal, though it provides a bit of both. It’s impossible for me to be with Carson and not be aroused, even in a situation like this.

  We carve through campus, which is still lively despite the hour— plenty of people going from dorm to dorm, arriving at or leaving late study sessions, or cutting through the quad to get to the bars. I’m surprised when we park, of all places, outside the president’s house.

  Technically, the house belongs to whoever is currently president of the university, but they never actually live in it anymore. These days it’s more of an event space, with fancy rooms and long dinner tables and antiques galore. The interior is lit up, but it’s pretty clear there’s no one actually here. Carson parks the car at the end of the driveway and climbs out.

  “Let me guess: Star football players get keys to the president’s mansion?” I ask, gazing up at the turrets— seriously, the place has turrets— in wonder.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Carson says.

  I frown and look over at him. “Really? Then why are we here?”

  Carson smirks, the darkness making his face a mask of perfect shadows. “Because I have keys to the garden in the back.” He wraps a hand around my shoulder and pulls me tightly against him, and together we walk toward the iron gate that leads into the house’s back garden. I can see through the scrollwork to a bright white gazebo, rows of flowers, a koi pond with a bridge over it.

  The gate gives way and Carson steps aside to allow me to go in first. He clangs the gate shut behind us, then pauses, looking at the expanse of the greenery.

  “What do you think?” he asks lowly.

  “It’s beautiful. Why do you have a key to this, of all places?”

  “Junior year, when I became starting quarterback and my dad was arrested, I needed a place to get away from both football and my family. This was the only place on campus that was guaranteed to have neither. They gave me a key so I could come here and get my head together before games.”

  “Did it work?” I ask, looking out at the heaps of jasmine draped over the tall privacy fences.

  “Usually. You can never get away from it completely, though, can you?” Carson says thoughtfully.

  His words sting. Even now, with me, he hasn’t gotten away from it. I feel a wave of guilt and shame wash over me.

  Carson grabs my hand. “Come on— let’s go sit.”

  We walk to the gazebo in the center of the garden, glossy white in the darkness. Sitting on the benches that line it, it almost feels like we’re on an island in a sea of flowers. I sigh and cuddle into Carson’s arms, and he responds by pulling me onto his lap, like my idea of closeness wasn’t adequate. He’s right— this place does calm you down.

  “Feel better?” he murmurs against the top of my head, running his heavy fingers across my jawbone as he speaks. His thighs are hard and muscular beneath me, and I feel small and protected leaning against his chest.

  “Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Want to tell me what happened, now?” he says.

  Not really— but I’m going to, because he deserves to know. “The story I’m writing about you? Devin has sort of taken over.”

  “You’re not the one writing it anymore?” Carson asks.

  “No, no, I’m still writing it— but Devin is just…he’s insisting that the story focus on you and your father, not you as a player.” I wince as I say this, waiting for him to be angry, to push me off of him. But while Carson does go stiff beneath my cheek, he doesn’t push me away. Instead, he breaths slow, focused, steady.

  “Which is why I don’t talk to reporters, you’ll remember,” he says, sounding exhausted by my news.

  “I’m so sorry. I really am,” I say, sitting up and meeting his eyes. His face is unreadable, a portrait in stone and skin, and despite the gazebo’s tranquility, I can feel myself gearing up to cry again. Should I tell him everything? How I was a plant, just like he worried? How Devin found out the truth about the alibi?

  Yes— to the second. I have to tell him about the alibi.

  “There’s more,” I say. “You won’t like it.”

  “Okay,” Carson says, voice stern and brows furrowed.

  “Devin di
d some research into the alibi you gave your dad. He found out that most of the restaurants you’d have gone to would have been closed by the time you arrived. There were only two you’d have been able to eat at, and both had crazy stuff happen that night— a lady had a baby at one and the power went out at the other. If you’d eaten there that night, you’d probably have remembered it. So…”

  Carson closes his eyes as what I’m saying connects. “So the alibi doesn’t hold up. We didn’t get dinner that night.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say.

  Carson exhales and lifts me off his lap like I weigh nothing, sliding me down onto the bench beside him. He tilts his head back and stares up at the gazebo roof. “I’m glad to know,” he says, though his voice sounds more than a little flat.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. But I don’t…” Carson swallows, then shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask.

  “My dad was the one that suggested I tell the police we had dinner together that night. We get dinner in Lithia every so often, so it wasn’t a crazy suggestion. But I don’t know…I don’t know if I’d have said it if he hadn’t brought it up. If he hadn’t convinced me that we’d been together that night,” Carson says, swallowing.

  “It’s possible he didn’t really remember either, though—“

  “Or it’s possible he knew I’d cover for him. I didn’t take much convincing. It should have been harder— I mean, a woman was murdered, and I basically just nodded and said sure, Dad, if you say we were having dinner, we were having dinner.” Carson looks disgusted with himself, his chest rising and falling in the predatory, animalistic way that it does when he’s on the football field— only now, the opponent is his own past. “I knew something was weird about it. I knew it felt seriously off. But I let myself be manipulated so easily.”

  “He’s your dad, Carson,” I defend him.

  “She was someone’s daughter,” Carson counters. “I assume Devin is going to want this in the article? Whether or not I knew the alibi was bullshit?”

  “Yes,” I say, the words painful. “I’m not going to paint you as a villain though. I promise. I’d never do that.”

  Carson looks unconvinced, but gives me a half smile anyway, like he appreciates the effort. “Thanks for telling me,” he says, then takes a big breath. “But, you’ve broken the cardinal rule of this garden— no football, no family.”

  “You asked me to tell you—”

  Carson shakes his head. “Sorry, you’re the one that broke the rules. My hands are tied on this one. Punishment is in order.”

  “What sort of punishment?” I ask.

  “You’ll see,” Carson answers, a wry smile. “Now, Astrid? Take your clothes off for me. Slowly.”

  13

  My eyes widen. “Here? Now?”

  After everything we’ve just discussed, I can’t believe he wants sex.

  But then again, maybe that’s exactly why he wants sex.

  “Here. Come on— clothes off,” he says sternly.

  I flush, and glance over my shoulder. There doesn’t appear to be anyone hanging around, so…I stand up, and slide out of my shoes. Carson sits back, watching me like a judge, as I reach for the hem of my shirt and tug it over my head. I’m not wearing a matching bra and panty set, this time— in fact, I’m wearing a sort of ridiculous pair of panties from the clearance rack at Target. They have cacti on them. I wish I’d remembered this fact before I took my pants off, but no such luck.

  Carson, however, looks particularly pleased, and when I’m standing before him in my bra and panties, he holds up a hand to stop me from removing anything else. “Come here,” he says huskily, and I obey, closing the few steps between us. When I reach him, he nudges me to turn me around so that my back is facing him. My skin prickles excitedly as he cups my ass cheeks, rubbing them lightly, then hooks his fingers into the sides of my panties and tugs them down just a little, kissing the top of my ass lightly as he does so. It’s cool out here, just this side of cold, even, but I’m already growing warmer from his touch.

  Carson pulls my panties down to my thighs, and slides his hand between my legs, urging them apart. The side of his hand plays at my pussy lips, and I tremble, wanting more of his touch. Now that we’ve had sex once, my nerves aren’t from worry or fear, but from need and anticipation. I want him in me again, now, but I also want him to toy with me like this, to wait until I’m desperate to sink into me…

  “You’re already wet,” Carson says, sounding almost amused.

  “Your fault,” I answer, looking over my shoulder at him. He lets the side of his hand creep a little farther up, until he’s spread my pussy lips and it rubbing right against my entrance. His thumb climbs against me, and to my alarm, he presses it tightly against my ass. I jump forward, but he’s quick to grab me around the waist and keep me from skirting away.

  “Calm down,” he soothes me. “I’m not going to fuck you there, Astrid— not right now. But you’re going to have to let me touch you. Trust me.”

  I bite my lip, but force myself to stay put. Carson tries again, circling his thumb around my ass, the smallest amount of pressure on that entrance. I can’t believe it, but I like the feeling of his fingers there, the slightest penetration that makes my nerves jump and heart beat faster. I exhale and arch away from him, giving him better access to…well. To everything he might want.

  “See?” Carson says, and squeezes my ass cheek lightly before standing up behind me. He slides my panties farther down, and they finally drop all the way to the gazebo floor. Moonlight casts my body in blue light, and cool air touches places I’ve never exposed to the outdoors before. Carson unclasps my bra and keeps me facing away from him as he slides it down my arms and tosses it aside. His hands climb my body, and he cups my breasts, rubbings his thumbs over my nipples, hardening them. He then turns me around, kisses me, then looks me in the eye. “Get on your knees.”

  I can’t look away from him as I lower myself down, knees (thankfully) coming to a rest on my pants rather than the gazebo floor. Carson always looks so much bigger than I am, but from my knees, he’s a giant. I gaze up at him, and he reaches down, playing with my hair for a moment adoringly.

  “Take my cock out,” he finally says, voice cool, but hungry.

  I haven’t exactly done this before, but eagerly reach for the waistband of his pants and pull them down. His cock is pressed hard against the front of his boxers; when I pull them down as well, I take hold of it and bite my lip at his warm heat. He’s rock hard, and he groans deep in his throat at my touch. This spurs me on, and I wrap both hands around him, then draw the tip of his cock down to my mouth and pull it between my lips.

  “Hands behind your back,” he demands, then puts his own hands gently on the back of my head.

  My eyes widen. What if he goes too deep? What if I choke? I’m about to say this out loud, but Carson gives me a serious look, and I already know what his response will be— trust me.

  And I do. I do trust him.

  And maybe part of me feels I owe him this, after the way I’ve betrayed him. The way my newspaper and my editor have put him in the position of defending himself against yet another attack from the press.

  The truth is, I want him. But I also want to make it up to him…

  The tip of his cock is still in my mouth, and once my hands are behind my back, Carson eases my head forward. He stops only a few inches in.

  “Use your tongue on me,” he says, clearly struggling to keep his voice steady. When I begin to swirl my tongue around him, he groans again, and his fingers tighten in my hair. I lick up and down his shaft, as far as I can go without taking him out of my mouth entirely, and he hardens even more. “Relax your jaw, sweetheart,” he says, then with a careful breath, pushes farther into my mouth.

  I feel his cock strike the back of my throat, but I don’t choke like I’d worried I might— instead I look up at him, loving the fact that he’s staring down at me, watching my lips curve around h
is cock, our eyes locked as he begins to slowly, gently fuck my mouth. With my hands behind my back, I struggle to balance, but Carson takes care of that— he holds my head still as he pumps in and out of my lips, every now and again pausing before thrusting so I can lick the tip of his cock lightly, flick at the head with my tongue. Carson groans, so loud that it seems impossible no one could hear it, then withdraws from my mouth, breathing heavily.

  “I’m going to come in your mouth if we keep going,” he says. “You’re good at this, Astrid.”

  “I have a good teacher,” I say slyly, then, biting my lip, add, “You can come in my mouth.”

  Carson’s eyebrows lift, and then he shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m going to make you such a bad girl, Astrid Tyler,” he says, then takes my head again and lowers it onto his cock.

  He gives me more control now, and I pump my lips up and down on him, enjoying his taste, enjoying the way I can feel blood pulsing into his cock, keeping it hard for me. I keep my eyes on Carson’s as I go, the sound of my lips and our heaving breathing the loudest thing in the night. Carson finally parts his lips, grabs hold of my head, and I know it’s time—

  His come hits the back of my throat, and I nearly jolt away— except his hand on my head prevents that. I swallow, and there’s more, salty and hot and flooding my throat. Carson pushes farther in, and I press my lips against his shaft as he finishes, moaning in pleasure. I’ve never made someone look like that before, and I feel high with the power of it. Carson pants, and watches me carefully as he slowly pulls his cock from my throat. I lick my lips and swallow again. All I can taste is him, and it’s so much more arousing than I could have ever expected.

  “Astrid…” he says, catching his breath. He offers me a hand and helps me up. His cock is still hard, pressed against my torso, and for a moment I worry that since he’s come, it’s all over— I won’t get to have him in my pussy tonight after all. I’m about to ask if that’s the case, when he turns me around and wordlessly bends my upper body forward, letting me brace myself on the gazebo railing. I look back over my shoulder, and see he’s extracted a condom from his pocket, and is now lining himself up with my pussy. I whimper in anticipation, wondering if it will be as good as I remember.