I want to worship at the altar of his manhood by the time its bare and in my hands, but there’s no time. I’m on the cusp of ultimate rapture here, and he’s already wasting pre-cum that’s leaked from his opening.
We both need to feel me choking him down.
He pulls a condom out of his wallet, rolls it down his length, and guides himself to my entrance. There’s a slight ripping sound when we both grapple at the chiffon of my dress, tearing it out of the way. I want to watch him enter me, but I still can’t get a good angle. So, I prop my foot up on the stack of boxes behind him and spread my legs wider.
“Yeah, you want to watch it go in? Gets you hot, doesn’t it?”
I nod, my gaze focused on where his head is beginning to push inside my channel.
“That’s right, darlin’. Watch whose cock it is taking you, fucking you, owning you. Study it, memorize it. Because this is going to be your new favorite toy.”
My eyes dart up to his. “Just so you know, I was never good at sharing my toys.”
The message is clear, and I won’t regret saying it. We’re either exclusive or we’re nothing. I won’t have sex with a guy who’s giving it to God knows how many others. Been there, done that.
His nostrils flare. “Good. Because I don’t share my woman.”
Well, all right, then.
The last two words—the ones that ignite a fire in my veins—barely leave his lips before he’s plunging all the way inside. He’s seated himself so deep I can feel his sac kissing my outer lips.
“Sweetest. Fucking. Grip.”
I can’t contain the volume of my voice as he pulls back and starts to thrust, and I don’t bother trying. Our skin slapping together is probably louder than my screams anyway. He slams his hips against me, pumping so hard I squeeze my eyes shut just to keep them from bulging out of my skull.
My climax sneaks up behind me and swipes the rug out from under my feet.
I knew it was coming—the flames had been licking at my insides ever since that kiss. But all of a sudden, boom! There it is in all of its explosive glory. I cry out indecipherable words, grasping his shoulders to hold me up as I descend into utter madness.
“Fucking Christ. Spill all over me, darlin’. Drown me in that cream.”
I’m barely even lucid by the time I crest over my peak.
“You going to milk my cum from me now?” he pants. “You going to make that pussy work for it?”
He doesn’t seem to need an answer, which is good because those noise-canceling headphones are back on and I can’t process what he’s saying. After a series of raw, bone-jarring drives, he’s releasing with a beastly roar and an unyielding grip on my hips that will probably bruise.
And goddammit, I want it to.
I want to permanently tattoo where his fingers clutch me so that I won’t forget how other-fucking-worldly this has felt.
We’re both breathless as we come down, slowly disentangling ourselves from each other. I feel almost bereft when he pulls out of me, leaving me feeling empty. But I take comfort in the fact that the condom he removes and disposes of is the fullest I’ve ever seen one.
He pulls his shorts back up and helps me with my bra. His satisfied grin is so big it makes my heart clench. “How do you feel about how it played out now? Dramatic enough for you?”
I primly smooth my dress down with trembling hands. “It’ll suffice.”
Since we never went on what was supposed to be our first official date last night, we make up for it tonight. I had to go home to change and wash all the sand off me after the golf shed sex. Which, believe me, was far from an easy task.
I never wanted to wash the smell of Carter off my body, sand included. It was all a reminder of the fireworks we set off in that shed. Watching the sand slide down my shower drain made me feel a little hollow.
Then I remembered there’s more of that in my future, and I perked right back up.
“By the way,” he leans in to say in my ear as the hostess leads us to our table, “this little dress reminds me of cotton candy, and I’m already famished. Are you trying to kill me?”
I can’t contain my smile as I lower myself into the chair he holds out for me.
The dress has fulfilled its mission, then, because that was its exact purpose. The color is a sky blue that makes my eyes pop. It’s a jersey skater cut, which flatters by top-heavy figure and accentuates my smaller waist without highlighting my wider hips.
“Are you saying you want to skip the meal and go straight to dessert?”
He bends down to press his lips against my jaw. “I’m saying I want to lick your sweetness off my fingers after I’m finished eating you.”
My ass cheek slips off the seat, and I narrowly miss face-planting the floor.
After recovering, I glare at him as he takes his seat across the table. “You did that on purpose so I’d have to sit through this entire meal with that image in my head.”
The innocent expression he shoots me over his menu says who, me? “If you can’t control the direction of your dirty, wayward thoughts, that’s on you.”
“You’re evil.”
“And you’re an angel.” He shrugs. “We’re even.”
I switch my focus to fish because I sure as hell can’t find seafood sexy.
The five-star waterfront seafood restaurant he’s taken me to is one I have never been able to afford. We’re talking four or five dollar signs on Google here. Since I now know he could buy this entire menu ten times over without even batting an eye, I decide to order the halibut because I’ve heard it’s like white steak and I’ve never tried it.
Having also ordered fish, Carter orders a Sauvignon Blanc for the table that has a delightfully crisp flavor with notes of pear. Normally, I don’t go for something so far on the dry spectrum, but this surprisingly doesn’t even taste like a dry wine.
“Have you had any more progress with the subject of your thesis?” he asks after the waiter drops off our calamari appetizer.
I pick up a lemon slice to squirt over the dish. But my automatic frustration over my thesis problems causes me to squeeze a little too hard and lemon juice goes everywhere, several drops landing on Carter’s no-doubt expensive suit.
My eyes widen in horror. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”
He barely spares the droplets on his jacket a glance. I snag a cloth napkin from the table, dip it into my water glass, and rise to help him dab the stains, but he waves me off, forcing me to remain seated. He doesn’t even attempt to wipe them away.
Instead, that devilish grin slowly spreads across his face. “I didn’t realize you were a squirter.”
I bury my face in my hands when I feel my cheeks heat a thousand degrees. “Holy shit, you did not just say that.”
He laughs. “Oh, come on. You can’t expect me not to in that situation.”
“I don’t feel bad about the suit anymore.”
He laughs some more, but eventually throws me a bone. “You never answered my question.”
I eat a few pieces of calamari as I gather my thoughts. “No, I haven’t. I’m beginning to think combining the two fields might be too ambitious. I’m about to say to hell with it and just write a historical account of some aspect of Charleston’s history. Something that hasn’t been heavily researched. It’s not very original, but I’m running out of options here.”
His expression turns pensive. “Well, don’t give up yet. You should wait until you find something you’re passionate about to study. Otherwise, you’re liable to get burned out before you even start writing.”
He has a point.
After all the papers I’ve had to write over the years for arbitrary class assignments, I know better than anyone how difficult it is to write about a topic you could take or leave.
I grin. “Are you my Yoda now? Guiding me through life, showing me the ways of the Force?”
He narrows his eyes. “Could you maybe compare me to a fictional character that isn’t nine hundred years old
with hair growing out of his ears?”
Laughter chokes out of me, sending me coughing when a piece of calamari almost gets lodged in my throat. “You don’t have to worry,” I say between wheezes. “You still look good for an old man.”
His gaze darkens as he leans back in his chair. “I don’t hear you complaining.”
I quirk an eyebrow, noting the change in his tone. “And you won’t.” My eyes rake down his torso. “Although…”
“Although?”
There’s a distinct edge to his voice, one that makes my nails curl into my palms, leaving tiny crescent moon shapes in my skin.
“I miss the glasses. The black ones you were wearing the day I met you in your office. And the bowtie and suspenders. And you had your shirt sleeves rolled up to your forearms.”
His mouth twitches. “Is that all?”
My teeth dig into my lower lip as I zone in on his Adam’s apple that bobs every time he takes a sip of his wine. “The look works for you. Any look works for you, but that one…” I shake my head, unable to find words that won’t sound stupid.
A muscle in his jaw ticks. Without looking away from me, he reaches inside his suit jacket and pulls out the pair of black-frame glasses. Putting them on, he says, “They’re reading glasses. A downside to getting older.”
“Doesn’t look like a downside to me.”
Holding my gaze behind those black-frame glasses, he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair, revealing his striped suspenders. I hold my breath as he loosens his tie and rolls up his shirt sleeves. Looking almost exactly like he did when I first laid eyes on him, he places his arms on the table, interlocking his fingers.
“I’ll remember the bowtie next time,” he says heatedly.
I’m being spoiled with both a feast for my eyes and my stomach.
My lucky day.
The sun has mostly set by the time our food arrives, but it’s still enough light to appreciate the view spread out before us. The restaurant is right next to the marina, where dozens of sailboats bob up and down in the water. Of course, our table is in a primo location, right in front of the large windows of the dining room. I imagine Carter gets only the best everywhere he goes.
I get to know him better throughout the course of the meal, or at least his background. He grew up and went to college in North Carolina, but moved to Charleston when his grandfather passed away, leaving him the mansion on Murray Boulevard. I don’t ask why it wasn’t left to Carter’s father—it seems he was much closer to his grandfather. He always loved Charleston as a kid, he says, and decided to make it home once he received his inheritance.
I glance around the dining room at one point, taking in all the couples and families. “Do you ever wonder when you’re in places like this, how many of these couples might wind up sitting across from each other at your conference table one day?”
He snorts. “I try not to. My job can get eminently more depressing if I let it.”
“Has your own experience with marriage sullied your opinion of it?”
He doesn’t have to think about his answer. “Not at all. I mean, it’s made me think more carefully about entering into the institution again. But when the right woman comes along, I won’t have any qualms about tying the knot again. You can make it work and be happy when you’re with the right person. There’s plenty of real-life love stories out there. I’ve seen a few with my own eyes.”
It’s actually nice to hear a man talk of the hope for real-life love. It’s refreshing to know the desire for that is not confined to my gender.
“What about you?” he asks while I’m still chewing on his answer. “Do you see yourself getting married again?”
I can’t ignore the hopefulness in his voice.
It’s there, I hear it, and now I won’t be able to forget it.
I nod, sipping my wine. “Sure. Not anytime soon, though.”
I want to snatch the words back as soon as they reach his ears because his face falls. He attempts to throw a mask over his reaction, but again, I saw it and can’t pretend to be oblivious to it.
“I mean, I’ve got to finish grad school first, you know? Then I’ll be working on my PhD and trying to make and save up money. Plus, I should probably give myself a little more time after my first marriage. I am only twenty-three, after all.”
“Do you still have feelings for him?” he blurts out, I think without meaning to.
I almost spit my wine out all over the table. “God, no. Not at all. I just mean that I’ve got a lot of years left in my twenties. Up until now, I’ve wasted them on a gambling, cheating schmuck. I plan on enjoying the rest of them.”
“By dating around, you mean?” His face is hard, his body tense. Hell, everything about his body language right now just screams you better not fucking say yes.
I swallow around the growing lump in my throat. “At this point, I’m just taking it day by day. I didn’t exactly expect to be going on a date less than a week after my divorce. Let alone with a man I met that very same day.”
Something about what I say must please him because a smile breaks free from the prison of his irritation. “I suppose I should be flattered, then. Even though it did take some convincing.”
“You do work fast.”
“Life is too short to wait for the good stuff to come to you. Sometimes you have to speed it along yourself.”
His words implant themselves in me. I feel them coursing through my bloodstream throughout the rest of dinner.
I chased him down on that golf course to tell him I wanted to give this a shot. Because I do. That’s the truth. But if he’s trying to “speed things along” toward me marching down the aisle, I’ll be forced to take a step back. I’m not ready for that again. I’ve got too much of my youth left to live before I tie myself down all over again.
I’m open to the possibility of a relationship. But matrimony still isn’t on the horizon for me right now, even if we did get serious. Dating, sure. Even dating long-term is on the table because I find myself wildly attracted to all aspects of Carter. I want to explore this—him—more.
But marriage isn’t happening. Not for a long time.
If that’s his end game, this might be done way before I want it to be.
For tonight, though, none of that needs to matter.
I knew there were many layers to Carter. And his behavior earlier in that shed is proof there’s a sexual, territorial beast trapped beneath those suspenders.
One I have every intention of letting out of its cage.
This time, when Carter invites me into his sprawling mansion, I don’t run away like a skittish animal. Instead, I eagerly follow him through the gate, along the stone walkway, and up the front stairs.
“Try not to wander off,” he says as he unlocks the door. “You might get lost.”
My chuckle is immediately cut off when he opens the door. Because he’s absolutely right.
I need a freaking map of this place.
“Told you,” he says knowingly. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“It’s history.” My voice is full of awe as I turn in a circle in the massive foyer. “You don’t like living here?”
He glances around the room, eyes roving over the stately furniture and gilded décor. “I liked it when my grandparents lived here. But I don’t know. It’s too big for a single man. And most of the furniture is theirs anyway. Aside from my bedroom and the family room, I haven’t really made the place my own.”
I run my hand along the staircase banister, marveling at the intricate details in the woodwork. “Why not?”
“Not enough motivation, I guess. I never saw myself staying here forever, so I didn’t want to make the effort to change much.”
I do understand that. The place is gigantic, so re-doing every room to your personal liking would be an undertaking, not to mention expensive. So much of the original architecture is still intact. It would be a crime to make too many changes. I respect his grandpare
nts for maintaining the property’s historical integrity the way they did.
“Where would you move?”
He follows me from room to room, seeming enthralled by my fascination. “Somewhere with a yard. And trees.”
Admiring the gleaming mahogany of the fireplace mantle in the dining room, I laugh. “Definitely not in the city, then?”
I see him shake his head out of my peripheral vision. “No. Somewhere quieter. More peaceful.”
I glance over my shoulder at him. “You really are an old man, aren’t you?”
“What? Sitting in a rocking chair in your orthopedics doesn’t sound ideal to you?” His words reek of sarcasm, but his expression indicates he’s only half kidding.
“No, part of that sounds really nice, actually.” His nostrils flare. Don’t know what that means. “I just haven’t given it much thought since I know I won’t be able to afford a house for a long time. Hell, I can’t even afford my own apartment. I’d be living with my father and stepmother right now if it weren’t for Gretchen.”
Which definitely doesn’t make me look very responsible and mature in his eyes. But that’s my current situation for better or worse, and I can’t change it.
He lets me finish touring the first floor, remaining silent while I gape with childlike wonder.
“You want to see upstairs?”
My eyes snap to his.
Hell, yeah, I do. That’s where all the beds are.
I nod.
He holds out his hand, which I take and allow him to lead us up the wide staircase. The sound of creaking floorboards only partially drowns out the erratic beating of my heart. I can feel the palatable tension building between us, can feel the current running through our hands becoming more electrified. To the point that I expect to hear a sizzling sound crackle from our entwined fingers at any moment.
I barely notice the four guest bedrooms, along with the clawfoot tub in the guest bathroom. I’m too anxious to get to what he’s clearly saving for last.
His bedroom.
And it’s exactly how I imagined it would be.
The Divorce Attorney Page 10