Page 28
The ride home feels different. He drives slower, his body easing against mine, and I let myself lean into him completely, arms wrapped around his waist, cheek pressed against the warmth of his cut. The wind whisks away the restaurant’s lingering noise, the laughter, the questions, until it’s just us, the road, and the engine’s steady hum.
When we stop at my apartment building, I’m reluctant to let go. His hands find my waist as I slide off, steadying me with that reassuring strength I’ve come to crave.
“Thank you,” I say, suddenly shy despite our evening. “For dinner. For being there. For… everything.”
Words don’t come from him. Instead, his hand rises to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray curl, and something in my chest quiets.
“What you did today was incredible,” he murmurs. “Not just back there. All of it. The way you took charge.” His thumb pauses on my skin. “You’ve always been strong, Trix. But today, you were something else entirely.”
The praise does something I wasn’t ready for—lands somewhere undefended, and I feel it settle there. I lean into Carter’s hand, my eyes flickering shut for a second that feels like forever.
“Come inside.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
His hand freezes, and I open my eyes to find him staring at me. His face is blank, but his gaze is so intense it makes me feel like the only thing in the room worth looking at.
“Trixie—”
“Not for that.” I swallow hard, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “I just… I don’t want tonight to end yet.”
I can see the struggle on his face, the protector in him fighting against a want that looks like it’s been building for years. This man, who held me in my parents’ living room and kissed me under that old oak tree, all of it is right there in his eyes, battling with whatever promise he made to take things easy.
“Okay,” he finally grunts out, voice rough and raw with restraint.
I lead him up the stairs, hyperaware of his presence behind me, the solid bulk of him, the heat coming from him like a furnace, the intense focus of his stare. My hands tremble as I fumble with my keys at the door, thankful he can’t see the panic in my eyes.
The lock clicks open, and I shove the door wide, turning to face him. “You coming in or—”
He’s on me before I finish the sentence. One moment he’s outside, all restraint and distance, the next, he’s through the doorway, hands on my waist, shoving me back against the door as it slams shut.
His mouth crashes into mine.
This is no sweet kiss from the park. This shit is wild and unleashed, the kind that says he’s been biting his tongue for too long. His lips burn and demand, his tongue dancing against mine with a ravenous need that makes the wall at my back my only support. I gasp, and he seizes the opening, deepening the kiss, his hand knotting in my hair, angling my head to devour me better.
There’s no space left between us—just the solid crush of his chest, the hard line of his thigh wedged between my own. I arch against him, a silent plea for an impossible closeness. I need more.
He groans into my mouth, a low, rough sound rumbling through both of us. His free hand drags from my waist to my lower back, yanking me flush against him. I feel him hard and ready through his jeans, pressing against my belly, and knowing he wants me this bad, that his iron control is slipping, heat pools low in my gut.
My hands slide up his chest, feeling muscles tense beneath my fingers. His heart thrums wildly, a drum buried under skin and sinew. I clutch his shirt, dragging him closer, and he responds by lifting me clear off the ground, pinning me harder against the door.
The world outside melts away. There’s only this—the two of us colliding with a raw, unfiltered need that erases everything else.
The kiss is a fucking wildfire, neither of us willing to pull away first. Carter’s mouth moves from mine to my jaw, leaving a trail of heat as he kisses down my throat. I gasp when his teeth graze that sweet, sensitive spot below my ear, and my fingers dig into his hair, anchoring myself to him.
“Carter,” I breathe, and it sounds like someone else, wrecked.
He goes still, forehead resting against mine, and we’re both breathing hard, short, pulling like our lungs forgot how to work right. His hands are still in my hair, fingers working magic on my scalp, and I feel the tremble in his arms. He’s holding back with everything he’s got.
“Trix,” he whispers against my lips. “If we don’t stop now…”
“Then don’t fucking stop.”
Those words hang heavy between us. I feel his muscles coil tight under my hands, and I know he’s wrestling with himself—the urge to protect me clashing with what he wants.
“You’ve been through hell,” he says, his voice a low, scraped sound. “I don’t want to…”
“I’m not some fragile thing,” I cut him off, pulling back just enough to catch his eyes. In the dim light, they’re dark as sin, burning with want. “Stop treating me like I’ll break.”
His grip on my hair tightens, just enough to prick my skin with delicious possession.
