Chapter 6
Carly
I don’t look away this time.
He sees it. The shift. The way I’m not shrinking from it.
“You’re still thinking about last night,” I say quietly.
His jaw tightens. “Yeah.”
“And the shower.”
Silence.
His eyes sharpen. “You heard that.”
“I did.”
Heat crawls up my neck, but I don’t drop my gaze. “You said my name.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek.
“You weren’t supposed to hear it.”
“Why?”
He exhales slowly, like he’s choosing his words instead of letting them spill.
“Because I needed it handled so I wouldn’t cross a line with you.”
The words land heavy between us.
“You didn’t cross a line,” I say.
“I kissed you.”
“I kissed you back.”
His eyes darken at that.
I take a small step closer. My pulse is loud in my ears, but it doesn’t feel like fear anymore.
“I watched Ava with Viper,” I tell him. “The way his eyes soften when he looks at her. The way she looks back. She’s not afraid of him.”
“She shouldn’t be,” he says, voice rougher now. “He’d burn the world down before he ever let her feel that way.”
“She isn’t.”
I swallow.
“When you opened the door last night, you didn’t look at me like they did. You didn’t look at me like I was something to assess.” My throat tightens, but I push through it. “You looked at me like I mattered.”
He goes very still.
“You cut my clothes but kept the blanket on. You told me what you were doing. You turned away from me in bed.”
His gaze locks on mine.
“You could’ve taken advantage,” I say quietly. “You didn’t.”
His voice drops, hard and certain. “That was never on the table.”
“I know.”
And I do.
That’s the difference.
“I don’t feel alone right now,” I whisper. “Not with you.”
Something shifts in his expression. Something steadier than hunger.
“They tried to decide what my body was worth,” I say. “They talked about it like it was inventory.”
His jaw hardens.
“I don’t want that to be the thing I remember when I think about being touched,” I say, my voice steady even though my heart is racing. “I don’t want them attached to it.”
The air tightens between us.
“I want this to be mine.”
My voice doesn’t shake.
“I want to decide what happens next.”
His breathing changes.
“Carly—”
“I’m not asking you to fix anything,” I say softly. “I’m asking you to let me choose.”
I close the distance until I can feel the heat of him through his shirt.
“Touch me.”
He doesn’t move.
“Carly.”
“I’m asking,” I say. “I need you to hear this part. I’m the one asking.”
His hands rise slowly, stopping just short of my waist.
“You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
No tremor. No hesitation.
His hands settle at my hips, firm but careful.
It feels nothing like being cornered.
It feels like gravity.
His forehead lowers to mine.
“I’m going to take care of you first,” he says quietly. “You tell me if anything feels wrong. You tell me if you want to stop.”
I nod.
“I won’t,” I whisper.
His mouth finds mine again.
Deeper this time.
Slower.
There’s heat in it, yes, but there’s also patience. His hands slide up my back like he’s mapping me, not claiming me. Every touch waiting for my reaction before it moves further.
And when I lean into him instead of away, when my fingers curl into his shirt and pull him closer, something inside me settles.
He lifts me into his arms without breaking the kiss, carrying me down the hallway toward the bedroom.
He eases me onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight as he kneels beside me. His eyes stay on mine, dark and intent, like he's memorizing every flicker of my expression.
His fingers hook into the waistband of the sweatpants—his sweatpants—that hang loose on my hips.
He tugs them down slowly, inch by inch, watching my face the whole time.
The fabric slides over my skin, cool air brushing my thighs as he pulls them free from my ankles and sets them aside on the floor.
No rush. No demand. Just gentle care, like he's unwrapping something precious.
He pauses, his hand resting lightly on my knee, thumb tracing a small circle there.
"Still good?" he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, laced with that possessive edge that makes my stomach tighten in the best way.
"Yes," I breathe, nodding. My heart pounds, but it's anticipation now, not doubt.
He leans in, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh, his lips warm and firm. Then his fingers slip under the edge of my panties, easing them down with the same unhurried patience. He peels them off my hips, down my legs, exposing me completely.
The air feels charged against my bare pussy, and I feel the first stir of wetness there, my body already responding to him.
Doc doesn't dive in right away. He settles between my legs, his hands gripping my thighs gently but possessively, spreading them wider.
His breath ghosts over my skin, hot and teasing, before his mouth finally descends. His tongue flicks out, tracing the length of my slit in one long stroke. I gasp, my fingers twisting into the sheets.
He groans against me, the vibration humming through my core as he licks again, deeper this time, parting my folds with the flat of his tongue.
The wet sounds of his mouth on me are filling the quiet room. There's tenderness in how he savors me, like I'm his to worship, not just to take. His lips close around my clit, sucking softly, then harder, drawing a moan from my throat.
One hand slides up my thigh to hold me open, his thumb pressing just right against my entrance, not pushing in yet, just circling, building the ache.
"Fuck, Carly," he mutters against my pussy, voice muffled and rough. "You taste so goddamn good. Mine."
That word—mine—sends a shiver through me, possessive and raw, but he tempers it with the slow swirl of his tongue, lapping at my juices like he's starving for every drop.
I arch into him, my hips rocking instinctively as pleasure coils tight in my belly. He alternates between long, languid licks that cover every inch and focused sucks on my clit that make stars burst behind my eyelids.
My breaths come in short pants, fingers reaching down to tangle in his hair, urging him closer.
He doesn't let me rush it. When I start to tremble, so close to the edge, he pulls back just enough to kiss the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his stubble scraping deliciously.
"Not yet," he says, eyes locking on mine, dark with hunger.
Then he's back, tongue thrusting inside me now, penetrating me with it in shallow, teasing strokes while his thumb rubs firm circles over my clit.
The pressure builds fast, overwhelming, until I shatter, my pussy clenching as waves of heat crash through me. I cry out his name, thighs quivering around his head, and he doesn't stop, licking me through it, drawing out every pulse until I'm boneless and gasping.
He rises then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze fierce and satisfied.
"Beautiful," he says, voice thick.
He stands to strip off his shirt, revealing the ink and muscle of his chest, the possessive way he moves like he owns the space, and now, me.
His jeans come next, unbuckled slowly, shoved down with his briefs in one motion. His cock springs free, thick and hard, veins standing out along the length, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.
He climbs back onto the bed, hovering over me, his weight braced on his forearms so he doesn't crush me. One hand cups my face, thumb brushing my lip.
"You ready for me?" he asks, even though he knows.
"Yes," I whisper, reaching down to guide him, my fingers wrapping around his shaft. It's hot and heavy in my hand, pulsing as I stroke once, twice.
He groans, low and guttural, then notches the head of his cock at my entrance.
He pushes in slow, inch by inch, stretching me open. It's a tight fit, the burn of it mixing with the lingering sensitivity from my orgasm, making me gasp. His eyes stay on mine, watching every reaction, his jaw clenched with restraint.
"So tight," he mutters, possessive growl in his tone as he bottoms out, filling me completely.
He pauses there, buried deep, letting me adjust.
“You good?”
I nod, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
That's his cue. He starts to move, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in, deep and measured. His hips are rolling to hit that spot inside me that makes me whimper.
The bed creaks under us, his body covering mine in a way that's intimate, enveloping, like he's shielding me from the world.
His pace builds gradually, thrusts growing harder, more insistent, but never frantic. Sweat beads on his skin, dripping onto my collarbone as he fucks me, one hand gripping my thigh to angle me just right.
"Mine," he says again, lips brushing my ear, breath ragged. "This pussy is mine. You feel that?"
I do. Every inch of him claiming me, claiming my first time, the slick slide of his cock in and out, the way my walls grip him like they never want to let go. Pleasure builds again, sharper this time, coiling low as he grinds against my clit with each thrust.
He shifts, hooking my legs over his shoulders to go deeper. His mouth latches onto one nipple, sucking hard while he pounds into me, the dual sensations pushing me toward the brink.
"Come for me, Carly," he demands, voice breaking on a groan. "Milk my cock."
I shatter around him, pussy spasming, clenching tight as ecstasy rips through me.
He follows seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, his cock throbbing as he spills inside me, hot cum flooding my core. He buries his face in my neck, growling my name, his body shuddering with the force of it.
We stay like that, locked together, breaths mingling as the aftershocks fade. His arms wrap around me, possessive and protective, holding me close like he'll never let go.