Chapter 30
Carson
I’m not proud of how fast I volunteered to watch Willow tonight. Told my pack I could handle it. Truth is, after the shit storm with her ex, I need to be close to her.
Graham shoots me a look. Hunter grunts. I shove them both toward the door anyway. If one of us has to stay, it’s gonna be me.
Now I’m parked in the corner of her room, chair tipped back, legs stretched out, pretending I’m relaxed. Pretending I’m not on edge. Not fucked sideways by the fact that I’m alone with her tonight.
The sound of the bathroom door opening makes my pulse kick up a notch.
And fuck me.
She’s wearing a silky little set, all soft, clinging fabric that makes my mouth dry. Tiny shorts. A thin-strapped tank top that’s loose in all the wrong places. Bare fucking legs.
She hesitates for only a second when she spots me. Then, instead of scurrying under the covers or looking remotely uncomfortable, she tilts her chin up and narrows her eyes at me in challenge.
“You’re in my room.”
I lift a brow. “You noticed.”
She sighs dramatically, stepping toward the bed, tossing a book onto the nightstand before slipping under the covers. I should not be watching the way the blanket drapes over her body.
“You really don’t have to babysit me, you know,” she says, tugging her blanket higher. “I’m not going to sneak out.”
I smirk, stretching my arms behind my head, making myself comfortable. “That’s what you want me to believe, peaches.”
She rolls her eyes, flopping onto her side, propping her head up with her hand as she glares at me.
“I hate that nickname.”
“No, you don’t.”
She makes a hrmph sound and turns onto her back, her arms stretching above her head for just a second before she relaxes again.
It’s a trap.
It has to be.
Because she knows how she looks right now—spread out on that bed, her pink hair spilling over the pillows, the dim lighting making her skin look soft and golden. She blinks over at me, all innocence and temptation rolled into one.
“So are you going to watch me sleep, or are you going to get into bed with me?”
My body reacts before my brain does. I’m on my feet. I don’t remember standing. I just know that I’m there, closing the distance between us, planting a knee on the bed, bracing my hands on either side of her pillow as I lean down, caging her in.
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t move or tell me to stop. She just watches me, her lashes fluttering, her lips parting slightly, her scent curling around me in a slow, torturous pull.
“You think I won’t?” I murmur, my voice rough.
A slow, teasing smile curves her lips. “I think you’re all talk.”
That’s it. I snap.
My mouth crashes down on hers, and she gasps against my lips, her hands flying to my shoulders. I jerk back, leaning away from her, and she follows me, slipping from under the covers. Her lips parted, her cheeks as pink as her hair. Beautiful.
I should leave. I should turn the fuck around and get out of this room before I do something I can’t take back.
But she’s watching me, eyes lit with a dare, like she wants me to lose control. Her scent—sweet peaches and heat—wraps around me, a fist tightening at my throat, dragging the air right out of my lungs.
And fuck me—I’m hard. Honestly, I’ve been fighting this since day one. The tension. The teasing. The way she pushes, always testing how far she can go.
I’ve let her play. Let her get away with too much. But this? That little innocent blink, pretending she doesn’t know what she’s doing? The unspoken invite to let her pull me into her bed?
One second, I’m breathing through the urge to drown in her. The next, my fist is in her shirt, and I’m crawling over her, pinning her down because I need every inch of her under me.
She moans this time, her fingers grabbing for my shirt, and fuck, I feel that sound everywhere.
“You wanna play with me, peaches?” I growl the question, dragging my palm down to her waist. “Wanna tease me? Flirt with me? See how much I can take?”
She swallows hard, her pupils blown, her breath coming in short, rapid pulls. I tighten my grip on her shirt.
“That’s cute,” I murmur against her jaw, dragging my nose along her skin, inhaling her, drowning in her. “Real fucking cute.”
She shivers, and my cock twitches. She likes this. Likes me caging her in. Likes my hands gripping her too hard, my voice in her ear.
I should stop.
I should really fucking stop.
But then she tilts her head back, baring her throat, and fucking hell. I can’t. I drag my lips over the column of her neck, slow, just enough to make her squirm. I can hear the way her breath stutters, feel the way her body melts into mine.
I smirk against her skin. “You should be running right now,” I whisper.
She whimpers.
Fuck.
I press my thigh between hers, trapping her completely. “Is that what you want, peaches? You wanna stay right here? Or do you wanna keep pushing me?”
Her fingers curl in my shirt. She tugs me closer. And fuck me—that’s the only invitation I need.
I kiss her. It’s not sweet. It’s not gentle. It’s pure fucking hunger.
Her fingers fist in my hair, tugging hard enough to make me groan. I grind into her, and she gasps into my mouth, her nails biting into my skin as I devour her.
Fuck me.
I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted her. And now I’ve got her pinned to her bedroom wall, moaning my name, pressing into me, begging without words for more—I’m done. There’s no stopping. Not now.
I own her mouth.
She tastes obscene, sweet heat and pure trouble, and the way she clings—arch in her body, nails digging into my arms, yanking me closer like she’s starving on this—shreds the last of my control.
I lose it.
I haul her up, her body light in my hands, her legs snapping around my waist, locking me in. I slam her back against the wall, my grip bruising, fingers biting into her thighs, her hips, needing every inch of her under me, against me, mine.
She moans into my mouth, but she doesn’t stop me.
No, she grinds against me, and I groan into the kiss, my hips rolling up to meet hers.
Jesus fucking Christ.
She’s soaked.
Through her little sleep shorts, through my jeans—I can feel it.
And fuck, my self-control is hanging by a thread. I drag my lips from her mouth, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, along the column of her throat. Scenting her. Inhaling her.
Her perfume is thick, drenched in desire.
This is for me.
I growl against her pulse point, flicking my tongue over her skin, and she shudders, her nails scraping against the back of my neck.
“Carson,” she pants, breathless, fucking wrecked already.
I hum, dragging my teeth over her throat, not quite biting, but close.
She whimpers.
I grin against her skin. “You like that, peaches?”
She grinds harder against me, her legs tightening around me. I grip her ass and roll my hips up, deliberate, pressing right against her. She moans again—high and desperate—and I feel it everywhere.
Fuck.
I need to hear that again.
I need to feel her come apart beneath me.
I drag my hand up the curve of her body, over her waist, up her ribcage. My thumb brushes the underside of her breast, and her head tips back, baring her throat instinctively.
I snarl at the sight.
“You like being handled, don’t you?” I can feel the urge to possess her trying to take over.
She sucks in a breath.
“Say it.”
She swallows hard, lips parting—but no words come out.
I drag my teeth over her throat again. “Say it, peaches.”
Her breath shudders out. “Yes. I like being handled.”
I groan, rolling my hips against her just to feel her moan for me again.
I flick my tongue over the shell of her ear. “You wanna be ruined, don’t you?”
Her nails bite into my shoulders. “Carson—”
I chuckle, dark and knowing. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
She doesn’t argue.
She grinds into me, breath catching, eyes blown wide with want, her scent wrapping around me, pure fucking sin.
I dip my head, finally closing my lips over the hard peak of her nipple through her thin tank top, sucking hard.
She shatters.
Fuck.
I feel the way her entire body locks up before she falls apart, shaking in my arms, her nails raking down my back as she rides out the high.
I groan against her skin, my hands gripping her too tight, barely holding myself back from tearing off the thin fabric between us and taking her the way we both fucking want.
She sags against me, breathless, her face buried against my neck.
I pant and drop my head to the wall beside her.
Shit.
I need to pull back. I need to step away before I claim her.
I exhale slow, forcing myself to breathe, to get a grip, to not take this further than I already have. But when I finally meet her gaze, when I see her lips—kissed red and swollen—and the way she’s looking at me?
I might already be too far gone.