Chapter Seven
~ Macon ~
The world outside the house didn’t follow us inside.
It stayed on the gravel, in the cold, in the exhaust cloud of Carter’s father’s Mercedes.
The door closed behind us with a soft click, and all the air that filled my lungs was his, that green-apple tang that never left my memory, even after weeks apart.
Carter hovered by the stairs, chewing the inside of his cheek, hands curled tight in the cuffs of my old flannel. He looked at me like he half expected to get hit, half expected to get kissed, and didn’t know which he wanted more.
The adrenaline from the driveway showdown was still in the marrow of my bones, making my hands shake, making my vision narrow to the line of Carter’s throat and the wild tangle of his hair. He was mine, and the last half hour had been a lesson in what I’d do to keep him.
I waited for him to speak, to make some joke about my alpha posturing, or maybe crack a line about whether I could still carry him up the stairs in his condition.
But Carter didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, eyes wide and wet and burning with the same hunger that was eating me alive from the inside out.
I closed the gap between us in two strides.
He didn’t flinch, but I saw the flutter at his throat when I braced a hand against the banister, caging him between the wood and my chest. He was trembling—not with fear, but with anticipation.
I could feel it in the way his breath caught, in the way his hand fisted the fabric over his belly.
I tilted his chin up with my knuckle. “You did good, out there,” I said.
He made a sound, half-laugh, half-shudder. “So did you.”
I grinned, slow and mean.
His smile faded, replaced by something soft and defenseless. “I need you,” he said, barely above a whisper.
I didn’t waste another second.
I bent down and kissed him. Not gentle, not even close. My mouth crashed into his, teeth clacking, and his lips opened for me like they’d been waiting their whole life for this.
I tasted the faint iron of his blood—must’ve bitten his lip, or maybe he’d done it to himself, worrying over every word he never got to say. I licked it away, tongue stroking deep, and his hands came up to my chest, fingers splaying against the cotton like he needed an anchor.
I pressed him into the stairs, pinning his body with mine. Our hips aligned, the press of his cock against mine a live wire. He arched up, trying to close the last distance, and I used my weight to hold him there, letting him feel every pound of muscle I’d ever put on.
He whimpered into my mouth, a raw little sound that made my skin go hot.
I pulled back just enough to breathe. “Upstairs,” I said.
He nodded, wild-eyed, and I scooped him up, one arm under his knees, the other around his back. He was heavier than last time, belly soft and full against my ribs, but I could have carried him through a hurricane and never stopped.
We made it to the bedroom in record time. I nudged the door shut with my foot and set him on the bed, watching the way the mattress dipped under his weight. The room was dark but for a slice of sunlight across the sheets, and in that line of gold his hair glowed, every strand alive.
Carter shivered, eyes fixed on me, waiting.
I stripped off my shirt, then my jeans, never breaking eye contact. My cock was already hard, pressed against the cotton of my briefs, leaking at the tip. He licked his lips, and I saw his pupils go black.
“Clothes off,” I growled.
He scrambled to obey, yanking the flannel over his head, fumbling with the buttons. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath—never did, as if he thought he might get lucky—and his skin was flushed with color. His belly was round and perfect, rising out of his hips like a dare.
I knelt over him, palms on either side of his head, and let my gaze roam. His nipples were darker, swollen, the areola wider than I remembered. I brushed my thumb across one, and he gasped, hips jerking.
“Sensitive?” I asked.
He nodded, teeth digging into his lower lip.
I pinched the bud between thumb and forefinger, rolling it slow. Carter writhed, back arching, the motion pulling his belly taut. I bent down and sucked it into my mouth, tongue circling, then grazed it with my teeth just to see him jump.
He moaned, loud and helpless, one hand flying to my hair, tangling hard.
I palmed his belly, massaging the skin. It was tight and hot and beautiful, the evidence of everything we’d made together. I cupped it, thumb tracing lazy circles just below his navel, and felt the ripple of his abs under the skin.
“You like that?” I said, voice thick.
“Fuck, yes,” Carter hissed.
I turned my attention to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, but rougher. I bit, just enough to leave a mark, and he went loose under me, arms falling back onto the bed, hands fisting the sheets.
His cock stood proud and leaking, curved up against his belly, and I stroked a finger down the length, collecting the precome and spreading it around the head. He whined, desperate, hips canting up for more.
“You’re beautiful,” I told him, and meant every syllable.
He shook his head, but I saw the way the words landed, saw the way his body arched into my touch, greedy for every bit of praise I’d give him.
I stripped my own briefs off, cock springing free. Carter’s eyes went wide, and he licked his lips again, like he couldn’t help himself.
“Turn over,” I said.
He hesitated, then rolled onto his hands and knees, ass up, face pressed into the pillow.
The line of his back was perfect, every muscle tensed and ready.
I slid my palms down from his shoulders to his hips, spreading him open.
His hole was tight and pink, clenching with every breath, and the sight of it made my vision swim.
I leaned down and licked a stripe from his balls to his hole, letting my tongue press in just a little. Carter groaned, muffled by the pillow, and pushed back against me.
“Patience,” I said, and grabbed the lube from the drawer.
I slicked my fingers and circled his rim, teasing, letting him feel the pressure before I slipped inside. He was so fucking tight, even after all this time, and it took effort not to just shove in and lose myself. I worked one finger, then two, scissoring them until he was soft and open.
He rocked back, fucking himself on my hand, every breath a gasp.
“God, Macon,” he moaned. “More. Please.”
I added a third finger, twisting, stretching him. His body trembled, sweat slick on his lower back, and I bent down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades.
“You ready?” I asked.
He nodded, wild, hair stuck to his forehead. “Fuck me. Please. I need it.”
I lined my cock up to his hole and pushed, slow at first, letting him feel the stretch. He gripped the sheets, knuckles white, but he didn’t try to escape. He took it, inch by inch, until my hips were flush with his ass.
I paused, giving him time to adjust.
He made a frustrated sound, looking over his shoulder at me, lips parted and wet. “Don’t make me beg.”
I grinned, then started to move, slow and deep. Each thrust pressed my cock against his prostate, and he jerked, breath hitching.
“You’re perfect,” I growled. “So fucking tight. So good for me.”
He whimpered, back arching, pushing for more. I increased the pace, fucking him harder, letting my hands roam—gripping his hips, palming his ass, one hand splayed over his belly, feeling the heat and weight of our child.
Carter’s noises went higher, sharper. He was close. I reached around and grabbed his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts.
“Come for me,” I commanded.
He cried out, whole body shaking, and spilled across the sheets in long, hot pulses. His hole clamped down, milking my cock, and I lost it—came hard, deep inside him, every muscle locked up.
I collapsed over him, breath ragged, hands shaking.
We stayed like that for a minute, maybe more, hearts beating out of sync. I rolled off to the side, pulling him with me so he was curled against my chest, safe and claimed.
I kissed the top of his head, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back.
“I’m never letting you go,” I said, voice quiet.
He smiled, eyes half-shut. “You’re stuck with me, Macon O’Reilly.”
I grinned, holding him close. “Good.”
Outside, the world kept on turning, but in this room, time finally stood still. We belonged to each other. Always.
Carter dozed for all of a minute, curled into my chest with one thigh flung over my hip, before he started to stir again.
I could tell by the change in his breathing—long, even to short and sharp, like he was surfacing through layers of ice.
His hair was plastered to his forehead, damp with sweat, and he mumbled something into my skin that could have been a curse or a prayer.
I palmed the back of his head, guiding his face up so I could see his eyes. They were glassy, pupils blown wide, like he’d been high for hours. I kissed his temple, then his cheek, then the edge of his jaw. I wanted to leave a mark everywhere, a map only I knew how to read.
He made a noise, soft and open-mouthed, then shifted so his cock pressed against my thigh. Still hard, still leaking. My own cock was already getting stiff again, a raw ache that hadn’t dulled at all with release. He looked at me, lips swollen, and I saw the plea before he even opened his mouth.
“More?” I asked.
He nodded, and I flipped us so he was on his back, the quilt bunched under his shoulders, belly shining with come and sweat. His hole was still flushed and a little red, rim twitching every time I touched him. I could see where I’d already stretched him, and it made my mouth water.
I knelt between his legs, spreading them wide, and let my hands roam over his thighs. He was so fucking beautiful like this: open, unafraid, hungry. I bent down and licked the inside of his knee, then trailed up to the soft skin of his thigh, biting just enough to make him gasp.
I reached for the lube again, slicking my fingers, and worked two back inside him. He moaned, head tipped back, exposing the long line of his neck. I watched his face as I curled my fingers, searching for the spot that made him fall apart. Found it, pressed, and his whole body jerked.
“Oh fuck—Macon—please—” He was almost sobbing, the words tumbling out of him like he’d been holding them in for years.
I pumped my fingers, scissoring him open, and watched as his cock drooled against his belly. His nipples were hard and wet, chest heaving, and I palmed one, rolling it between my fingers. He bucked, desperate.
“Look at me,” I said.
He dragged his gaze back to mine, eyes glazed and desperate.
“You’re mine,” I told him, voice low and absolute.
He nodded, then, “Yes. Yours. Always.”
I withdrew my fingers and lined up my cock, nudging the head against his hole.
He reached down, hand wrapping around my wrist, grounding himself.
I pressed in, slow and steady, letting him feel every inch.
He was so fucking tight, even after the first round, and I had to grit my teeth not to lose it right there.
When I bottomed out, hips flush to his ass, I paused, letting him adjust.
He looked up at me, mouth trembling. “You can move,” he whispered.
I started slow, rolling my hips, the motion deep and grinding. His legs came up, locking around my waist, pulling me in even deeper. I grabbed his ankles, pinning them to my shoulders, and changed the angle. He howled, nails digging into my arms.
“You like that?” I said, breathless.
“God—yes—harder—”
I gave it to him. I fucked him deep, each thrust lifting his hips off the mattress, the sound of our bodies colliding loud in the small room.
He writhed, helpless under me, eyes rolling back, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto.
Careful of his rounded stomach, I grabbed both wrists, pinning them above his head, and bent down to bite his throat.
“Mine,” I growled, just above his pulse.
He sobbed, body clamping down around me, and I felt him start to come again, spurting across his belly, the muscles in his legs spasming.
I let go of his wrists and grabbed his hips, pulling him down onto my cock, slamming in harder, faster.
I chased my own orgasm, chasing the heat that was building at the base of my spine, until I finally lost it—came so hard it felt like the world broke open and all that was left was Carter, shaking and spent and perfect beneath me.
When I came down, I slumped over him, catching myself on my forearms so I didn’t crush him. He was still trembling, a wet mess between us, but he looked up at me with this expression—like he couldn’t believe it was real.
I kissed him, slow this time, licking the salt from his lips. He kissed back, soft and sweet, then rested his forehead against mine.
“Don’t ever let me go,” he said, voice cracked.
“Never,” I promised.
I pulled out, careful, and rolled onto my side, dragging him into my arms. He burrowed in, pressing his face to my chest, and I stroked his back until the tremors eased.
We lay there for a long time, just breathing.
After a while, he spoke. “You scared me, out there. With my dad. I thought—”
I cut him off, thumb brushing his cheek. “He’s never touching you again. Not while I’m alive.”
He exhaled, tension melting out of him. “Okay.”
I kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his mouth. “Love you, Carter.”
He smiled, tired and beautiful. “Love you too, Macon.”
We drifted off, tangled together, the world outside silent but for the wind and the sound of our hearts slowing together. For the first time, I didn’t dream of the past. I dreamed of a future, the two of us, the baby, a life that was ours and only ours.
And when I woke, he was still there, still mine.
Always.