Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ROSE
Ikeep sneaking glances at the man driving my car home from the restaurant.
Damn shifters and their lightning metabolism.
My head still hums pleasantly from the two glasses of wine at dinner.
I’d wanted more—the wine burst with blackberry and cherry in every sip—but I rarely let myself indulge when I’m out, preferring to keep a level head.
Carter had insisted on driving, and I was more than happy to oblige rather than risk getting behind the wheel intoxicated.
“So is it impossible to get a shifter drunk?” I ask, twisting in my seat as we pull up to a red light.
Carter keeps his eyes on the road, fingers drumming on the black leather steering wheel.
“It’s not… impossible. Just extremely difficult.
Especially if we’re drinking only beer and wine.
For a shifter, especially one in their prime, it takes some seriously strong shit.
” The light turns green, and we surge forward.
“Why? Are you planning to get me drunk, Miss Rosemary Sinclaire? Have your wicked way with me?”
“No, of course not,” I retort with mock indignation, though his teasing tone does something to my insides. I turn away, crossing my legs, ignoring the pulsing throb between my thighs.
“I know. I was just teasing.” He reaches over and pats my leg, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on the sensitive inside of my knee. I nearly purr at the touch, but it’s gone as quickly as it starts, both hands returning to the wheel.
When was the last time I felt this relaxed, this content—and wanted?
About the same time I was honest with myself about how I truly felt about this man.
I want this man. I want Carter. Not just for another weekend fling, not because I’m getting over my ex. I truly want him, and I have since the first day we met. I’ve been running from that truth ever since, but I’m tired of running. I know what I want.
“Carter.” I turn, placing my hand on his forearm, the fine dusting of hair tickling the pads of my fingers.
“Here we are.” He turns the wheel, and my hand slips to the center console as the car bumps up the curb, parking in front of my house next to his bike. “Hopefully, I wasn’t too bad of a valet.”
He winks before coming around to my side of the car and opening the door. I take his proffered hand, warmth enveloping mine as he helps me to my feet, my heels clacking on the cement.
“It’s not your driving skills I have a problem with,” I say, nodding toward his motorcycle. “It’s the crotch rocket.”
“She’s not a crotch rocket,” he chides, placing a hand over his chest before breaking into a rumbling laugh that warms my insides. “Come on, let’s get out of the cold. Spring nights still have a bite once the sun goes down.”
I link my arm through his and walk steadily to my front door, digging in my purse for my keys. Ginger mewls impatiently on the other side as I slide the key into the lock and push the door open.
“Hello, baby,” I coo, crouching to scratch his head. “Mommy’s going to give you a special treat tonight. Oh—the to-go box!”
I stand too quickly, my heels snagging in the carpet, and stumble—but before I hit the ground, I’m caught in the familiar scent of cedarwood and bourbon, wrapped in strong arms. I look up into Carter’s handsome face, my own breaking into a wide grin.
“Hello there. Nice catch.”
“Hello to you too. Looking for this?” He helps me to my feet and offers the small white box holding the unseasoned slice of salmon we’d ordered to go.
“Yes, thank you.” I kick off the offending heels, moaning as I wiggle my toes against the soft carpet before padding into the kitchen and setting the salmon in Ginger’s bowl.
“Well, thank you for coming to dinner. I hope you enjoyed it.” Carter stands in the middle of my living room, arms loose at his sides, one hand curled around the handle of his duffel. “You should get some sleep. You’ve only got a few days left before the grand opening.”
“Wait—where are you going?”
“Well, I thought since Alexandria was gone, and you didn’t need anyone to pre—”
“Wait.” I cross the short distance between us and place a hand on his chest, the other wrapped around the wrist clasping his bag. “Stay.”
“Rose.” His voice is gravelly and warm.
“Please.” I trace a pearl-colored button on his shirt as I muster my courage. “I don’t want you to go.”
It’s the truth. I don’t want him to go—ever. I want this man, this shifter, in my life. I want to see where this thing between us could go if I gave it a chance.
“Rose.” He sighs, setting his duffel on the couch and folding his arms around me. I nuzzle his chest, inhaling that intoxicating masculine scent. He presses a chaste kiss to the top of my head, then holds me at arm’s length by the shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed, kitten.”
“But I don’t want to go to bed. I want you.” I pout as he takes my hand and leads me toward the bedroom.
“Teeth brushed, pajamas on, and straight to bed. If you’re good, I might even tell you a story,” he says, and releases my wrist, pointing to the bathroom.
“Carter.” I step up, standing on my tiptoes as I wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his. He groans at the contact and kisses me back. His hands find my hips, pulling me against him, his obvious arousal straining at his suit pants. “Please,” I whisper against his mouth.
His fingers dig into my sides as he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine, panting. “Rose, trust me—it’s not that I don’t want this—”
“Then let’s do this.” I begin unbuttoning his shirt, but he folds my hands in his, stopping me.
“Not tonight. You’re not sober.”
“I’m not drunk,” I protest, but he cups my cheek and silences me, running a thumb over my bottom lip. The movement sends pleasant chills down my spine.
“You’re not drunk, but you’re not entirely sober.
” His hands trail like feathers around my neck until I feel the gentle tug of my zipper being pulled down and cool air touch my bare back.
His fingers ghost over my skin, echoing the motion.
He nips the shell of my ear, his breath a warm caress as he whispers, “If I were half the man I am, I wouldn’t think twice.
But I don’t want to rush this, rush you.
I want you, Rosemary Sinclaire, more than anything in the world. ”
“I want you, Carter Abernathy.” I wrap my arms around myself.
“I’m not going anywhere, kitten, if you don’t want me to.” He kisses my forehead. “If I remember correctly, you said the bed was big enough for both of us.”
He turns and walks back into the kitchen, and I move to my dresser, pulling out my comfiest silk nightdress before heading to the bathroom.
I pause, a fluttering in my chest, when I see the two toothbrushes in the holder, their necks crossing where normally only mine lives.
Carter must’ve forgotten his this morning when he packed.
It feels right, seeing them there together.
Ten minutes later we’re in bed, pajamas on and teeth brushed as he ordered. The silence stretches, both of us wanting and restraining.
“I’m much more sober now than when we first got home, and I haven’t changed my mind,” I say, leaning back against the mountain of pillows at the head of the bed, aware that the silk nightdress is sheer enough to show the blush of my nipples through the fabric.
If he’s going to play hard to get, I’m going to play hard to resist.
“You’re not going to change my mind,” he replies, pulling my feet into his lap and pressing his thumb into the pad of my foot. I moan as pleasurable pressure radiates up my leg while his thumb works steady, firm circles along the arch.
Damn, a girl could get used to this after a night out in heels. Usually, I’m the one babying my feet the next morning, wondering whether to throw out all the torture devices or trade them in for comfortable flats.
“If you keep that up, I’ll have no choice but to seduce you.” It earns me a chuckle from the wolf shifter.
“Is that so?” he asks, his hand making its way up my calf. I close my eyes, delight humming through me at his touch.
It’s almost sinful that a single touch can do this to me.
“Yes,” I gasp, heat pooling between my legs as his hands move higher, pushing up the hem of my gown while his fingers knead the flesh of my thighs.
I turn my legs outward and watch him through hooded lashes, fully aware I’ve just given him a front-row view of just how bare I am.
His grip tightens in a delicious, painful way before releasing.
“Roll over,” he commands. I open my eyes, staring at him incredulously.
“Carter,” I breathe, pushing up on my elbows.
He settles one leg between mine, pressing his weight against my core. I writhe, reveling in the friction, only stoking the need building inside me. He plants a hand on either side of me, leans down, and whispers, “Not tonight, my wanton little witch. Now roll over.”
He moves off and I nearly whimper at the loss of contact. He raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently until I comply and roll onto my stomach.
“Was that so hard?” he asks as he begins massaging my back, concentrating on the deep knots in my neck—knots that have tripled this week between the Wise Fox opening and hunting for Dria.
“You’re a beast,” I mutter into the pillow as he hits a particularly tight spot near my shoulder blade.
“I’m a wolf shifter,” he growls.
My wolf shifter.
“So I’ve heard.” I sigh, my body melting into the soft cotton sheets as he continues massaging my back, his strokes slower now, more languid. “What about my story?”
I yawn, covering my mouth before glancing over my shoulder.
He smiles sleepily and lays down beside me, pulling me against his chest and tugging the blankets over us.
The movement presses his rock-hard length against my back, and my core starts throbbing all over again.
I shift my hips, searching for even a shred of relief.
There’s no way I’m falling asleep like this.
“Rose.” Carter’s voice, deep as sin, is a hot caress on my neck.
“I need—” I rub my thighs together, but it does nothing to ease the ache building inside me. I feel too tight in my own skin, every brush of the sheets or the wolf behind me stoking the fire higher.
Well, if he’s not going to break, I’ll just have to do it myself.
I run my hand down my chest, pinching a nipple.
“Stubborn little witch,” Carter whispers against my neck as his hand slips between my thighs. I arch at the contact, magic thrumming through my veins as he slides two fingers deep inside. His thumb draws slow, deliberate circles over my clit, sending rippling waves coursing through me.
“Stubborn big bad wolf,” I moan, arching into his touch, wanting more—needing more. The orgasm builds fast, ready to crest. “Please, I need more. I need you.”
He nips at my shoulder and pauses his ministrations. I squirm, denied the release I was so close to.
“You’ll have me,” he growls into the sensitive crook of my neck, “but tonight you’ll ride my fingers. And if tomorrow you still feel the same, I’ll let you ride my face.” He pushes up to sit.
I gasp, my cheeks heating at his words and the images he plants in my head. Then his fingers begin pumping in and out of me again, faster now, his rhythm steady and relentless.
“More,” I beg breathlessly. Carter leans over, mouth hot as he runs his tongue over my left nipple. I gasp, thrusting my chest forward as he nips the peak, drawing it deep into his mouth, working magic with his tongue while his fingers play me like an instrument.
I shatter into a million pieces, stars bursting behind my eyelids as wave after wave of pleasure courses through me.
Carter slowly withdraws and settles behind me, pulling me possessively to his chest, palm pressed flat over my heart.
“Good night, kitten.” He kisses the bare skin of my shoulder. I part my lips to speak, but the words slip away as sleep claims me.