19. Haven
19
Haven
I can’t fucking think straight. Tate’s words are still ringing in my ears, crawling under my skin, settling in places I don’t want them to be. Because he knows. He’s always known.
The way to get inside my head, the way to push my buttons, the way to toy with me like I’m a game he’s already beaten a hundred times.
Now, he’s done it again.My stomach is still tight, my breath still catching in ways I can’t control, and it’s not just because of Tate. It’s because of Carter, too. Who’s sitting next to me, still trying to process whatever the hell just happened, still too caught up in his own thoughts to realize I’m already making a decision.
Because if Tate wants to play games? Fine. Let him. I’m not playing his game, I’m playing Carter’s. And right now, he needs me. I scoot toward him, watching the way his body reacts before he even registers what I’m doing, the way his shoulders tense, the way his fingers flex against his knees, the way his breath stutters when I bring one knee over his thigh and settle onto his lap again.
He blinks, wide-eyed, barely keeping it together. “Haven—”
I don’t let him overthink it. I slide my hands up his chest, feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palms, feel the way his entire body is locked up. But I do. And then, just to see what he does, just to test, just to confirm what I already know, I shift. I settle lower, pressing down fully, my weight fully on him now.
Fuck . I freeze. Because holy shit, he’s thick. Carter makes a sound, low and desperate, like he’s just now realizing I can feel it, like he doesn’t know what the hell to do with the fact that I’m not ignoring it.
I pull back, just slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, just enough to watch the moment he completely loses his ability to function. “Fuck, Carter.”
His whole body jerks, his breath sharp, his hands snapping up like he wants to hold onto me but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. His lips part, his tongue flicking out to wet them, his lashes fluttering like he’s trying to clear whatever fog just took over his brain.
“Haven, I—”
I rock against him. Just slightly. Just enough. He fucking whimpers. It’s soft, broken, barely there, but fuck, I hear it, and it lights something inside me that I can’t put out. And I haven’t even really touched him yet. I can feel it in the way his body is trembling under mine, in the way his hands hover just above my waist like he wants to grab on but doesn’t know if he should, in the way his breath stutters every single time I move. I shift again, just enough to feel the way he responds, just enough to let him know I’m not ignoring the fact that he’s so fucking hard beneath me, that I’m very, very aware of exactly what I’m doing to him right now.
His his lips parting, a sharp breath escaping like he’s barely holding onto his sanity. I test him just a little more.
I lean in, dragging my lips just beneath his jaw, letting them linger there for half a second before whispering, “Didn’t know you were so big, Carter.”
His entire body jerks. “Haven.”
His voice is barely holding together, completely fucking ruined, and God, I need more of it. I press another kiss against his throat, just to see how he reacts, just to feel the way his pulse pounds beneath my lips. And he whimpers again. Actually whimpers. Low and desperate, like he’s trying to keep it in but failing miserably.
I tilt my head, watching the way his hands tremble as they finally land on my waist, gripping me like he’s trying to ground himself, like he’s trying to hold onto something before he completely unravels. I want to watch him come apart in my hands. So I move again, rolling my hips just slightly, just enough to get another sound out of him, just enough to make him lose the last bit of composure he’s been clinging to. His head drops forward, his breath ragged, his grip tightening on me like he’s two seconds away from completely falling apart.
And then, voice barely above a whisper, his next words shatter whatever self-control I had left. “Please, Haven.”
His lips part, his breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls, his hands gripping my waist like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
I could give him space to recover, to process, to settle back into that nervous, sweet, innocent version of himself that’s been unraveling beneath me for the last few minutes. But I don’t want that. Judging by the way his body is reacting to me, the way his fingers keep flexing against my waist, like he wants to grab hold and take control but doesn’t know how, neither does he. So I lean in, dragging my lips along his jaw, slow and deliberate, feeling the heat rolling off his skin, feeling the way his chest rises too fast, like he’s barely holding onto himself.
I keep my voice low, teasing, knowing exactly what it’ll do to him, I murmur, “Do you want to feel how soaking wet you’ve made me?”
Carter sucks in a sharp breath so hard I think he might actually choke on it. His grip on me tightens instantly, his body jerking beneath mine, his head snapping forward like he needs to see my face, like he needs to know I really just said that.
I reach over, shutting the lamp off, the soft glow of the TV now the only thing illuminating the space between us.
Carter’s eyes widen in the dim light, his breath heavy, his pulse thrumming visibly beneath the skin of his throat, his hands still clutching me like he has no idea what to do with them. So I help him. I reach for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up, slow, letting my fingers graze over his skin as I peel it over his head, letting myself take in the heat of him, the broad expanse of his chest, the way every single inch of him is so goddamn firm beneath my hands. And Jesus fucking Christ. He is so much hotter than I expected.
Every inch of him is muscle and heat, tension coiled beneath his skin, his shoulders strong, his chest defined, his stomach lined with tight, solid ridges.
And I can’t stop staring. Because I knew Carter was built, I could see the way his shirts stretched over his arms, the way his hoodies fit snug against his frame, but this?
My nails drag lightly across his stomach, and he shudders, his hands twitching on my hips like he’s about to completely lose his fucking mind. And I want him to. I want him desperate. I want him ruined. And now, I’m going to make sure he gets there.
His hands are still gripping my waist, his body tense beneath mine, his muscles locked up like he’s terrified of making the wrong move. I guide his hands higher, over my ribs, over my stomach, letting him feel the warmth of my skin, the way I’m practically burning up for him. “Touch me, Carter.”
His breath stutters, his fingers twitching, his whole body locking up again.
“I—” He stops, swallows hard, his lips parting, eyes searching mine like he needs to be absolutely sure he’s allowed.
I nod, slow, deliberate, making sure he understands. “There’s no wrong way to do it.”
His jaw clenches. His hands flex. It’s hesitant at first, careful, like he’s still waiting for me to tell him if he’s doing it right, but the second his fingers slip beneath the waistband of my leggings, I feel his breath hitch against my skin.
I help him, lifting my hips slightly, letting him slide them down, his hands warm and steady as he helps me out of them, as he sees exactly how much I want this. I’m about to say something, about to tell him to relax, to take his time, to just feel, but then his hand is slipping between my thighs, and every thought I had completely disappears. Oh, fuck.
His touch is careful, so careful, but when his fingertips brush over me, when he feels how soaking wet I already am for him, his entire body goes rigid beneath me, his breath leaving him in a sharp, unsteady exhale.
And then in the softest, hottest voice I have ever fucking heard come out of his mouth, he says it. “F-fuck, Haven… you’re fucking dripping for me.”
I almost whimper. Because that, was not expected. Sweet, nervous, inexperienced Carter, just said that?
His breath is uneven, his hands still gripping my waist like he’s not sure whether to pull me closer or push me away before he completely loses it. So I make the decision for him. I reach down, fingers slipping to the waistband of his jeans, feeling the way his stomach tenses beneath my touch, the sharp inhale he tries and fails to hide. His hands twitch, his fingers flexing against my hips, but he doesn’t stop me. So I keep going. I take my time, slow and deliberate, dragging the denim down inch by inch, letting my fingertips graze the firm muscle of his thighs as I work them lower.
I can feel the tension coiling in his body, the sharp way his chest rises and falls as I peel away the last real barrier between us, as I leave him in nothing but his briefs, and see exactly what I’ve been feeling pressed against me this entire time. And holy. Fucking. Hell.
I swallow, pulse hammering as my eyes drop lower, as my breath catches, as I confirm exactly what I suspected. He’s huge.
Carter’s cheeks flush instantly, his throat bobbing as he avoids my gaze, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them, like he’s bracing for my reaction. Oh my god. He’s shy about it. I bite my lip, fighting the smile threatening to form, because he’s already struggling enough, already trying to keep himself together when I can see exactly how much he’s about to come undone. But I don’t say anything. Not yet. Instead, I shift, pressing my hands to his chest, feeling the steady, solid warmth of him beneath my palms, feeling the way his muscles flex and tense under my touch.
Then, slow, deliberate, teasing, I roll my hips against him. Carter chokes on his own breath.
His fingers snap tight against my skin, his head tipping back against the couch, his lips parting, a low, broken sound slipping from his throat before he can stop it. And I feel all of him.
Thick, hard, pressing against me through the thin fabric of his briefs, making my stomach twist, making me wonder how the hell he’s been hiding this from me for so long. So I do it again. I grind against him, slow, deliberate, watching the way his entire body reacts, watching the way his jaw clenches like he’s trying so hard not to make a sound but completely failing.
And then, just to make sure he really hears it, just to push him even further, I murmur, “Fuck, Carter… you’re so big.”
His breath shudders, his fingers digging into my waist, his body jerking beneath me like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
And because he can’t help it, because I’m clearly breaking him, because he’s seconds away from completely unraveling, he admits it. “I—I know.”
I swear to god, I have never wanted anyone more in my entire life. His hands are clutching my waist like he’s barely holding himself together, his breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls, his entire body trembling beneath me.
I could give him a second to process everything that’s happening. But why the fuck would I do that when I can feel exactly how much he wants this?
I shift again, rolling my hips one more time, dragging over him, pressing down just enough to feel him twitch beneath me, just enough to hear that delicious, broken sound rip from his throat again. Just to see how far I can push him, just to see if I can completely destroy what little self-control he has left, I lean in, my lips brushing his ear, my voice low and sweet as I ask “do you want me to taste you?”
His head slams back against the couch, his chest rising too fast, his fingers tightening so hard against my skin I swear I feel his nails press in. “Oh, fuck.”
It’s not even a full sentence, just a wrecked, desperate sound, just a plea wrapped up in two broken words, just the most perfect reaction I could have ever hoped for. And it’s not enough. Because now, I need to see how much further I can take him. I press my lips to his jaw, teasing, letting my hands slide lower, feeling hips beneath my fingers. “I’ll take care of you, Carter.”
His breath shudders. I let my fingers skim just a little lower, not touching him where he needs me most just yet, but letting him feel how close I am, letting him understand exactly what I’m offering. “I want to.”
Carter makes a desperate sound, something that tells me I’ve completely undone him. Before I can push him any further, before I can even move, before I can say anything else, He grabs me. Not rough. Not forceful. But enough. Enough to let me know that this just changed everything.