30. Carter
30
Carter
T ate’s door is cracked, light still glowing from his monitor, but his stream? Off. Which means he knew I was coming. Which means he knew exactly what he was doing. And when I push the door open, I find exactly what I fucking expected. Sitting back in his chair, looking smug as ever. Haven in his lap.
I exhale sharply, crossing my arms, tilting my head. “Man,” I say, shaking my head, letting the tension roll off me, “you really just can’t help yourself, huh?”
Haven’s head whips toward me, her eyes wide like she’s bracing for me to be pissed, however the second she sees my face, she falters. Because I’m not. Not at her, never at her. Tate, though? Yeah, he can catch this smoke. I rub the back of my neck, stepping further inside, lips twitching into a grin.
“I mean, I knew you were a little obsessed with me, but this?” I nod toward Haven, who is still frozen, still trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. “Now you’re just stealing my girl?”
Tate blinks. Haven blinks, and I walk straight past both of them and drop onto Tate’s bed, stretching out like I fucking belong here.
That does it. Tate leans back in his chair, arms crossing, expression shimmering with something almost suspicious. “Alright,” he says slowly. “What the fuck is this?”
I shrug. “Just getting comfortable.”
Tate tilts his head. “You’re not mad?”
I grin. “Nah. I get it. If I were you, I’d want to sit under Haven too.” Haven chokes on air. This isn’t the reaction he expected. He thought I’d lose it. That’s exactly why I don’t, because there is nothing Tate hates more than being predictable. And now? Now he has no fucking clue what to do with this. For the first time in a long time, he’s off his game.
Tate exhales, dragging a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath before gripping Haven’s waist and practically lifting her off him, setting her on her feet like she’s been evicted. “Alright,” he sighs. “Get the fuck out.”
Haven stumbles slightly, still in shock, still trying to compute the fact that this entire situation just flipped sideways. I grin, pushing up from his bed, stepping past him before clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Sweet dreams, big bro.”
Tate scowls. “Shut the fuck up Carter.”
I crack up, reaching for Haven’s hand and pulling her with me as I turn toward the door, dragging her out and down the stairs before Tate can decide to start talking shit again. And when I glance over at Haven, she’s still trying to process what the fuck just happened. Yeah. That makes two of us.
Haven drops onto my bed when we get back to my room, like the day has finally caught up with her, her body sinking deep. She exhales, the kind of breath that carries weight, not exhaustion, not comfort, but something heavier, something that lingers between us as the room settles into quiet.
The only source of light is the TV across the room, casting shifting patterns onto the walls, painting her skin in dreamy hues, making her look almost dreamlike, almost untouchable in the dim glow.
Her fingers fiddle absently with the hem of my hoodie that she’s still wearing, twisting the fabric between her hands, her brows pulling together just slightly, the way they do when she’s deep in thought, when something’s taking up space in her mind but she isn’t sure how to let it out. And I already know. Because I feel it too.
Tomorrow. The weight of it sits between us like a fucking barrier neither of us wants to acknowledge, stretching into the space, filling the silence with everything that hasn’t been said yet. She doesn’t have to say the words for me to know she’s thinking about leaving, about getting back in her car and making the drive home, about how this, whatever this is has to shift back into something different once she’s gone.
And I fucking hate it. I rub a hand over my face, dragging my fingers through my hair, my stomach tightening with the kind of frustration I don’t even know how to voice. I don’t want her to go. Not tomorrow. Not ever. But what the fuck am I supposed to do about that? Because the truth is, I have no idea how to ask her to stay longer.
I grab the remote pressing random buttons until something, anything comes on the screen. Some action movie, loud and fast-paced, bullets flying, explosions lighting up the frame like a goddamn fireworks show. It should be enough to drown out the thoughts hammering through my skull, should be enough to shove the reality of tomorrow into the background, at least for a little while. But it doesn’t work. Because I can still feel her. She shifts slightly, pulling her knee up to her chest again, her fingers resting against her lips, her eyes darting toward me, catching the way I’m gripping the remote just a little too tightly, the way my jaw has been locked since she sat down.
She doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches. Feels it. And then, softly, hesitantly. “Carter?”
I force myself to keep my gaze on the TV, but I feel her turn toward me, the warmth of her body so close, the quiet weight of her attention pressing in on me. “What’s wrong?”
I should’ve known she’d catch it. She always does. I don’t answer her right away. I keep my eyes locked on the screen like the flashing images of car chases and shootouts are enough to drown out the mess in my head, but it’s pointless. Haven’s looking at me, not just glancing, not just waiting for a casual answer, she’s reading me, peeling me open with nothing but her presence, with the way she always knows exactly when something is wrong.
I inhale deeply, exhaling just as slow, my grip flexing around the remote before I toss it onto the nightstand, letting it clatter against the wood as the noise from the TV turns into background static. My fingers twitch against my thigh, my entire body wired too tight, and before I can think too hard about it, before I can stop myself from acting on the need to be closer to her, I reach out, my hands finding her waist, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of her hoodie as I pull her into my lap.
Haven lets out a soft gasp, her balance shifting as she moves with me, instinctively bracing her hands against my chest, her wide brown eyes locking onto mine the second she settles against me. My arms wrap around her, grounding me just as much as I hope I’m grounding her, my palms spreading against her lower back, keeping her there, needing her there.
Her brows pull together, concern flashing across her face, her voice softer now, careful. “Carter,” she murmurs, her fingers curling slightly against my shirt. “Talk to me.”
I exhale sharply, my grip on her tightening, my forehead dipping just slightly toward her shoulder before I force myself to meet her gaze again, because I need to say it. I need her to hear it. “I don’t want you to leave,” I admit, my voice rough, quieter than I meant for it to be but somehow heavier than I expected. “I know you have to, I know this was just a visit, but…” I shake my head, my jaw clenching, frustration burning in my chest. “Fuck, Haven, I don’t want this to be over.”
Her expression shifts, but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t brush it off, doesn’t give me some easy, distant response. Instead, she shifts again, her fingers moving, trailing along the side of my neck, her touch light but firm, like she’s letting me know she’s here, really here, in this moment with me. “It’s not over,” she says softly, her thumb brushing against my skin, her voice steady, sure. “Just because I have to leave doesn’t mean this ends.”
I stare at her, swallowing hard, trying to hold onto those words, trying to believe in them the way she does, but there’s a part of me, this deep, aching part that worries the second she walks out that door, everything shifts back to how it was before.
I don’t want that. I don’t want her to just be a voice in my headset, a name in my chat, a presence that exists in pixels and messages and missed calls. I want her. Here. With me. “Tell me you’ll come back,” I say, my fingers pressing slightly deeper against her back, needing the reassurance, needing something solid to hold onto. “Tell me this wasn’t just—” I pause, shaking my head, forcing myself to breathe before meeting her gaze again. “Tell me this isn’t just a one-time thing.”
Haven’s eyes soften, something warm, something certain settling in them, and when she speaks, her voice is quiet but unwavering. “I’ll come back.”
I stare at her, my breathing just slightly uneven, my pulse pushing too hard against my skin as her words settle in, as her fingers trace light patterns along the back of my neck, grounding me and undoing me at the same time. The weight in my chest hasn’t lifted, not fully, but something about the way she says it, like it’s a fact, not a maybe, keeps me from spiraling further.
Then, she tilts her head, a small, teasing smile playing at her lips, her gaze bounces between my eyes, my mouth, like she’s completely aware of the effect she’s having on me. “Carter, you’re literally fifty miles away,” she says, amusement laced through her tone, her fingers still absently toying with the hair at the nape of my neck. “Do you really think I’ll be able to stay gone for long?”
Her words, the way she says them so easily, like it’s not a question, like it’s not even a possibility that she wouldn’t come back, like being apart is actually what sounds ridiculous to her. She’s sitting in my lap, warm and solid and real, her voice threading through my system, every little movement she makes sending a slow-building ache through my body, every shift of her weight pressing her closer, the soft drag of her fingertips against my skin. I grit my teeth, swallowing against the heat creeping up my throat, my hands flexing where they rest against her waist, feeling the slow pull of gravity trying to drag me deeper into her, deeper into this fucking feeling that’s threatening to swallow me whole. She has no idea what she’s doing to me right now. Or maybe… fuck, she definitely does.
Her smile turns just slightly softer, her weight settling more fully against me, her touch dragging lower, and I feel my control slipping, fraying at the edges, the lines between tension and something hungrier blurring so fast it makes my head spin. I move beneath her, trying to focus, trying to breathe through it, but she’s already leaning in, her breath warm against my cheek, her voice a quiet tease.
“What’s wrong, Carter?”
I let out a slow, unsteady exhale, my fingers gripping her just a little tighter, my jaw locking, my heart hammering as I fight the losing battle of pretending I don’t want to fucking ruin her right now.
This girl is gonna be the death of me. Last night changed something. The way she touched me, the way she showed me exactly what she wanted, exactly how to take it, fuck, it rewired something deep inside me, something that makes it impossible to sit back and let her tease me like this without giving it right back.
My grip on her hips tightens, dragging her closer, forcing her to feel exactly how fucking hard she’s making me just by sitting here, just by saying those words, just by looking at me like that. And when I lean in, brushing my lips against the shell of her ear, I don’t hold back.
“What’s wrong?” I echo, my voice lower, rougher, letting every ounce of heat curl through the words, letting her feel it as much as hear it. “Baby, you’re the one squirming in my lap like you can’t sit still.”
Haven inhales sharply, her fingers gripping my shoulders, and I swear to God, it’s the most satisfying fucking thing in the world.
I smirk, dragging my hands up the curve of her waist, slow and deliberate, pressing my thumbs just beneath the start of her tits, not quite touching, but close enough that she shivers beneath me. “I think you like it,” I murmur, pressing a kiss just below her jaw, feeling the way her body tenses, the way she sucks in a breath when I run my tongue along the same spot, dragging my teeth ever so slightly over her skin. “The way I hold you. The way I make you feel.”
She lets out the quietest, most breathless sound. I pull back just enough to watch her, to take in the way her eyes flutter shut for a second before she forces them back open, locking onto mine like she’s barely keeping herself together. “Carter…”
Fuck, I love the way she says my name. I grin, shifting beneath her again, making sure she feels every inch of how hard I already am for her.
“Yeah?” I tease, my hands slipping lower, tracing the hem of her hoodie, pushing it up just a little, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach beneath my fingertips. “You want something, baby? Or are you just teasing me because you like watching me fall apart for you?”
I spread her thighs wider, “You want me here again, baby?” I whisper, dragging my thumbs along the crease of her hips. “Want me to taste you like last time?”
She hums, lashes fluttering, hips already rocking toward me. “Always,” she whispers. “You know what I like.”
I do. Because she taught me. Because every time she guided my mouth, every soft moan of there, just like that — I took it like gospel. I lay her back on my bed, my head between her thighs after pulling off her pants, and moan against her, the taste of her hitting me like a goddamn drug. She gasps, one hand flying to my hair, fingers tightening as she pushes her hips against my tongue. “That’s it, Carter… open your mouth for me.”
I do. Her voice alone makes me grind against the bed, cock aching and untouched. I suck gently on her clit, letting her ride my face, letting her fuck my mouth however she wants.
“Deeper,” she pants, breath catching. “Don’t be scared, I want all of you.”
A whimper escapes my mouth and press in harder, licking with slow, messy circles, then flattening my tongue, dragging it back and forth until her thighs are shaking around my head.
“You’re doing so good,” she moans. “My sweet boy… always so desperate for me.”
And she’s right. I’m desperate, making fucking noises against her pussy like I’m the one about to come. My jaw aches, my eyes burn, and still I don’t stop.
She’s gasping now, hands clenched in my hair, body arching, one long, shuddering moan spilling from her lips as she falls apart on my tongue.
I keep licking her through it, until she’s trembling. “Fuck,” I breathe against her. “I love you like this.”
She hums in response, a lazy, fucked-out sound and her hand slips from my hair. Her chest rises slowly. She’s falling asleep. I slide up beside her, kiss her shoulder, and wrap myself around her. I should close my eyes. But I hear the door open. My body goes rigid.
Tate stands in the doorway, shirtless, sweatpants slung low, shadows cutting across his chest from the hallway light. He steps inside, slow and quiet, eyes locked on the bed. He doesn’t say a word.
“Don’t,” I mutter. “She’s sleeping.”
Tate’s smirk is immediate, like I just said something funny. He shuts the door with a soft click, eyes never leaving me. “Didn’t say a thing, golden boy.”
But I see it. The way his gaze shifts, dragging down Haven’s body, taking in every detail the bare stretch of her thighs tangled in the sheets.
“You did good,” he says. “She looks exhausted. Bet she was fucking perfect for you.”
My pulse spikes, not because of the words. Just the way he says them, like he was there.
“Seriously.” I shift. “Don’t be a dick, Tate. This was our moment.”
He raises a brow, not arguing. Not backing off either. Just steps closer, crouching beside the bed. His hand hovers above her hip, close enough that my body tenses, but he doesn’t touch.
“You ever heard of somnophilia?” he asks. “Fucking someone while they sleep?”
My stomach twists. “What?”
Tate glances up, his expression almost calm. Like he’s explaining the weather. “Some girls like it,” he says. “The loss of control. Being touched while they drift. It’s not about not wanting it. It’s about trust . Letting go.” His eyes drop back to her, softer now. “You think Haven would stay quiet if she didn’t want to be touched?”
I swallow hard. “That doesn’t mean we just take,” I say, quieter now. “She deserves to be asked.”
Tate’s lips curve, not mocking. More like approval. “Which is why you’re her good boy.” His fingers finally brush against her hip, feather-light. Not enough to wake her, but enough to make my heart pound. “And why I’m the one she dreams about when she needs a little more.”
Haven moves slightly, her thighs parting just a little, like her body’s still chasing my mouth.
Tate watches that happen, and he presses two fingers against her inner thigh and slides them up, stopping just before he touches her again. “She’s still wet.”
I don’t move.
“You want her to feel good again?” he murmurs. “Let me show you what she needs.”
I want to say no. I don’t say no. Tate leans in and licks her, one long, slow drag of his tongue over her and Haven moans in her sleep, hips twitching.
“ Carter… ” she breathes, voice thick and sleepy.
That’s all it takes. I drop to my knees beside the bed again, guilt and hunger a tangled mess inside me. Tate moves onto the bed, hovering over her, spreading her legs wider, fingers parting her for me.
“She’s all yours again,” he says. “Make her come like this.”
I bury my mouth in her. No hesitation now. I suck, lick, lap at her like a man possessed. I moan into her, hips grinding into the sheets again, lost in her taste, her sound, her fucking scent. Her fingers twitch against the mattress, lips parting.
“She’s going under again,” Tate says roughly. “Look how soft she is. Open. Needy.”
He moves his hand between her thighs and presses his thumb above my mouth on her clit, while I fuck her with my tongue. Her legs kick. Her voice cracks. A sleepy little please escapes her lips.
I whimper against her, desperate to obey. We take turns, Tate teasing her with his fingers, me licking until she’s gasping in her sleep, drenched and dripping and helpless under us. When she comes again, broken moans, my name on her lips, I nearly come untouched.
Tate grins over her shoulder. “You really are her favorite,” he says as he slides two fingers deep inside her, curling them with precision, like he’s done this a hundred times before, like he knows exactly how to pull pleasure out of a sleeping woman’s body. “Still so fucking tight,” he groans. “And she’s clenching, even in her sleep.” He leans down and kisses her shoulder, her neck, tongue dragging over her skin before he whispers in her ear: “Your pussy missed me, didn’t it, pretty?”
She whimpers in her sleep.
“God,” I mutter, staring. “Tate…”
He glances over at me, eyes wild. “You ever seen anything this perfect, little brother?”
I shake my head. I can’t speak.
He shifts her gently onto her side, body limp and open between us. Then he moves behind her , one hand braced on her hip, the other stroking his cock, already leaking. “You’re gonna let me fuck her,” he says. “You’re gonna watch me fill that pussy while she moans your name.”
She stirs, a soft, broken sound and arches her hips toward him in sleep.
“She’s begging,” Tate groans. “Even now.”
He pushes in. I hear the sound she makes. A long, breathy moan as Tate buries himself inside her, inch by thick inch. Her pussy stretches to take him, and his groan rips through the quiet like thunder. “Fuck, she’s gripping me so tight, like she knows it’s not you.”
I’m kneeling beside them, trembling, rock hard, breath caught in my throat as I watch him fuck her slow and deep, hips rolling into her in powerful, measured thrusts. “Look at her,” he pants. “She loves being used.”
His hand wraps in her hair, tugging her head back just enough to expose her neck. “You’re made for this, aren’t you, Haven? Soft little hole for us to worship. Our good fucking girl.” Her breath hitches. Her legs jerk. She’s waking up, just barely, dazed, dreamy, soaked and spread.
“Carter…” she whispers again, voice barely there, caught between sleep and pleasure.
“I’m here,” I whisper back, crawling up beside her, cupping her face. “I’ve got you.”
Tate groans behind her and starts to fuck her harder, rough now, snapping his hips into her, balls slapping against her ass, the sound obscene and wet and perfect. “You hear that?” he pants. “That’s your cunt clenching around me. You know you want it.”
Her mouth falls open in a silent cry.
“Take it,” he grits out. “Fucking take it.” She trembles violently, and I realize she’s coming. Even in this dazed, limp state she’s unraveling for him.
Tate groans deep, slams into her one last time, and I see his whole body lock up as he spills inside her, breath ragged against her skin. “Fuck,” he moans as he pulls out slow. He turns to me. “She’s all yours.”
My breath catches. I move between her legs like I’m in a trance, hands trembling as I guide myself to her soaked pussy. She’s still twitching, still whimpering, body open. I push in slow. She gasps. I groan.
“F-fuck,” I stammer, sinking deeper. “She’s… Tate, she’s still so—”
“I know,” he says, darkly proud. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?”
I nearly whimper at the the tightness, the feeling of being inside her, all of her. “Haven,” I whisper, voice breaking.
She doesn’t respond, not fully but her hips roll toward me, like her body knows. Like even in her haze, she still wants me. So I fuck her slow, sweet. Whispering in her ear as I move. “You’re everything to me, you’re so beautiful like this. I’d never stop if you let me…”
Tate watches from behind, one hand stroking himself again. “You see it now?” he murmurs. “She needs both of us.”
I don’t answer. I thrust into her slow and deep, burying my face in her neck, whispering her name like a prayer. Haven’s body rocks gently beneath mine, her breath soft and sweet, and even though she’s half-asleep, she meets every stroke with the kind of sleepy moan that makes me feel like I could die here. I whisper again. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”
She gasps, barely awake, barely aware. Tate moves. He doesn’t ask. He just leans in from behind, dragging the sheet down to expose her chest, and lowers his mouth to her tits.
His tongue swipes over one nipple, slow and deliberate, before he sucks it deep into his mouth, groaning like he’s starving. His hand palms the other breast, rough and possessive. “Fuck” he mutters, pulling off with a wet pop. “You’re fucking perfect.”
“Tate—” I start, voice tight, but he cuts me off with a look.
“Don’t stop. She likes this. You feel how wet she still is? How hard she clenched when I sucked her?”
He does it again, rougher this time. He sucks hard, teeth grazing, tongue flicking, like he’s trying to mark her. Haven gasps, arching up toward him, even as I’m still buried deep inside her. My thrusts get messy, needy. She’s making the sweetest sounds, helpless, soft whimpers, her body caught between our mouths and hands and cocks, totally overwhelmed. I’m losing control, but so is Tate.
He pulls back suddenly, mouth wet, chest heaving. “You had your turn,” he groans, voice sharp. “Now move.”
I freeze. He grabs my arm, yanks me back. I fall to the side, breath knocked out of me, and before I can speak, he’s already between her legs again.
Tate grabs her hips, pulls her down the bed, and slams into her in one brutal thrust. She cries out half dream, half need and he doesn’t give her time to adjust.
He starts fucking her hard. Like he’s punishing her for letting me have her first. His hand wraps around her throat, firm and possessive, and he leans down until his mouth is against her ear. “You like that?” he moans. “You like being passed between us? You like my cock more, don’t you, pretty angel?”
She moans, her legs kicking as he pounds into her. “You’re gonna come for me again,” he groans. “I don’t care if you’re tired. I don’t care if you’re full. You’re gonna fucking take it.” His hand tightens just enough to make her gasp, eyes fluttering open for half a second before rolling back.
“Fuck,” I breathe, sitting up, stroking myself to the sight of it, Tate slamming into her like he owns her, her body trembling around him.
He shifts, angling his hips, and she moans loudly.
“Right there,” he groans. “You feel that? That’s what you wanted. Not slow, not soft. Just cock and pressure and me.”
Her moans break. Her whole body locks up, legs shaking, back arched off the bed, tears slipping down her cheeks from the intensity.
Tate lets go of her throat, watching her fall apart. “Fucking ruined,” he mutters, slamming into her one more time before he shudders and groans, thick and deep, spilling inside her again. He stays there for a second, panting against her skin. Then he pulls out, his cum leaking down her thighs. “Clean her up,” he tells me, standing.
And with that, he leaves. The door shuts behind him. I crawl to her, heart aching. Her body is limp, trembling, breath ragged. I press kisses to her cheeks, her temple, her throat. “I’ve got you,” I whisper, pulling her close. “You’re safe. I’m here.” She makes a soft sound, curling into me, face tucked against my neck. I hold her, wrapped around her naked, wrecked body, fingers stroking her hair as she finally drifts into a deeper sleep. No more moaning. No more twitching. Just soft, warm silence. And me… completely, hopelessly hers.