Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
Soft
Becky
Both hands come to my face.
His lips find mine.
Soft at first. Careful, as if he’s tasting something unfamiliar. Then firmer, his body pressing against me as heat flares between us. His mouth opens, his tongue brushing mine.
I moan in response, the sound helpless and needy. I strain against the manacles, chasing him.
He pulls back to breathe, air rushing in and out in short, erratic bursts.
I follow instinctively, catching at his mouth, but the chain goes taut, stopping me short. I let out a frustrated huff. One kiss and I’m already aching for him. Desperate. I’ve never wanted someone I should avoid this badly.
I don’t have to wait long.
He’s back. His hand slides to the nape of my neck, holding me there as his mouth moves over mine again, less tentative now, more sure. Learning me in real time.
Desire hits fast, disorienting, pulling me deeper.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he says against my mouth.
“What?” I ask, high on the warmth of him. “Kiss?”
“Kiss. More. Any of it.” A pause, like he’s choosing what to admit. “I’ve never done it.”
The words take a second to make sense…then they do.
“You’ve never—” My voice comes out quietly. “You’ve never kissed anyone? Never had…sex?”
“No,” he says. “I don’t like being touched.” He exhales. “Makes things…difficult.”
Oh.
That explains it.
The hesitation. The way he learns as he goes. The way every movement is discovered instead of remembered. This isn’t natural to him. He’s stepping into it for the first time, without knowing where it will end.
He isn’t bad at this. He’s new to it.
All this time, I’ve been the one pushing into his space. Getting under his skin. And now, finally, he’s letting me. His hand is at my neck. His mouth close enough that I can feel the shape of his lips. He’s allowing me to see a part of him no one else has.
Fragile.
Breakable.
I could take advantage of this, his vulnerability, but suddenly I don’t want to. If this is going to be his first time experiencing these things. Closeness. Intimacy. I want it to be good for him.
I want to give. Not take.
He deserves that.
“Have…have you?” he asks.
“Me?” I say, grateful for the darkness hiding my face. “Yeah. A couple of times.”
“What’s his name?” Carrson’s voice drops. “Where does he live?”
“Why?” I ask, confused.
“So I can kill him,” he says. No pause. No exaggeration. That’s how I know he’s serious. He’s already working it out. Distances. Timing. The cleanest way to do it.
“It wasn’t anything,” I say quickly. “Some guy from my grief support group. His sister had died too. We were both trying to feel normal.” I shake my head. “It barely counts.”
The chain bites into my wrists, a reminder of where I am, what he could do to me if he wanted, but, for now, he’s the one holding back, and I don’t like it.
I shuffle my feet impatiently. My chains give a restless rattle. “You can touch me,” I say, quieter, coaxing instead of pushing. “I’m not going anywhere.” When he doesn’t move, I let the pretense fall away. I let him hear it, the truth I haven’t said out loud.
I want this. Him. No matter the cost.
“Please,” I beg, voice trembling.
The kiss is less careful now. Firmer, but not rough. As if he’s starting to trust what he’s doing. I meet him halfway, brushing my mouth against his instead of rushing it. Letting time draw out so he can find the rhythm on his own.
Carrson’s hand returns to my cheek, then drifts, following the path his dagger took but soft rather than sharp. Warm skin instead of cold steel. Danger turned to desire.
The backs of his fingers skim down my neck, featherlight, until they reach my collarbone.
He pauses there.
Like he’s never felt anything like it before and he’s not sure he’s allowed to.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice thick with awe. “How are you so soft?”
His lips find mine again before I can answer as he lightly drags his fingers toward my bare breast. His hand turns, palm hovering above my skin, and then, instead of touching where I expect, he presses it flat against my sternum.
He goes motionless.
“Your heart,” he whispers. “I can feel it.”
He says it like it’s impossible. A miracle he can’t quite believe.
“I’ve never felt anyone else’s heart before.”
I ache for him. I think back to Remi and me as kids, taking turns pressing our ears to each other, giggling at the soft lub-dub of our hearts, gasping when it sped up.
“It’s so loud, Remi!”
“Since we’re twins, do you think our hearts beat at the same time, Becky?”
“I bet they do!”
We were so sure of it. So sure of everything. I didn’t know how lucky I was back then. Until this moment, I didn’t realize some people never get that.
Carrson has his hand on me. His fingers shift slightly, not pressing…listening. “It’s fast.” He lifts his fingers and taps them against my skin. Counting out the thuds of my heart. As if I’m made of music and he wants to capture the beat.
“You’re making it do that,” I say. “Go quick like that.”
He breaks the pattern. “I am?” he asks with a quiet kind of wonder.
I let out a small, breathless laugh. “It’s all you.”
His head tilts down toward my chest, and I can tell he’s staring at my breast, even though it’s too dark to see.
Hesitantly, his hand brushes across my nipple, like he’s not sure what will happen if he touches me there.
I gasp, swallowing the sound, afraid I’ll startle him if I react too loudly.
There’s a fragility here. A thin, delicate balance.
Carrson slides his palm up to cup me, squeezing gently.
My breath snags, caught halfway in like my body forgot what to do next.
Without sight, every touch intensifies, until there’s nothing left but him. The warmth of his palm. The hesitant sweep of his fingers. Each pause deliberate, like he’s testing, waiting to see whether I’ll pull away or lean into it.
That’s what undoes me. His restraint. How he’s trying. That simple, careful caress, the soft way he holds me, explores me, stroking and kneading my breast, sends a jolt of need in between my legs.
He has no idea the power he holds.
How easily he could ruin me. How badly I want him to.
A shudder goes through me as I arch into his hand. His thumb circles, rough against sensitive skin. Heat pools low, spreading, turning into a wanton kind of need.
“Good?” he asks, as his touch grows stronger. He pinches my nipple lightly before releasing, then repeating, firmer now.
“Yes—” My hips swivel instinctively, searching for more, consumed with the need for friction. “So good.”
“I want—can I—” he stutters out like he’s not even sure what to ask for.
“Put your mouth on me,” I answer.
He pauses, then lowers his head to my chest. The first touch is tentative. Curious. Then his lips close around my breast, warm and careful.
I cry out, overwhelmed by the sensation. “Yes,” I gasp, voice shaking. “More.”
He responds instantly. Not reckless but not holding back like he was before. His tongue flicks my nipple and his teeth graze it, the pleasure so intense it almost hurts.
“Lower,” I whisper, my voice unsteady. The words shake apart as inhibition slips through my fingers. “Touch me…there.”
He listens, which turns me on even more. That a man as strong as him is letting me take the lead, following my directions. It’s intoxicating.
Carrson’s hand tickles over my stomach before slipping lower.
I moan loudly when he finally makes contact. Unashamed by how soaked I am for him.
“Oh—” The surprised note in his voice is almost as raw as mine.
I move instinctively, rocking into his touch, chasing it.
“Mmm…” I can barely form words. “A little—forward—”
He listens. Finds my clit, and everything inside me goes loose. My head tips back, my body going heavy, the pull of the restraints biting into my wrists as the chains clink.
“Right there,” I pant.
“Here?”
I answer by moving, guiding him without thinking, swaying into his hand.
Tension builds, winds tighter, each touch taking me higher until I’m right at the edge, ready to fall and give in to the release my body is begging for.
I don’t. Because tonight isn’t only about me. It’s about him, the way he’s pushing beyond his past, trying things he’s never done before. Letting himself want this, me.
“Take off your clothing,” I tell him. “I need you next to me.”
I worry he’ll hesitate or protest, but everything that’s happened between us has affected him too.
He takes a step back and strips quickly.
I hear it in the rustle of clothing dropping to the floor.
Then his hands are back on me, returning without pause, helping me out of my clothes until there’s nothing left between us.
“I want you. All of you,” he says between kisses, with his hand back between my legs.
He finds my entrance and pushes a finger into me.
Then two. I whimper at the sensation. The aching, sinful stretch of it.
His erection brushes my hip, hard and ready.
Enough to let me know I’m not the only one losing my mind here.
“You can have me,” I tell him.
“Not like this,” he says, firmer now, as if he’s decided to take over.
He reaches up and pulls my manacles free from the wall, leaving them secured around my wrists. With my arms bound in front of me, he guides me across the room. I move carefully, shuffling my feet along the floor, trusting him to lead where I can’t see.
He stops me, hands firm on my shoulders, pressing down.
I hiss as cold metal meets the back of my legs, then my hips.
The altar.
The one in the center of the room.
He eases me back until I’m lying flat against it. He lifts the chain, and I hear a quiet click as Carrson secures the manacles above my head to some hook I must’ve not noticed before. He gives the chain another tug, checking it.
“Are your hands okay?” he asks, a trace of roughness in his voice. “I—” A pause. “I need them like this.”
“They’re fine,” I say, even though pins and needles spark down my arms.