Chapter 25 #2
He wraps his arms around me, holding me just tight enough to feel supported, but loose enough that I can breathe.
I like this position because I don’t have to look him in the eye.
I don’t want to see the regret on his face.
Or, worse, his fucking pity. I don’t want to watch as he says good-bye, which is stupid because I’m the one who’ll be leaving at the end of this school year.
When he goes to Ashport with his father, and I go back to normal college life. Or at least semi-normal.
Good-bye is not what he says though.
Slowly, like he’s picking his words with care, Carrson murmurs, “Before…you know…had you ever?”
I know what he means.
Before Preston. Before prom night.
Had I ever had sex.
My tears are slowing. I shake my head against his chest, letting the motion speak for me because I don’t trust my voice not to crack.
Part of me spirals, my mind going to dark places. What if this changes how he sees me? What if he pulls away? Who could blame him? Who would want to deal with someone like me, who carries all this baggage, all this trauma, all these ugly, broken, jagged pieces?
I lift myself just enough to see his face.
“I want to, though,” I say, aware of the desperation in my voice, the way I’m showing him the darkest parts of myself.
“I need you to erase it, Carrson. Please, I need you to replace those memories with something different, something better.” I sniffle.
Softer, barely audible, I add, “Please don’t stop. Don’t give up. Don’t…go.”
I hate to beg, but for this I will.
Another tear slips down my cheek and Carrson catches it on his fingertip.
A sob breaks free, and it’s all too much.
I bury my face in his chest, inhaling his warm scent, pine and woodsmoke.
His arms tighten around me. He nuzzles his chin against the top of my head and says a soft, “Shh, shh. It’s okay.
You’re going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere.
” A kiss pressed against my hair, and he whispers, “I promise.”
That’s the moment I fall a little in love with Carrson Ashford.
Not when he’s teasing me, taunting me. Not when he’s training me, making me stronger. Not when he’s strutting around, being all alpha male. I like those parts of him, but they aren’t what unlocks the carefully guarded chambers of my heart.
It’s this.
When he holds me together, gathers the scattered pieces of me like each one is precious, and hands them back to me. When he glues them into place with gentle strokes of his hand down my arm, with the warmth of his chest beneath my cheek, a solid place I can land, every time I fall.
“It’s okay,” he repeats. “I’m not giving up. We just need to slow down a bit, go back a couple of steps.”
He shifts me again, gently, until my head rests on the pillow beside his. So I can look him in the eyes.
“Did you know,” he says softly, “I’ve never had sex with someone I knew before?” A long pause. “Someone I care about.”
“No,” I whisper, frowning as I process that. I think about all the stories of the prostitutes, the girls from town, that the sisters gossiped about.
“It’s new for me too,” he continues, his voice low and steady. “It’s different.” He tucks a wayward piece of hair behind my ear. “You’re different.”
He kisses me. Not a lava-scorching kiss this time.
Not wild and consuming. No, this is something else.
It’s tender. Steady. Still hot, but in a softer way.
It’s the warmth of a fireplace after coming in from the snow.
The feeling of a favorite sweater against bare skin.
Hands wrapped around a mug of steaming cocoa.
The kind of heat that doesn’t burn.
It stays, soaks in, lingers.
I thread my fingers into his hair and pull him close, lifting my head to kiss him harder.
He responds immediately, his mouth claiming mine while his hand trails down until it finds my breast. His fingers circle my nipple, lightly at first, then firmer as it stiffens under his touch.
I let out a soft moan.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, his mouth following the path of his hand. “You like that? When I touch you…”
His lips close over my breast, hot, wet, warm. He licks slowly, sucks my nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his velvet tongue.
I arch into him, my breath catching at the sensation, at the way he’s touching my breast, so soft, so focused, and how that touch sends a jolt through the rest of me, sharp and sweet. It lands low, right between my legs.
A shaky, involuntary “Oh” slips from my lips.
Carrson glances up, his brow lifting. “What?”
“How’re you doing that?” I ask breathlessly. “Touching me in one place but making it feel like it’s everywhere?”
He chuckles, low, warm. A tiny smile ghosts his lips like he’s pleased with himself.
He slides up my body, his lips brushing my ear, as he whispers a single word: “Magic.”
Just like that, he’s back. His mouth closes over one nipple, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles, while his other hand moves to the opposite breast, kneading gently. Every flick of his tongue makes me gasp, my breath stuttering, my hips shifting restlessly.
The ache between my legs grows more and more, deep, pulsing, until it’s almost unbearable.
I take matters into my own hands.
Literally.
I reach down, wrap my fingers around his wrist, and guide his hand lower.
He freezes.
Glances up.
I give him a look. One eyebrow raised. “I mean, you are magic,” I murmur, breathless but teasing. “Let’s see what other spells you can cast.”
Carrson huffs a surprised laugh, then groans, as I press his hand exactly where I want him. His fingers slide into the heat between my legs, and I let out a sharp, involuntary moan.
“Jesus, Laurel,” he breathes, his voice rough with awe. “You’re, fuck, you’re soaked.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, my hips rocking against his hand. “That’s kind of your fault.”
His fingers glide deeper, searching, questioning, growing more confident with every needy sound he pulls from me. Every gasp. Every groan. His eyes stay locked on mine, dark and intense, like he needs to see that I’m okay. That I want this.
He finds my clit easily and circles it gently, just once.
My whole body jolts.
“God,” I gasp, clutching the sheets, my hips rising to meet his rhythm.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmurs. “It’s fucking gorgeous.”
I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. Not with him. Not when he’s looking at me like this, like he wants to devour me and worship me all at once.
“More,” I beg, pressing harder into his hand. “Please.”
His breath catches, but he obeys. One finger eases inside me, slow and careful. I let out a shaky breath. The stretch is new but grounding, like I’m finally fitting back into my own skin.
“Still good?” he asks, his voice low.
I nod. “Better than good.”
He adds a second finger, curls the two of them just right, and stars burst behind my eyes, blinding me with their colorful light. A sound escapes me, raw and unfiltered, half-gasp, half-moan. I barely recognize it as mine.
Carrson groans in response. “I love that sound,” he whispers.
He kisses me, slow and deep, like he’s tasting the moment.
Not wanting to be selfish, to only take and not give, I slide my hands down his back, tracing every ridge of muscle, then lower, pushing him closer to me.
“I want to touch you too,” I whisper. My voice is steady, but inside I’m trembling, in a delicious, anticipatory way that makes every nerve hum.
He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. “Yeah?”
I nod.
I slide my hand between us, fingertips trailing over his stomach…lower…until I feel him against my palm, hard and hot.
His breath hitches.
Mine does too.
But I don’t stop.
I don’t want to stop.
From the way Carrson’s eyes darken as he watches me, he doesn’t want me to either.
My hand wraps around him, and holy hell, he’s as thick and hard as I imagined. Maybe more.
Carrson groans, growls, and buries his face in my neck like he’s trying to get a grip on himself. I give him a squeeze, watching the way his abs flex. His mouth drops open like he’s forgotten how to breathe.
“Jesus,” he pants, rocking into my hand. “You trying to break me?”
“Just curious. You know, testing your limits,” I murmur, teasing. I swipe my thumb across the head and feel the way he pulses under my touch. After a beat, I give him a sly smile. “Call it…a science experiment.”
Carrson lifts his head, his eyes blazing with a mix of lust and amusement. “Oh, we’re doing science now?”
I nod solemnly, biting back a grin. “Strictly academic.”
“Uh-huh.” He’s laughing. “Then allow me to demonstrate Newton’s third law,” he says, his mouth trailing down my throat.
I blink. “What?”
He grins against my skin. “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.” Quickly, no hesitation now, he slides two fingers inside me and hits the perfect rhythm.
“Oh my god.” My eyes roll back.
He lets out a low, dark laugh. “Knew you’d like that.” His breath scalds the curve of my neck. “Now lie still and be a good girl for me. I want to hear those sweet little sounds you make. Come on. Give it to me.”
“I don’t—” The protest dies in my throat, replaced by the moan he asked for as he curls his fingers just right again.
Carrson kisses the corner of my mouth. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “That’s what I want. So sexy. You’re perfect, just like this.”
He does it again, and I lose myself to sensation. The room swims a little, blurs at the edges, the world narrowing to the press of his body, the slide of skin, until soon I’m writhing under his touch. An orgasm grows in me, each muscle tightening.