26. Sydney
twenty-six
sydney
I rush away from the armed stranger, back down the way I came with my friends. I swing around the corner, into the lit section.
His footsteps are right behind me.
I make it down another straight section before he catches me. He grabs the back of my hoodie and slows me down, then swings me sideways into the back of a car. I catch myself, gasping in shock, and twist sharply.
His hold—they’re a him for sure—is ripped away, but I only make it three more steps before he’s on me again.
This time we go down in a tumble. He lands on top of me, his knees on either side of my hips. He drags my head up by my hair, and the cool edge of the blade presses to my throat. He climbs off of me and gets me up, first to my knees and then standing.
He directs me back up into the shadowed part, pushing me between cars.
I don’t breathe.
“Such a valiant fight,” he whispers in my ear.
Carter.
The knife blade pricks at my skin. He drags his free hand through my hair, tossing it over my shoulder, and his lips touch the crook of my neck a second later.
Doesn’t matter that he’s still got the knife against my throat, that he could cut me at any second.
“Undo your jeans,” he orders.
I inhale.
“Now.”
I do it. My fingers tremble on the button, but I get it free and drag the zipper down. He keeps kissing my neck, moving up higher to just behind my ear.
“Sweatshirt off.”
He backs up long enough for me to tear it off and drop it on the hood of the car next to us.
“Turn around.”
I do. Carter’s expression is different. Hotter, darker. He drinks me in, his gaze roving from my unbuttoned jeans to my V-neck t-shirt. It exposes too much cleavage, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Now get on your knees.”
I meet his gaze. His blue eyes burn, and I reach up and push the hood off his head. His blade flicks out and nicks my collarbone. I gasp at the tiny cut. It doesn’t hurt so much as it’s surprising, and we both look down at the blood that wells up.
“You wanted to know this,” he says. “Now fucking kneel.”
I don’t know why I’m listening to him. Maybe there’s already the slightest bit of trust there, but?—
He unbuttons his jeans and shoves them down enough to free his erection. I lick my lips in anticipation.
“Suck,” he says softly. He runs the blade down the side of my face.
I try not to flinch, but when I inch away from the tip, he grips my hair with his other hand. I open my mouth and take him in, sucking and licking around the head. Getting my bearings, then bobbing deeper. He groans above me, both hands now on my head. The metal handle of his knife touches my scalp.
Lust flares through me. I reach up and use my hand to aid my mouth, twisting around the base of his shaft and slipping to his balls when I push him deeper. Almost to my throat.
He pulls out suddenly, yanking me up and turning me around. He bends me over the hood of the car beside us and drags my pants down. I shiver with anticipation. He doesn’t make me wait long, shifting behind me and pressing close.
His dick slips through my arousal, and he lines up at my entrance.
I gasp when he thrusts inside. He moves fast, and a prick of pain on my ass distracts me. I cry out and slap my hand over my mouth.
“Shameful girl.” He pulls my hand away from my mouth. “Don’t hide your beautiful voice from me.”
He changes angles. But there’s this pain that accompanies each thrust that my muddled mind can’t seem to figure out.
He leans over me, covering my back with his torso, and cups my breasts through my shirt and bra. The knife clatters on the hood above my head, and I focus for a minute on the blade.
There’s blood on the tip.
I make a noise low in my throat as he plays with my breasts and fucks me. Every thrust sends my hips into the car. The whole thing rocks with the force.
My hand creeps down between my legs, and I rub my clit.
“Fuck, you feel good like this.”
Car headlights swing across the garage.
I freeze, but he doesn’t stop. He fucks me with just as much vigor—maybe more—while the car gets closer and closer. It’s driving down, searching for a parking spot.
Before it reaches us, it turns into one.
I let out a breath—but then their voices drift toward us.
They’re out of the car. Of course they are, they have to get out of the parking garage. My mind is so focused on them, I barely notice that Carter’s pulled out. He spins me around and sits me on the hood, immediately sinking back in.
He stretches me so deliciously, my core clenches around the invasion automatically. I’m going to leave a wet spot on the hood of the car, but that’s just a fleeting thought.
Pleasure has me in its grip.
He leans in and bites the top of my breast. I cry out again, doing nothing to smother the sound. He bites and sucks at my chest, finally taking one of my sensitive nipples into his mouth. His fingers land on my clit and rub.
Harder than he has before.
Harder than I do.
But I’m panting, and it’s all I can do not to fall over. I hold on to the back of his neck. My fingernails bite into him, leaving crescent-moon-shaped indents.
Without warning, I come.
And I scream.
He catches my mouth, cutting off the sound with his tongue. He tastes my lips, every inch of me, while his hands both move to my ass. His fingers dig in, lifting me with every thrust until I’m seeing stars again.
My orgasm seems drawn out, a never-ending spiral.
And when he comes, he bites my lower lip. Blood fills my mouth. He keeps kissing me, sharing that metallic flavor.
Finally, we both go still.
He pulls out of me, meeting my gaze.
His blue eyes seem almost black.
“Too much?” he asks.
I shake my head wordlessly.
“If this doesn’t confirm you’re my dream girl, I don’t know what would.” His voice is tinted with awe.
He helps me off the hood of the car and turns me around. There’s a flash of his camera—I nearly jump out of my skin—but he just shows me the screen.
My ass. My bleeding ass cheek.
He carved his name into it.
He smirks at me, waiting for my reaction.
I…
I crane around to get a better look. A drop of blood on the T rolls down my cheek, but other than that the cuts are light and almost artistic.
“Are you still drawing?”
I whip back around. He pulls my panties and jeans back up, making quick work of buttoning me back together.
“Are you?”
“I haven’t since I transferred,” I admit. “I didn’t even run for a while. It just felt like a lot.”
“But you’re writing.”
“Not in the sense you’re thinking,” I hedge.
Because I used to write poetry and draw little charcoal images to accompany them, and that journal hasn’t left the bottom drawer of my desk since I first moved in and threw it there.
“Could help you.” He leans down and kisses me again.
I go up on my toes, willing him to kiss me more. Deeper. I wrap my arms around his neck and press myself into him. His arms come around the small of my back. His tongue strokes along the seam of my lips, willing me to open for him.
My body is tingling by the time we break apart.
He reaches around me and snags my sweatshirt, pushing it into my chest. “You might want to keep that on until you get a new shirt.”
I look at my t-shirt.
There’s a bloody handprint over my breast.
I scowl, but I can’t even stay mad.
I can think of two guys who might be pissed the next time they see me…
“How is this so easy?” I ask him.
He flicks my gold necklace. The gift from Penn.
“Nothing about this is easy. Doesn’t mean I’m going to give up on it, though.” He lifts his chin. “Game time. No doubt you’ll be missed if you’re not there for the puck drop.”
My chest tightens.
But he’s right. I just hate that I’m being pulled in two different directions.