27. Carrie
TWENTY-SEVEN
CARRIE
He stood outside my door looking like a man who’d survived a shipwreck. His broad hands clung to the doorframe, powerful shoulders straining against the fabric of his shirt.
“Can I come in?” he asked, a note of yearning and desperation in his tone.
I paused. Time stood still between us, and I sensed the shifting sands beneath my feet. This was not Cole Christianson, my exacting boss and sometimes golf buddy.
This was the man I’d met in a hotel parking lot. The man who’d sipped liquor from a crystal glass while trailing his fingers on the inside of my knee.
I knew what letting him in meant. My heart began to thump. “I don’t know if you should,” I admitted, voice slightly hoarse.
His huff was self-deprecating. He pushed himself off the doorframe and ran his fingers through his hair, sparkles of gray winking as they moved against his mostly dark strands.
I knew—I knew —that I should make some excuse and close the door. I knew it like I knew the sun would come up in the morning, like I knew I would love Evie to the depth of my heart for the rest of my life. An undeniable truth.
I should’ve closed the door.
Instead, I asked, “Are you okay?”
His eyes were a dark storm in the middle of the ocean. They were the endless night sky. He looked at me for a long moment and finally shook his head. “Not really.”
Moving as if in a dream, I stepped aside and let him in. The first step he took over the threshold made my breath catch. As I closed the door, I caught a hint of his scent, the complicated blend of cologne and Cole. My head spun.
“Did something happen with your fiancée?” I asked after the door latched. I turned to face him, keeping my palms pressed against the door as if I needed to make sure I had a means of escape.
But the last thing I wanted to do was leave.
The intensity of his gaze belied the bitter twist of his lips. “Ex-fiancée,” he corrected. “She broke up with me.”
If I’d found out the world was ending, it would have shocked me less. “She—” I blinked twice. Three times. “Why?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Swallowing thickly, I felt the heat of his gaze as it trailed down my body. Finally, he answered, “She’s in love with someone else, apparently.”
“Oh.” I exhaled. “I’m so sorry.”
“You know, it’s the funniest thing.” He took a step toward me, and suddenly I regretted keeping myself pinned against the door. He filled my vision; all I could see was the dark fabric of his shirt, the tousled hair he’d run his fingers through one too many times, the harsh line of a stubble-covered jaw.
“What’s so funny about breaking up with your fiancée?” I asked, my body beginning to tremble. Alarm clanged through me, but it was distant, distant. Some faraway corner of my mind—the part of it that was still thinking rationally—sounded out a warning. Things were quickly spiraling out of control.
He took another step toward me. “The funniest thing is that when she left a couple of hours ago, the most intense feeling I had was relief.” Another step. The toes of his shoes brushed the tips of my bare feet. “Relief, Carrie, because?—”
“Cole,” I interrupted with a whisper. “Cole…” I closed my eyes, but I didn’t move. His hand slipped over my hip, and fine trembling overtook my body.
“I need you,” he said, and those three simple words completely undid any defenses I could’ve erected against him.
When I opened my eyes, I knew I’d lost the battle against good sense. My shoulders softened, and I lifted my palms to his chest. Sliding them up to tease at the collar of his shirt, I felt the hard tenseness of his muscles beneath my touch. His eyes were liquid night. His fingers pressed into my hip, moving me closer to him with deliberate slowness.
“Carrie?”
“Yes,” I breathed—and he kissed me. It was more than a kiss, really. It was a dam breaking. It was seven years of secret yearning bearing down on me, drowning me in a rush. I realized I was clinging to him, my fingernails digging into the hard sinew of his shoulders, when he let out a rough grunt and pinned me to the door with his hips.
A rough laugh slipped through his lips to brush against mine, and he pulled away to look at me with wild eyes. “I didn’t imagine it,” he said, one hand coming up to slide over the nape of my neck.
“Imagine what?”
“Our first meeting. How fucking good you tasted.”
My reply was swallowed by his next kiss. It was desperate and messy and so good I wanted to cry.
For seven years, I’d focused on making good decisions for my daughter, for myself. I’d taken my experience with Derek and told myself, Never again . Never again would I let a man make me feel small. Never again would I let my boundaries be stomped by someone who couldn’t even work a washing machine properly. Never again would I let my own insecurities, my own weakness, shape my life into something I didn’t want.
For seven years, I’d succeeded.
And several short weeks ago, that resolve had begun to crumble, like a tiny stream of water eating away at my foundations, hour after hour, day after day.
The right thing to do for my daughter was to stop this, step away, and tell him the truth. Having sex with Cole was a horrible idea in every conceivable way. It would make it that much harder to tell him about Evie. It might muddy the waters legally. It would definitely muddy the waters professionally.
But there was one problem, one key area where giving myself to Cole right now was the exact right decision: I wanted to do it .
I wanted that weightless feeling again, the one I’d only experienced in his arms. I wanted him to look at me like no one existed. A lonely gap in my heart was begging to be patched after all these years of selfless toiling.
I wanted to be selfish , for once. I wanted to feel good.
His grip on my hair tightened, and liquid heat flooded between my legs. He slid his other hand from my hip down to my knee, pulling my leg up so he could press his hips against mine. The tips of his fingers slipped under my dress, and I exhaled sharply.
“Missed this,” he growled, his lips coasting over my jaw. “Missed you .”
His words made me soar. I turned my head and caught his lips, mumbling, “Me too,” between kisses. I knew it was just the heady intensity of the moment talking. He hadn’t actually missed me. And I…I wasn’t sure what I felt. All I knew was that the pinpricks of pain in my hair when he pulled my head back made pleasure tighten below my navel, and that the way his other hand swept up my flank to tease at the edge of my panties was almost enough to make me climax.
Yelping as he hooked his hands under my butt to pick me up, I laughed and clamped my arms around his neck. His body was so warm and hard and mine . Not forever. Maybe not even for the night. But for right now , it was mine.
“After I left the hotel, I tasted you on my tongue for the rest of the day,” he admitted, voice low as his lips traced the pulse racing in my neck. “I didn’t want to brush my teeth that night.”
A truth for a truth: “I kept hoping you’d turn around and knock on my door again. ”
“I almost did.”
I exhaled at his admission. He carried me to the bed and laid me down on top of the covers, his palm pressing the mattress down next to my head. With his knees nudging mine apart, I felt as giddy and as free as I had the first time.
His hand dipped under my dress again, and this time he didn’t stop at the edge of my underwear. With his body propped over mine, Cole slipped his hand against the core of me, where I was already wet and wanting for him. He groaned low and long, eyes flickering shut as his fingers trailed through the evidence of my arousal.
“Still so wet for me.”
What else did he expect? “I dreamed of this for weeks afterward,” I admitted.
His lids were at half-mast, eyes dark as pitch. One finger slid inside me as his lips parted on an exhale. “So it wasn’t just me, then.”
“You dreamed of me too?” My voice caught on the last word, back arching at his touch.
“Thought of you, dreamed of you, jerked off to you.” He added another finger and curled them just so, the corner of his lips tugging at the sound of my gasp. “Imagined you just like this, Carrie. Splayed out on the bed with my fingers inside you.”
“Just your fingers?”
He barked out a rough laugh and dragged his thumb over my clit. The sizzle of pleasure that went through me was intense. I gasped and arched, clawing at his shirt. I pulled it up until I felt skin, and then let my hands roam free over the broad planes of his body. His skin burned as hot as his gaze. I ripped at the black fabric, laughing when buttons popped off.
“Oops,” I said, and tore at the rest of the fastenings to get the garment off him.
The curl of his lips was wicked, and a moment later, he had my undies in his fist, tugging hard enough to rip them clean off. “Oops,” he repeated back at me.
I laughed, delighted. I’d forgotten about this—the fun . I’d forgotten that it wasn’t just a sizzling connection between us. It wasn’t just sex. It was laughter and teasing, it was true intimacy. Riding high on the feeling, I twisted my hips and pushed him down to his back so I straddled him. He made a low, surprised noise and then placed his hands on my hips, under my dress. His thumbs made slow sweeps over my hipbones, and I settled onto him until I felt the hardness of his erection beneath me. His pants and underwear were between us, but the friction of the fabric against my sensitive flesh was a delicious rasp.
At the first rock of my hips, Cole let out a low hiss. “Carrie,” he said, lids fluttering shut. “Fuck.” His hands spasmed, gripping me hard for a moment before softening.
I did it again, propping my hands on his shoulders for leverage. A strand of hair fell against my cheek as I rocked myself against him.
Cole gave me a dark smile, thumbs tracing my hipbone once more. “You look so perfect like this, Carrie.” Bringing one hand out from under my dress, he used his index finger to push one strap of my dress off my shoulder.
I sat up, increasing the pressure of my hips against his. His cock was just beneath me, a hard ridge I wanted to ride. So, as I slipped the other strap off, I rocked my hips and savored the delicious press of his cloth-covered cock against my clit.
When I pulled the neckline of my dress down far enough to expose my breasts, I said, “I’m making a mess of your pants.”
“Good,” Cole replied, his hand sliding over my chest to palm at my breast. With slight pressure from his hand wrapped around my hip, he urged me to lean forward and rock myself against him. Our panted breaths mingled, my swinging, disheveled hair brushing against his face.
It wasn’t like me to be this brazen. Sure, I had fantasies. I’d even gone on a few dates over the years and slept with a few men. But those encounters had been stilted, awkward, and usually unsatisfying. I hadn’t been able to get out of my head.
With Cole, it was different. My head didn’t even exist. Rational thought had disappeared from the moment he’d stepped over the threshold into my room. I was just a body that craved him. I was a collection of wants and needs, at the mercy of my own urges.
And I loved it.
I loved the way he grabbed my hip and guided my movements to be deeper, harder. I loved the feel of his hand on my breast, the way he teased my nipple with his fingers and then soothed the ache with his palm. I loved the euphoric look in his eyes, the joy and the lust and all that attention that belonged only to me.
I loved how hard he was, even though we still had most of our clothes on.
And when I shuddered to orgasm above him, I loved the low, rasping praise he gave me. He told me how good I looked on top of him. How he’d dreamed of this a thousand times, but the reality was better. How he couldn’t wait to bury himself inside me.
My climax was hot, bright, and intense. My knees clenched against his sides, fingernails curling into his shoulders. I gasped, a short cry falling from my lips as he urged me on. “That’s it,” he said. “God, I missed this. Come for me, Carrie.”
A haze of lust had descended over my vision. Blinking through it, I watched the way his golden skin shifted over his muscular frame. I sighed as he eased me onto my back and kneeled between my spread legs, his dark eyes taking in the sight of my body. He looked at me like he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
His hands trembled as he fished a condom out of…somewhere. A wallet, maybe? I didn’t care. I was too busy brushing the hair off my damp forehead and trying to gather whatever scraps of my wits still remained. A pointless endeavor—because as soon as he was sheathed, Cole gathered the skirt of my dress up and gripped it in a tight fist over my abdomen with one hand, guiding himself to my entrance with the other.
He hadn’t even taken off his pants. His belt jangled as he moved, the buckle cold against the skin of my inner thigh.
Then I felt the press of him. We exhaled in unison, my legs trembling as he pushed himself just inside me. Eyes flicking up to meet mine, Cole arched his brows. The look asked, Is this okay ?
I almost laughed. It was more than okay, and it was so far from okay because I wanted so, so much more. In response, I curled my legs around him and pulled him toward me.
That was the only encouragement he needed. With my dress still crumpled in one fist, Cole hooked one arm around my thigh and drove himself inside me. It was fast and shocking and perfect. I cried out, hands flying out to grip the duvet as my back arched.
Cole swore. “You okay?”
“Stop asking me that.”
“It’s the first time I’ve said it,” he argued, hips pinned against mine.
I was so full it made my eyes water, and I still wanted more. “You’ve been thinking it this whole time.”
He huffed a laugh. “Fair.”
“Where’s the guy who made me beg for his cock? What happened to that guy?”
A dangerous light entered Cole’s eyes. “I’m right here, sweetheart,” he replied, then rolled his hips back and snapped them forward in one smooth motion.
The cry that left me was entirely unintentional, and Cole’s sinful laughter twined around my heart and held it tight. My fingers tightened their grip on the duvet as I met his gaze, and I couldn’t help the smile that spread over my face.
Cole moved like he’d been holding back for far too long and his willpower was shot. After all, hadn’t it been seven years? He drove himself into me, using my dress for leverage, until my voice was hoarse and my legs trembled with the aftershocks of another orgasm .
Then I found myself on my stomach, a strong grip pulling my hips up to position them where he wanted them. I moaned as he drove himself inside me, too far gone to make words. My muscles clung on for dear life, the only things holding me up being Cole’s hands and the tight grip that lust still had on me.
“Did you look for me, Carrie?”
I turned my head and looked over my shoulder. “What?”
“You never answered my question earlier.” His hips snapped forward, drawing a whine from my lips. “Did you look for me? Before?”
Distantly, I was aware that this was dangerous territory. We’d crossed a thousand lines already, but this particular one…it felt dangerous. It was fine to admit that we hadn’t wanted our first encounter to end. It was okay to admit that we’d had fantasies.
But to tell him that I’d tried to make those fantasies a reality? To admit that our connection had felt real then—and it felt real now?
That was a risk. After all, this man wasn’t just an old fantasy come back to life. This was my boss. The father of my child.
But all that reasoning was buried under the sensation of his body driving into mine, his hands stroking my hips and ass, his voice stroking my skin like velvet. In that moment, with another climax beginning to tighten the muscles of my inner thighs, it didn’t matter that we were walking onto quicksand. Who cared about consequences, when action felt so damn good?
“Did you look for me, Carrie?” His question came once more, just as he pulled his cock almost entirely out of me and slowed right down as he entered me again. His arm curled around my stomach and pulled me upright so my back was to his chest, palm pressed between my breasts to keep me pinned to his body.
I curled an arm behind my head to wrap it around his neck, turning so that my lips brushed his.
Our movements stilled. His eyes were dark as night as he watched me, the only sound in the room our broken breaths.
“Yes,” I said, so quietly I wondered if he could hear me. “I looked for you for almost a year. I went back to the hotel nearly every week for months. I read stupid business magazines hoping to see your face.”
His laugh was just a soft exhale that washed over my lips. As Cole’s arm tightened around me, his eyes softened. “I scheduled every business meeting at that hotel for over six months,” he admitted softly.
My heart thumped so hard it felt like it crowded out my lungs. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against his temple, and the tenor of our movements changed. It was no longer a frantic, scorching coupling. It was so much more.
Cole’s hips rolled into mine, slow and steady. His palm stroked my skin, dipping down to tease my nipples with a feather-soft touch. I slid my palm over his other hand and let out a trembling exhale as he slid his hand between my legs. Every movement was slow, deliberate.
It felt like we were admitting a deep, hidden truth: this—whatever this was between us—was real .
And in that moment, as pleasure flayed me and left me raw, I believed in that truth. I believed there was a future for us, that this connection had to mean something. We were destined to be together. We belonged with each other. We belonged to each other.
Why else would life have brought us crashing back into each other after so many years?