22. Carsyn
TWENTY-TWO
CARSYN
“ T here’s gotta be, I don’t know, more,” I offer, using his own words. “Something else, another task, more darkness—” I don’t know what else there is, but his dark eyes brim with foreboding. Still, I can’t. Whatever it is. I can’t. Not yet. “Just not yet. Please,” I beg, reaching for his hand. He takes it, and the feel of his large palm swallowing mine as his dark eyes eat me up is something I’ve never experienced.
His presence is all consuming, and still somehow, I want more. Maybe it’s knowing that he’s good and my gut wasn’t wrong. Maybe it’s allowing myself to go after the thing I’ve wanted since I discovered him in the bar that night. Maybe I’m crazy from being a hostage.
I don’t think I’m crazy.
In fact, things make more sense to me now than they ever did before.
“Please,” I beg, not putting words to what I really want, not saying all the graphic things I need and desire. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed, but with Garrison, it’s like I don’t need to say them. His instinct runs unbridled in tandem with mine, and he knows just what I need.
He strips out of his clothes, completely naked, and slowly strips me from mine. The way his knuckles feel gliding against my bare skin as he untangles my limbs with my top sends an electric current through my bones. Our eyes linger. He tugs off my pants and panties, and his gaze never leaves mine as he climbs into bed and crawls over me.
He’s hard, yet he hasn’t touched himself at all. I’m wet, and all I’ve done was watch him.
His cock presses against my stomach, heavy and rigid, promising a lifetime of pleasure. Mossy eyes pin me to the bed, and I run my hands over the rugged terrain of his chest, pulling gently at the coils of wiry, dark hair masking his muscles.
“Part of me wants to go back to life before this,” I whisper, spreading my legs wide underneath him. There’s so much pressure in my groin right now that if he reached between my legs and stroked my swollen clit, I might unravel in a second. His hot breath fans my lips as he kisses me, moving his tongue through my mouth with languid precision, like he’s been put on this earth equipped with just the right tools to calm me. Every stroke of his tongue against mine, the soft pass of his rough palm on my shoulder, the way his finger strokes through my hair—everything is exactly what I need before I even know I need it.
“But the rest of me is glad it did,” I whisper between kisses. Garrison hovers over me, his eyes on me as he reaches between our bodies, bringing his cock to my center.
“I was never gonna let anything happen to you,” he assures me, and I link my hands together behind his neck, nodding.
“I kept hating myself for wanting you,” I tell him, the truth spilling from me easily as he nudges himself inside my body, one slow, hot stroke at a time.
Garrison’s size is greater than any man I’ve ever been with, and I find myself sore as he moves inside me. His hips still, and though I know he isn’t a man to tenderly make love, I also know he wouldn’t hurt me.
Somewhere inside me, maybe I’ve always known that.
He pauses, letting my body accept his size, adjust around him, get used to the burn of his body spreading mine. I play with the ends of his hair, grazing my nails through his scalp. “But the idea of leaving you, now…”
He thrusts, the bed shakes, and my hands come to the side of his neck where I cling. “No one’s leaving anyone,” he manages, his voice rough. I hook my heels at his tailbone, urging him deeper, needing every rigid, unrelenting inch of him.
I want to watch the sharp features of his face twist and contort as he finds pleasure inside me, but I can’t help it. With Garrison’s cock stretching and filling me so perfectly, I can’t help but let my tired eyes fall closed, a pleasured moan lifting from my lips.
“There you go, Cars,” he hums, his voice crushed velvet. “Let me make you feel good, baby. Take my cock now, c’mon.” Beneath me, the mattress dips as he picks up his pace, fucking me in less measured strokes. I open my eyes to find perspiration glistening along his forehead, and I can’t help but smooth my hand there, pushing away his sweat and a strand of dark hair lost in it. I lick my fingers where I touched his sweat, and in return, Garrison’s mouth crashes to mine with a feral, somewhat possessive growl. His kiss steals my breath, and he pulls out, flipping me to my belly, pressing his chest to my back. His cock slides back inside me with ease, my body hungry and desperate for it.
“Can’t watch your pretty face,” he groans, smoothing his tongue down the back of my neck as he fucks me from behind.
The fullness hits differently at this angle, and each stroke of his cock in and out drives me closer and closer to my breaking point. He feeds his fingers through my hair, jerking my head back with tender force as he seals his lips to the soft bulb of my earlobe. “I’ve wanted inside you for months. You know that?”
His sweat splatters against my back, and my toes curl. The pillow is full of his scent, his hair and cologne, his whiskey and coffee. My ovaries burn with emptiness, and though he’s rutting into me with reckless abandon, I manage to lift my hips from the bed, my body hungry for more of him.
“Fuck, you wiggling that ass against my cock is dangerous, baby. Don’t you wanna come?” His kisses feather down my spine as he holds himself still inside of me. “You do. You love coming on my cock. The only time you’re at peace, not fightin’ and arguin’, isn’t that right Carsyn?”
“Yes,” I mumble, “yes, yes, yes.” I can’t follow all of his words anymore. My mind is untethered from the harsh realities that have taken place in Buffalo Trails, and in this house specifically. All I want now is to feel the splintering burn of being bred by a man like Garrison. To feel him pump himself into my body with the masculine fortitude that only he brings. To reach between my legs and feel his cum seeping out of me because there’s so much. To be his. To ride next to a man like him along my family’s property. To bring his child to my chest while moonlight floods my bare feet, in our home. That’s all I want. Him. Us. A life with him.
He killed to keep me safe.
With ease, he flips me over again, this time, rolling me onto my shoulder blades. With his hands hooked behind my knees, he sinks into me, our groans tangling. In this position, all of him is on display. The mountainous range of his strong shoulders, his powerful chest and long, thick, veiny cock. The hair on his chest, travelling down his belly to his groin, is trimmed neat around his cock. I love all the hair on his body, and my mouth burns to feel that hair on my face as I swallow every inch of him.
“Like what you see?” he growls down, hammering into me with enough force that the bed cries out, thudding against the wall.
I nod, my spine burning from the way he’s holding my knees nearly to my chest. I could tell him to loosen his grip, to let my legs down, to fuck me in missionary more calmly.
But I want to be rolled around, bent back and pinned by him. I want him to fuck me the way he needs, I want him to give himself to me in the way that makes him feel best.
Because all I want is his sweat on my tongue, his cum in my body, his chest against mine, his lips on my ear, his fingers in my hair, the scent of him etched into me. I want him. In his most feral, raw form.
I know he isn’t Garrison. That thought has been rattling around in my brain amidst everything else. But whoever he is, he’s the man he is when he’s with me, inside me, staring into my eyes. I know it with certainty the same way my gut knew I belonged to him, even amidst the chaos.
“Fill yourself up on it,” he groans, pulling out of me almost all the way, leaving the thick, ruddy head of his cock inside. He slams back into me, and my tits jiggle as my eyes roll closed, my hands spreading through the cool pockets of sheets beneath the pillows. The coil of desire unspools between my legs, and my pussy convulses around every inch of him.
“Oh god,” I moan, attempting to thrash but the weight of him holding me down proves too much. I lie there and moan, and take his beautiful cock deep, pulsing and flexing around him as every nerve ending in my body catches fire, my soul igniting as I crumble into orgasmic oblivion. “Yes, yes, ohmygod,” my words rush out on a shaky exhale, my chest trembling, thighs and shoulders, too.
Garrison releases my legs and braces each hand on either side of my face, his elbows pressing against my collarbone. He holds my gaze with his, intense and dark, and when his movements slow to a sway and powerful hips rove to a still, I know he’s about to come.
We had unprotected sex already.
Foolish, that’s what it is. An idiot—that’s what I’d call anyone who fucked a man bareback without a ring.
But here I am, clinging to him, my knuckles white, my nails sunk deep. Garrison’s grunt echoes around the room—his room—and the burst of warmth that spreads through my insides makes me moan.
“Good,” he rasps, his soft praise wrapping my spine, making my toes curl all over again. I’ve already orgasmed, but with the rapid pulsing of his cock inside me, throbbing, pumping out each burst of hot cum, I find my eyes rolling back, my body clenching and releasing all over again. “You look so good taking me,” he finishes, returning to gentle thrusts as I slap at his chest, tugging at the wiry hair, feral through my second orgasm.
When I’m breathless and we’re both riding the last wave of bliss to the shores of reality, Garrison hollows me, rocking to his knees. From somewhere nearby, he swipes his t-shirt and presses it to my bare pussy, absorbing the wet mess that leaks from me.
Unprotected sex pre orgasm is so fucking hot. The idea of being round with his babies while he’s pumping that veiny beast deep inside my swollen cunt is beyond fucking hot.
Now, with the urgency of coitus gone, I’m left with the reality of the choices I’ve made.
I don’t want a baby with just someone, anyone. I want a baby with my husband. Or at the very least, my partner.
He protected me, but there’s so much I don’t know about Garrison and projecting a dream isn’t fair. Not to mention, we’re not in love. I don’t know what we’re in, or what we’re even doing for that matter. And all at once, with my naked body still on display for him, the panic and anxiety of earlier returns.
Liam wasn’t even Liam. And now he’s dead and?—
“We can get you a Plan B in town, after,” he says, reading my mind. “I’m sorry I did that. Twice,” he offers, referring to the unprotected sex.
“I’m not,” I admit aloud, surprising myself a little even. “Wait—after what?”
Garrison hands me my clothes but doesn’t help me redress. I hold my things to my chest as I watch him step into his boxer briefs, then pull a white t-shirt from his drawer down over his chest. I wanted to sleep, to cuddle, to stroke my fingers over that chest for hours, to press my nose into the crook of his neck and absorb the masculine scent of him.
“After we call your brother.”