Chapter 17
Amelie
He holds me steady at my waist as his other hand travels over the curve of my thigh, and when his thumb dips between my legs, my knees truly, properly buckle.
“Oh, God, Carter,” I whisper.
“Oh, cari?a, I’ve barely even started.”
“I’m not sure I’ll survive it, then.”
He freezes for a second and grins down at me. “You do realize you’re in charge, right? This is your show.”
My eyes widen. He thinks I’m the one in charge here? When I don’t answer, his lips kiss from my ear to my chin and down over my throat.
“I don’t know. Are you sure? I mean… I’ve never thought about being in charge during my first time.”
“Fuck, Amelie. You can’t remind me of that and expect me to hold onto this increasingly tenuous grasp I have on my control.”
“Maybe I don’t.”
“Maybe you don’t what?”
“Expect you to tether yourself for me.”
“That’s dangerous territory.”
“What about this?” I ask as I palm what feels like a steel rod behind his fly. “Is this dangerous territory?”
The groan that comes from his chest rumbles through our points of contact: my hand on his crotch and his still hovering between my legs. I squeeze, and he dips his thumb lower.
I take a step back, pulling him with me, not wanting his hands to leave my skin. He leans forward to kiss me, but I fall back onto the bed and let him follow me down. He catches himself on his free hand and hovers over me, but his fingers delve further between my thighs and take me by surprise.
“Oh!” I sputter out. The shock melts into pleasure, and the second “oh” is a long, drawn-out moan. The tip of one finger sinks into my heat and holds just past the opening.
“Why did you stop?” I ask incredulously.
He smirks. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I’m taking my time.”
I roll my eyes and huff. “Patience is overrated.”
“Is it now?”
“For me it is,” I say, canting my hips, trying to make his finger push in deeper.
“Just hold on,” he says with his hand on my hip, holding me to the bed. “Amelie. Hold…on.”
Our eyes meet, and there’s sincerity there. He really wants me to wait. This isn’t some ploy or party trick.
Damn it, he’s being way too sweet. This is a hookup, right?
“Okay. I’m holding. I’m still.”
“Good. Deep breath.”
We mirror each other, inhaling and exhaling long, slow breaths.
Okay, so maybe this is more than a hookup. At least, I think I want it to be.
“You’re incredible,” I whisper. I lay my hand on his cheek and feel the coarse stubble beneath my palm. “Where did you come from?”
“I think the question is ‘Where have you been all my life, Carter Ortiz?’”
I giggle and raise up on my elbows, kissing the smile off his face. The situation quickly becomes more intimate than I think either of us expected.
I’ve read lines in romance novels that made very little sense and seemed far too dramatized, but the man kissing me is one hundred percent making love to my mouth. The kiss is overwhelming and sedating, and it nearly makes me float away.
“Carter?”
“Hmm…”
“I really want to come.”
My statement shocks him, I can tell. His face recovers quickly, and I can only hope the refractory period is that short for other parts of his body.
“Can you tell me how? Will you tell me how?” he asks, peppering kisses across my face.
“How?”
“My mouth?” He kisses the corner of my lips.
“My fingers?” He drags them through my arousal.
“My cock?” He ruts against my thigh.
“How do you want me to make this pussy come?”
My eyes flare at his word choice. I read the novels, I watch the Netflix series, I hear the talk around the hospital — clinicians can be filthy-talking creatures. But I’ve never said anything like that. I’m a clinician who always reverts to the correct anatomical terms, but I immediately have a burning desire to use every single euphemism for a vagina and penis I’ve ever heard. I don’t know if I will or can, but I want to try.
“Surprise me,” I whisper, buying myself just a bit more time.