Chapter Eighteen
Kenna
Oh my God, did I really just do that?
I’ve never been this forward with a man before. I’m not sure what’s come over me.
I look from the towel on the floor up into his eyes. His incredible hazel eyes that are currently begging me not to pick up the towel. Not to give it back to him.
I want to pick up the towel. I should pick up the towel.
But the way he’s looking at me is unlike any way I’ve ever been looked at before.
Even by my own husband. So—even though this can go nowhere, and regardless of the fact that I’ve fallen in love with every man I’ve ever slept with, and ignoring my mind screaming at me that this is a colossal mistake—I throw all caution to the wind and walk into his arms.
With zero hesitation, he hoists me up and I wrap my legs around him as he carries me into his bedroom, shutting the door with his foot before pressing me up against the wall.
I look down into his eyes, loving the way he’s holding me like my weight is inconsequential.
He’s strong, protective, and confident, yet somehow vulnerable.
All the things I love in a man despite having hooked up with men who were the complete opposite.
“You sure?” he asks. “Because if I get you out of this robe, I won’t be able to control what happens next.”
I swallow at all the images swirling through my head. All the things that could happen next.
“That came out wrong.” He winces. “This will only go as far as you want, Kenna. I prom—”
“Carter, will you shut up and kiss me already?”
A radiant smile works up his face as I lower my head and press my mouth against his.
Instantly, his lips part and his tongue finds mine in an explosion of all the best flavors, leaving my head swimming in dizziness.
This kiss is nothing like the last one. It’s not light and flowery and gentle.
It’s intense. Urgent. As if we both got to the point where we need it more than want it.
Like our hunger for each other has become so powerful it’s feral.
We devour each other’s lips, tongues, mouths, until we’re panting so hard it’s difficult to breathe.
He shifts me in his arms and walks me over to the bed.
He lays me down and I’m enveloped by the scent permeating his sheets.
My eyes close as I bathe in the smell that’s inherently him.
It’s a fantasy I’ve had frequently over the past week…
to be surrounded by him. Consumed by him. And now I’m living it.
The side of the bed dips with his weight, and my eyes open as he climbs on top of me, hovering, staring into my eyes, maybe asking permission.
I reach up and pull his head down toward me.
When his lips meet my neck, I groan. When his hand slips beneath my robe and over my thin cami, skimming the underside of my breast, I arch up into him.
When he presses his erection against my thigh, my arms snake around him, hands grabbing the firm globes of his ass as I hold him against me.
“You feel so good,” he sighs into my ear.
He sits up and straddles me, pushing the two halves of my robe aside and lifting my cami to reveal my breasts. “Kenna.” He blinks and stares at my bare chest like he’s at a total loss for words. “You’re… Jesus, you’re perfect.”
Carter’s voice—low, throaty, and so incredibly sexy—is like butter on warm bread. Only I’m the one who’s melting.
Maybe it’s because he called me perfect when no other man has.
Or because I haven’t done this in well over a year.
Perhaps it’s because he’s taken on the role of white knight to my damsel in distress.
But before I can attempt to figure out exactly why I’m having this physical, emotional, and, let’s face it, existential reaction to being near him, his mouth comes down on my breast and all sense of…
everything… vanishes. It’s just him and me, and we’ve entered this bubble where it’s just us.
No kids. No money issues. No volatile exes. No estranged fathers.
No fear.
Just pure unadulterated joy.
As his head swivels from breast to breast, toying, nibbling, and tasting each nipple, I run my hands down his strong back, feeling every muscle, every rib, each light wisp of hair.
With gentle fingertips, I trace his tattoo from memory, certain the intricate design will be etched into my fantasies until the end of time.
He sits up and shifts off me. “One of us is still overdressed.”
I glance down at his penis. It’s hard and long and twitches under my perusal. “It’s definitely not you.” I hold my arms out to the side in an invitation for him to do the honors.
He wastes no time. Gently, he slides my arms out of my robe like he’s unwrapping the most delicate, fragile present. “Arms up,” he rasps.
Pulling my cami over my head, he tosses it aside as his gaze homes in on my sleep shorts.
They almost come off by the sheer will of his heated stare.
Sliding them down my legs is nothing short of torture.
When my panties follow, every graze of his fingers both tickle and tantalize my thighs, my inner knees, my toes.
He retraces his way up my legs, this time with his tongue.
I cry out an audible whimper. Seriously—what’s come over me?
He stops, pulls back, and looks up at me with concern. “Kenna? You okay?”
“So okay,” I say, my head falling back onto the pillow.
Chuckling, he resumes his position down… there. The anticipation of what he’s going to do next has my heart pounding against my chest wall.
The question is answered when he sinks a finger inside me. When he adds a second, I push myself on him, needing him deeper. Longer. Needing him so desperately it’s like I’m not even myself anymore. Over the past five minutes, I’ve become utterly obsessed with the man in this bed.
Who am I kidding? I was obsessed with him long before then.
His thumb lands on my clit and I exhale more audible groans, moans, and sighs, which only drive him to work harder.
My insides are on fire. My skin is warm and tingly. My pulse is racing. The orgasm building inside me is like a sneeze that needs to come out but stubbornly holds its ground, refusing to hit until exactly the right moment. And oh, how I need it. Please. Please. Please.
Then, it’s gone. He’s gone. And my entire body screams in protest. My mouth almost screams as well, until I see him opening a drawer and pulling out a condom. He doesn’t put it on yet. He simply lays it next to him.
He sees me eye the square package in confusion. Settling between my thighs again, he pulls my hips until his mouth is almost touching me, then says with a breath that I can feel, “You first.” Before the last word leaves his lips, his mouth is on me. His tongue in me.
I fist the sheets as he feasts on me. His tongue is in and out.
Up and down. Swirling. Teasing. Tempting.
He sucks on my clit and fills me with his fingers, crooking them in search of the place that will surely bring me to heights I’ve never reached before.
He could stop right this moment and this experience would still surpass any other.
But he doesn’t stop. Not even close. He pushes on, determined to make good on his promise.
Moments later, he does.
My hands grip his shoulders, my fingers digging into his flesh as my pelvis bucks against him while I gloriously fall apart beneath him, swirling into a cloud of fantasy, ecstasy, and euphoria, an earthquake of emotions pulsating through me.
Before I can even remember where I am, he’s pushing inside me, his rhythmic thrusts in perfect synchronization with every beat of my heart. I wrap my calves around him, my lower half lifting off the bed each time he pulls back.
His face contorts into an expression of painful and pleasurable bliss as he thrusts once more. “Kenna… Jesus… ungh…” He stills inside me, his back arched as he rides his own climactic wave.
Fully spent, he collapses down onto me, his face nuzzling into my neck. When he realizes his weight has stolen the breath out of me, he rolls to the side, staring at me under the bright overhead light neither of us bothered to turn off.
I don’t dare tell him he’s just given me the best orgasm I’ve ever had. That’ll remain a secret I carry with me when I’m gone.
A sudden wave of sadness roils through me. Wave? No, it’s a dang tsunami. Because what I feared would happen… has. I’ve one-hundred-percent fallen for the guy lying next to me.
Oblivious to my inner musings, he chuckles. “Well, that was unexpected.” He runs a finger down my right arm. “Amazing, but unexpected.” He motions to a door on his left. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”
I shake my head. Because at this point, I simply have no words. I’m going to walk out of here in a few days. A week at most. And I’m going to take my broken, fragile heart with me.
“Be right back then,” he says, hopping out of bed.
I stare after him, once again admiring his large back tattoo, when something else catches my eye.
It’s another smaller tattoo on his right calf.
It too is black and white, but with a splash of something green on top.
He’s too far away for me to make it out.
What is it? Why did he get it? There’s a reason behind every tattoo, and I’m suddenly eager to know his… and everything else about him.
But I won’t ask. Because knowing more about him might make it even harder to leave.
I should leave well enough alone. I should take this memory and keep it in a little box in the back of my mind. I can pull it out from time to time to get me through the lonely days ahead. The tortuous nights. Through a lifetime of never finding another… him.
I should get up. Go downstairs and stay there until I pack our things and go.
But I don’t.
I don’t because I’m foolish.
I don’t because my body is still thrumming.
I don’t because deep down, I want what every other woman wants. I want the fairy tale.
Even deeper down, though, is the voice telling me I can’t have it.