4. Catalina
Catalina
I ’m mid-sip of my iced matcha, humming to myself in the kitchen, when I feel him.
That heavy, unavoidable presence fills the doorway, and when I look up, Carter’s leaning there, shirtless, sweat-soaked, jaw clenched, blue eyes blazing like wildfire.
“Darlin’,” he drawls, “you wanna come see the new bathroom before I fuck you?”
The straw slips from my lips. “What happened to hello?”
He stays still, without blinking. “You heard me.”
My pulse races, but I set my glass down with exaggerated calm, flicking my hair over my shoulder. “That’s it? No ribbon cutting? No speech about tile and grout?”
His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Catalina. Upstairs. Now.”
I make a show of it, of course. Swaying my hips as I begin up the stairs, knowing his eyes are fixed on me. I trail my fingers along the banister and glance back over my shoulder to see the way his jaw ticks.
Halfway up, his big hand palms my ass and squeezes hard.
I yelp, laughing breathlessly. “Carter!”
“Keep walkin’, baby,” he growls, close behind me, his hand lingering as I climb. “You’re not gettin’ out of this one.”
Heat floods me, every step sending sparks higher. By the time we reach the landing, my legs are trembling, and it has nothing to do with the stairs.
When I walk into the bathroom, I freeze.
It’s gorgeous.
Sleek black fixtures glint against marble countertops, the mirror spans the entire wall, and the tub, fuck, the tub, is broad, deep, practically begging for lavender bubbles and an all-day soak. Gold hardware shines like jewelry under soft light, making the whole space warm and inviting, brand new.
I turn, ready to gush, to tell him he’s amazing, to kiss him stupid for how perfect it is?—
But Carter doesn’t give me the chance.
His arm hooks around my waist, and suddenly I’m over his shoulder with a squeal, his grip firm, as his shoulder digs into my stomach.
“Babe!” I shriek, pounding weakly at his bare back as he carries me out of the bathroom. “I didn’t even get to admire it properly!”
“You can admire it later,” he says as his palm slaps my ass. “Right now, I’m claimin’ what’s mine.”
The world tilts as he strides down the hall with purpose, and I can’t stop laughing.
He kicks open our bedroom door; I’m undone—giddy, feral, and his.
The door slams behind us, and the sound rattles through me as Carter sets me down on the bed. For a man who just dragged me through the house like a sack of flour, the way he lowers me now is gentle.
I love how this man is a puddle for me.
My chest rises and falls too quickly, adrenaline coursing through my veins. His blue eyes lock onto me as he stands at the edge of the mattress, his broad shoulders moving, jeans low on his hips, and his backwards hat still clinging to his head.
“You drive me insane, baby,” he says, taking off his hat and tossing it onto the dresser.
I smile up at him, fluttering my lashes. “Good, that’s my job.”
His lips twitch, but there’s no humor in his eyes, only hunger.
He climbs onto the bed, the mattress dips, and suddenly he’s hovering over me, braced on his forearms, so close I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
My breath stutters.
His nose brushes mine, a whisper of contact that makes me ache. “All day, Catalina,” he whispers, “You’ve been torturing me. Walking around our house naked, smirking, knowing I couldn’t touch you until the bathroom was done.”
I lick my lips, puckering up to give him a quick kiss. “Maybe I liked watching you suffer.”
A growl rumbles out of him, vibrating through my chest. His hand slides down, his rough palm tracing the outside of my thigh, as he moves higher, squeezing until I gasp.
“You think this is a game?” he asks as his mouth brushes my cheek.
I arch against him, shamelessly. “I think you like it when I play with you.”
For a beat, all he does is hover there, breathing me in, holding me down with his weight and his stare.
The tension coils tighter and tighter, so thick I could drown in it. My body hums with anticipation, desperate for him to break.
Finally, Carter slowly lowers his mouth to mine.
The kiss isn’t rushed.
It’s slow, achingly slow, like he wants to savor every second of finally tasting me again. His lips move against mine, and I melt into it, whimpering when his tongue slides against mine.
He pulls back, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ragged. “Bathroom’s done,” he rasps, “no more waitin’, darlin’.”