15. Carter
Carter
W e’re alone.
And I don’t mean casual, might-get-interrupted-alone.
I mean her and me. No one else. Nothing between us. No distractions. No distance. No damn excuses.
Just the two of us.
Together.
Mine.
This house is old. Older than any place I’ve ever been. Wards hum in the walls like distant thunder, quiet and protective.
There’s a charge in the air— magic, time, memory —but nothing that matters more than the scent of her .
There are no footsteps echoing on the creaky stairs. No voices rising up the corridor. No other Shifters, witches, or meddling matchmakers lingering nearby.
No one to stop me.
No one to stop us.
Just my sweet Kitten.
MJ with her wild curls, kiss-bruised lips, and a dress that’s about five seconds from being torn in half.
With her flushed cheeks and that look in her eyes—the one that says I’m yours even if she hasn’t figured it out yet.
My mate.
And, fuck me sideways, the sheer need roaring through my blood has me walking a razor’s edge.
My Lion is barely restrained, stalking beneath my skin, demanding to claim her.
Mark her. Bite her. Own her.
Make her ours.
But I hold the line.
Barely.
I kiss her because it’s the only thing keeping me sane. Because if I say how badly I need her, how long I’ve waited, I’ll scare her off.
If I show her what I feel, it’ll be too much too soon.
So I just keep kissing her.
Hard. Deep. Slow.
Like I’m drowning, and she’s the only oxygen left on earth.
She gasps against my mouth, and I take that as an invitation. My tongue slides against hers, claiming, coaxing, tasting.
She’s so warm, so sweet, her lips parting wider, her hands fisting in my shirt as she whimpers into the kiss.
My hands are on her hips. No— her firm, plump ass .
Then her back.
I can’t keep still. I need to touch her everywhere.
I want to know her body like I know my own.
Want her mapped into me, like a tattoo under the skin.
She says something against my mouth, but I can’t make out the words. Doesn’t matter.
I already know what she’s asking for.
I feel it in every tremble of her limbs.
I scoop her up like she weighs nothing, cradling her against my chest as I carry her further inside the room—the low-lit lounge still heavy with magic and moonlight.
She clutches me like I’m her whole world.
I am.
Just like she’s mine.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
“I want you, and I’ll do anything to have you,” I warn, voice gravel-thick as I set her down on the chaise. “This is the only shot you’re gonna get. So tell me now, Kitten. Tell me if you want me to stop.”
MJ’s eyes search mine, but there’s no fear in them.
Just heat. Hunger. And something soft and wrecking that punches me right in the chest.
“I don’t want you to stop, Carter,” she whispers. “I need you. Here. Now.”
And that’s it.
My last thread of restraint snaps like brittle twine.
I drop to my knees, shedding my jacket, yanking loose my tie, the buttons on my shirt popping open like they’re just as desperate as I am.
I part her thighs, dragging her skirt up inch by inch, reverent as a prayer, until I see her.
Stockings. Bare skin. A damp scrap of fabric soaked with her need .
My mouth waters.
I inhale like a starving man, groaning low and rough.
“Fuck, Kitten. You smell like sin. You wet for me?”
She nods, biting her lip. “Yes. That’s for you, Carter. Just you.”
“Fuck, MJ. I—that is, what will you let me do? What can I have?” I ask, ready to beg for the smallest taste of her.
I’m a Lion, not a freaking monk.
And when she says the words—“I want it all, Carter. I want you to fuck me. Here. Now.”—I damn near explode.
I lock the damn door so fast it nearly comes off its hinges.
Turn back to find her sitting on the edge of the settee, skirt bunched in her lap, cheeks pink, and that mouth— God, that smart, sharp, sensual mouth —parted like she’s already begging for it.
I drop to my knees.
"Lift your skirt higher, Kitten,” I rasp, voice gravel and smoke. “Show me how bad you want it.”
She bites her bottom lip, and that does things to me. Dangerous things.
Then she slides the silky fabric up— higher and higher —to her waist and the full picture punches the breath out of my lungs.
Thigh-highs. Not tights.
Miles of soft golden skin, curves made to be worshipped, and a little scrap of lace doing a pathetic job covering her sweet, dripping pussy.
It’s already soaked.
Her scent crashes into me, thick and sweet, honey and heat and fucking destiny.
“Jesus, MJ.”
Her eyes sparkle, teasing.
“You like what you see?”
“I’m about to bury my face in it. What do you think?”
She laughs— and moans —as I lean in, brushing my stubble against the soft skin of her inner thigh.
I press a kiss there.
Then another.
Then one right over that damp little scrap of lace.
She whimpers.
“Smell so damn good, Kitten,” I growl, voice muffled as I nose her panties aside. “That for me?”
She nods, breathless. “Yes. That’s for you, Carter. Just you.”
“Damn right it is. ”
I run my tongue along her slit, slow and deep, tasting her.
My growl is pure possession.
“Good girl.”
She arches.
Grips my hair.
And when I flick her clit with the flat of my tongue, she shatters.
It’s everything.
Her moans.
Her shaking thighs.
The way she whispers my name like a prayer and a curse all at once.
I eat her like a starving man.
Messy. Growly. Hungry.
I bury my face between her thighs like I’ve been lost in the goddamn desert and she’s the only water for miles.
My tongue moves in deep, desperate strokes, lapping up every drop of her slick like it’s the last thing I’ll ever taste.
She’s soaked. Sweet. Perfect.
And I’m feral for her.
I know my tongue’s different than a human’s.
Rougher. Thicker. Designed to dominate. Honed to tear flesh from bone.
There are a thousand little ridges, sharper than they look.
But here’s the catch—I can control all those little spikes just enough to drive her wild without hurting her.
It’s the Lion in me.
Out to play. Out to claim.
Her hips jerk.
Her fingers twist in my hair like she’s trying to anchor herself while I pull her under, and the sound she makes?
Fuck. It’s going to haunt me.
She’s close. So fucking close.
And I want her to come like this.
Raw.
Wrecked.
Mine.
I want it so bad, I’ll do anything to get it.
“Carter—oh my God?—”
She breaks with a cry, thighs squeezing tight around my head, her back arching off the chaise as she shakes through her climax.
I don’t stop. Not right away.
I own that orgasm.
I ride it out with her.
So good. Like warm brown sugar in my mouth .
Tongue dragging slow, savoring licks between her sweet, slick folds until she whimpers and begs me to stop.
Only then do I pull back, chest heaving, my lips and chin wet with proof of how much she wanted me.
No.
Wants me.
Always.
I won’t allow myself to think anything else.
“Carter, please, I feel so empty. Need you,” she begs.
“Fuck, Kitten, you are so damn sexy. I got what you need.”
I stand on shaky legs and fumble with my belt, the buckle clanking to the floor.
My slacks drop around my ankles, and my cock springs free, hard and ready, tip already leaking precum. I’m so fucking turned on it hurts.
Every inch of me throbs for her.
She blinks up at me, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen, skin flushed from the heat we’ve made between us.
“Oh,” she breathes, biting her lip. “Wow.”
“Yeah, Kitten. Wow,” I growl, wrapping one big hand around the base of my cock, stroking it slow, just once. “That’s what happens when you tease a Lion for weeks.”
She reaches for me— bold, curious, open.
I grab her wrist mid-air.
Press it gently but firmly to the cushion beside her head.
I can’t let her touch me. Not yet. Not when I’m liable to go off like a rocket before I get started if she does get her pretty little hands anywhere near my cock.
Then I guide myself down, the head of my dick brushing her slick folds, notching right against her entrance.
So fucking hot. So wet. So ready.
I groan through clenched teeth.
“Tell me again,” I growl, forehead pressed to hers, my restraint hanging by a thread. “Tell me you want me. Tell me this isn’t just some game, MJ. Say it.”
“Carter—”
“Say it.”
She shudders beneath me. Her breath catches. But her eyes never leave mine.
“I want you,” she whispers. “I need you. Please. Fuck me.”
That’s it .
The words unlock something primal in me.
Something deeper than need.
Something older than reason.
I thrust inside her in one powerful stroke, burying myself to the hilt.
She gasps— loud and sharp —and wraps her legs around my hips like her body was made to hold mine.
It was.
She’s tight. Hot. Perfect.
Her body clenches around me like a velvet-drenched vice, and it’s all I can do not to lose it in one goddamn thrust.
My hands slide under her thighs.
I lift her, brace her against me, start to move.
Long, grinding strokes meant to make her feel every inch of me. To mark her from the inside out.
She claws at my back, whispers my name like a prayer, like a curse, like I’m the only thing that’s ever made her feel this way.
And I am.
She’s mine.
And I’m going to prove it.