CHAPTER 27 #2
Even with the right intentions, I know that as soon as I see him I won't be able to leave.
How could I? That's the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life.
But I've never been the same since that night when the sirens didn't stop and the blood wouldn't clean.
I learned then that anger wasn't just an option, it was a virus, and it still infects me to my core.
Twelve years is a long time, but I still hear the wails, and relive the crash every time thunder claps or fireworks burst.
But maybe this year I can handle it.
Maybe, with Carey, the noises won't be so bad…
My dick wins and leads me back down the stairs.
The fire is on in the lounge room, and I see him by the window, his back to me. The lights are dim, but his body is immaculate.
When I’m close I hear him say, “You broke your promise.”
I broke an even bigger promise to myself. “I’m here now.”
His shoulders drop, then he looks back at me. From this angle I can see his pecs curving out the top of the tank. I gulp and lose every word, every excuse I had ready in the chamber. I’m his puppet; all strings and no willpower.
“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he says, turning around fully. His nipples are hard through the fabric, and I have to clamp down on my bottom lip because I don’t know what the hell to do with myself.
With the devil in his eyes, he steps closer. “This is all for you." His fingertips drag across his bare clavicle. “You are allowed to touch.”
I let out a shaky breath and reach for his waist.
“You’re so bad,” I whisper.
“I’m the best.”
I nod because I can't do anything but agree.
My thumbs brush over his nipples and he shakes.
His stomach tenses and I drop to my knees.
With my hands on his lower back I press my face into his skin and breathe him in, his natural scent filling my nostrils. He strokes my hair then holds the back of my head.
When he hums, I look up at him.
His piercing pushes against my cheek.
I feel calm under his spell.
I might actually be able to pull this off.
Carey drags his thumb over my bottom lip. I suck it and sink my teeth in just enough to make him smirk.
“Why didn’t you want to see me?” he asks gently.
“It’s not that I don’t want to.”
“Will you sit with me, then?”
I nod again, and allow Carey to lead me to the leather couch. Guiding me to sit down first, he positions himself between my legs and leans back against my chest.
My hand finds his stomach. Absentmindedly I run my fingers over his creased skin before moving onto the thin fabric to feel his pecs, then back down to his stomach.
The whole time Carey’s hand lazily sits atop mine like he’s living through me.
I nibble on the tank's thin strap until it’s damp and one side is riding up exposing his ribs.
All the while his other hand toys with a hole above the knee of my pants, pulling at it until he makes it big enough to slip inside of and grip at my thigh right over my scar.
And that's when I realize both his hands are touching both my scars, like he's silently begging me to tell him their story.
Carey turns his head and brushes my cheek with his nose. "Why did you tense up just now?"
"I didn't."
"You're not a good liar."
"Maybe I'm just a little annoyed that you can manipulate me so easily."
Carey hums against my jaw. "I just said you weren't a good liar."
I shift, teasing him with my lips, and he takes the bait.
I spread my hand and push it against his stomach to feel every movement of his muscles.
The kiss is slow, then not.
He twists and climbs my body until one knee is pushing between my thighs.
His hair falls in that perfect way it always does, and brushes my forehead when he leans in. I feed him my tongue, and he takes it.
The fire snaps in the background.
He fists my hair like he’s holding me in place for his mouth.
I drag my hands up under the hem of the crop top and swallow down the little sounds he makes when I scrape his ribs. He pushes my hand higher until I’m groping his chest—the tank riding up, the red fabric bunched beneath his pecs—like he needs me to feel every stutter of his heart.
His hips roll, and I feel him; thick and heavy through his sweats.
Not subtle.
Not shy.
Time falls away from us.
My guts clench. I don’t know how long we’ve been like this.
Carey holds my shoulders and I push my hips up to meet him.
My body wants more, but my head is more present than I’d like it to be.
I keep my grip planted above his waist, and I think he gets the picture.
He settles back to rest on my thigh, and finds my hand again. “I like you holding me.”
“I prefer when you hold me,” I admit without thinking.
“I like taking care of you.”
“I…” I kiss him again because I can’t tell him what I need to say.
With our fingers intertwined, he reaches with his thumb to rub my scar. Then he brings it to his mouth and drags his lips over it. “Please tell me how you got this.”
“It’s not a cute story.”
“I can’t imagine it would be.” He runs the back of my hand down his cheek.
“I don’t want cute. I want true.” I hesitate, but he insists.
“Please, Tek. Just one sentence.” Carey’s other hand slides up to my throat.
I want him to squeeze, to dig his nails in, but he only lingers a second.
“Once you tell me, I promise I’ll make you forget all about it. ”
“Fuck.” My breath shakes out. He has no idea how much I need that to be true. “Is that a promise?”
He tilts my chin. “Of course, Oppa.”
The urge to brush it off and lie again, is real. But Carey waits with big eyes like he’s trying to stare inside of me so he can pull my answer out.
My gaze drops to the black lettering on the front of the crop top, but he lifts my chin further until his fingers slip free. “It’s okay,” he says, defeated.
“No… It…” I hesitate.
I want to say it.
I try again. “It was a—”
A giant crack. So loud. So close it feels like it’s inside the room.
Then another; more powerful, less than a second later.
Carey jumps from my lap and races to the window…