26. Two Days Until Bonding
Chapter twenty-six
Two Days Until Bonding
Laurel
Green eyes rimmed with kohl move between Carrson and me. The redhead’s smile widens as she comes around the table.
A familiar sweetness reaches me.
I smelled it on Gillian and her friends earlier. On Jackson inside Silas’s bus.
Devil’s Dust.
Now that she’s closer, I see the glassy sheen over her eyes, the rapid rise of her chest, and the flush spreading from her cheeks down her throat.
“Sounds like fun, gorgeous,” she purrs. “I love to party with a couple.”
“No.” Carrson’s answer is immediate.
I take his hand and pull, but he remains seated, heavy as a mountain, his arm rigid between us.
“Come on.”
“Absolutely not.” He removes his hand from mine. “I’m not going into a room to watch another woman touch you.”
“She won’t touch me.”
His eyes narrow. “Then what are you up to?”
“You’ll find out.”
“No.”
The redhead looks between us, entertained. “I can give you two a minute.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Carrson tells her. “We’re not going anywhere.”
I lean closer and trail my fingers down the open front of his shirt. His body responds before his expression does, his pupils widening while every other part of him remains stubbornly frozen.
“I have a plan,” I say. “Aren’t you curious?”
“No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Laurel.”
“One room. Five minutes. She doesn’t touch me.” I lower my voice. “The only person allowed to touch me is you.”
For a long second, he says nothing. Then he stands under his own power and shifts close enough that the redhead is forced back to make room for him.
“If she puts one hand on you, we leave.”
“Deal.”
The woman leads us through the club. I follow behind her while Carrson stays close enough that I can feel his displeasure aimed at the back of my head.
“Laurel,” he says like he’s having second thoughts.
I keep walking.
We enter an elegant room washed in red light. A velvet couch curves along one wall, facing a small platform with a brass pole.
The woman closes the door behind us and turns, already reaching for the clasp at the back of her bodysuit.
Before she can open it, the door swings inward.
A petite woman with honey-brown skin bustles into the room, then yelps when she sees us. One hand presses to her chest while the other moves protectively over the curve of her stomach.
“Krystal!” she scolds. “You forgot to put up the privacy sign. I didn’t think anyone was in here.”
There’s a swell under her dress. She’s pregnant. Not far along, but enough that it can’t be mistaken for anything else.
“Sorry, Cassie,” Krystal says, the flush in her cheeks going one shade darker.
Cassie looks between Carrson and me as she realizes she’s interrupted us.
“My apologies, folks.” She backs toward the hallway with an embarrassed smile. “Totally my mistake. I’ll make sure the door is locked so it doesn’t happen again.”
“Thank you,” I say. “But you can take Krystal with you. We don’t need her.”
“Hey,” Krystal protests.
“It’s nothing against you. I want to be alone with my boyfriend. That was the plan all along.”
“Oh.” Cassie gives me a knowing look. “The room is paid for by the half hour.”
“That’s perfect.”
She takes Krystal by the arm and guides her into the hallway. “Have fun.”
The door closes behind them.
I turn around.
Carrson stands with his arms at his sides, staring at me as though he can’t decide whether to strangle me or kiss me.
“You tricked me.”
“I got you alone.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Did you really think I’d stand here and watch you with another woman?”
“Did you really think I’d want another woman?” he demands.
All the air leaves my body because that’s exactly what I’ve been worrying about since he walked away from me at the ball.
“We need to talk.” I pull an armless upholstered chair into the center of the room. “Sit.”
Surprisingly, Carrson obeys.
He drops into the chair and resumes the defensive position he’s held all night, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place.
I double-check the lock on the door and dim the lights, then walk behind him and let my fingers drag lightly across his shoulders and the back of his neck.
When he tenses, I freeze.
“Is this okay?” I ask. “Me touching you?”
Silence stretches between us before he answers with a husky, “Yes.”
I exhale in relief. It’s a small step forward, but I’ll take it.
I trail my fingers over him as I circle the chair, tracing one shoulder, the back of his neck, then the other. When I pass in front of him, my fingertips skim his throat before I return to the space behind him.
“You know what your problem is, Carrson?”
“My problem?” Indignant, he twists around to look at me.
I place my hands at his temples and turn him toward the front again.
“Yes.” I bend until my lips hover beside his ear, letting my breath warm his skin. “Your problem.”
I slide my fingers into his hair and work my nails over his scalp. A shudder moves through him so intense I feel it in both palms.
So he isn’t completely immune to me.
“Your problem is that you only trust what you can control.”
“That’s not true.” His head starts to turn toward me, but he catches himself and faces forward again.
“No?” I move in front of him and pull the red ribbon from my hair. My curls tumble around my shoulders as I hold it out. “I dare you to prove it.”
His eyes bounce from the ribbon to my face. “What do you mean?”
“Do you trust me?”
“I trusted you more this morning.”
I let the jab sit between us. I earned it.
“Do you trust me enough to let go?”
I return behind him and gather his hands by the wrists. Moving slowly so he can stop me if he wants, I guide them behind the chair and press them together.
“Like this.” I drag the ribbon across the sensitive skin inside his wrist. His breath stutters.
His head tilts. “You want to tie my hands?”
“We both know you could break free whenever you wanted.”
Only our breathing fills the room while he considers it.
I don’t push him or rush his answer.
“Okay,” he says at last.
Satisfaction moves through me, not because the ribbon can hold him, but because he’s willing to try.
I wrap the silk around his wrists and secure it firmly, then finish with a neat bow. The red stands out against his tan skin.
“There.” I step back to inspect my work. “That’s better.”
“Better for you,” Carrson mutters, but he doesn’t test the ribbon.
I return to the front of the chair and step close, right between his legs. Slowly, drawing out every movement, I open the next button of his shirt.
“I owe you an apology.”
His eyes remain on my fingers as I move to the one below it.
“I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve told you about the brand as soon as I got it.”
Another button slips free.
“I was afraid because I knew you’d be angry. But you told me you were coming here even though you knew I wouldn’t like it. I should’ve given you the same honesty.”
Carrson’s eyes lift to my face. “Going to a strip club and permanently marking your body with fire are hardly the same thing.”
“I know.” I open the final button, leaving his shirt hanging loose around his torso. “I’m not comparing the decisions. I’m comparing the trust.”
I bend and draw my tongue along the side of his neck. Salt touches my tongue, and Carrson tips his head back, granting me more access despite the anger he’s still holding onto.
“I don’t regret the brand,” I say against his skin. “I regret letting your father reveal it in front of everyone. You would never blindside me that way.”
He stays silent, not done with being mad at me.
That’s fine. I’ve got all night.
“The mark was my decision.” With my eyes on his, I unbuckle his belt and pull it free. “My burden to carry, not yours.”
My fingers find the button of his jeans. Earlier, I watched him dress while pretending not to look. Now I reverse each action deliberately.
“That’s the problem with needing to be in charge of everything. It’s a battle you can’t win. You can’t control the people around you. Me. Your father. The Brothers.”
The button slips free, and I lower his zipper. His erection strains against the thin fabric of his underwear.
“Every bad thing that happens to you is because of me.” Carrson closes his eyes as though he can’t look at me while saying it. “And it’s only going to get worse. The bonding. The sealing.”
I sigh, recognizing what this is. The belief underneath all that control. If every wound is his fault, then every decision should belong to him.
I climb onto his lap and straddle him, with only the thin fabric of our underwear between us.
The press of his chest against mine wakes the brand, a bright sting right over my heart.
I breathe through it. Tonight I want to feel everything, even this.
He keeps his eyes squeezed closed, his lashes forming one dark line against his cheeks.
“Carrson.” I place my hands on either side of his face. “Look at me.”
His eyes remain closed.
“Please.”
His lashes lift. His irises are so dark his pupils nearly disappear, but the pain in them is impossible to miss.
“If terrible things happen because I chose to stand beside you, that isn’t the same as you doing them to me.”
He searches my face, looking for doubt.
He won’t find any.
“The worst thing would’ve been never meeting you.” I slide my fingers into his hair. “You don’t get to decide I would be better without you because being with you comes with a cost.”
I think back to what Rebecca said, that my feelings matter as much as his.
“That choice belongs to me too,” I tell him.
Then I take his mouth with mine.
Carrson opens under the urging of my lips.
His tongue sweeps in to meet mine with a hunger that pulls me closer.
A groan vibrates through his chest. His hips lift, pressing his hard length against my core.
His arms twitch, the muscles of his shoulders bunching under my hands.
The chair creaks as his body surges toward me, like he wants to tear free and wrap his arms around me.
He stops himself.
I pull back, smiling when his lips follow mine, and raise one finger between us. “Uh-uh.”
His breath fans against my face, already coming fast.