Chapter 29
The hotel room is quiet now, the party noise reduced to a dull hum somewhere far below us. Carter’s stretched out beside me on the bed, still half dressed in his pirate costume, with his boots kicked off and his shirt open at the throat, dark hair slightly wrecked from dancing.
It’s unfair, really. He looks like the stern captain in a historical drama who’d absolutely ruin someone against a ship mast and then apologize politely afterward.
Meanwhile, I’m over here dressed like a bisexual fever dream.
"I still think you cheated."
He glances over lazily. "At what?"
"The costume contest." I wave a hand in his direction. "You can’t show up looking like the world’s sexiest maritime tax collector and expect fair competition."
His mouth twitches. "Earlier you said I looked like Blackbeard."
"You looked like Blackbeard if he filed paperwork efficiently."
That finally gets a laugh out of him, low and warm and entirely too satisfying.
God. I like making him laugh.
"You did alright yourself." He eyes my open shirt.
I gasp softly. "Just alright? Carter, I wore leather pants tight enough to alter circulation."
"You complained about them for three hours."
"Beauty is pain."
"You also nearly blinded a waiter with that amount of chest glitter."
"Collateral damage."
He shakes his head, smiling, and the fondness in it hits harder than the tequila did earlier.
I roll onto my side and rake my gaze over him. "You know what your problem is?"
"I’m sure you’re about to tell me."
"You pretend to be intimidating, but secretly you like me."
"I tolerate you."
"That’s not what your face says when I flirt with you."
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
Oh. Oh, that’s interesting.
I scoot closer, glowing. "Wait. Are you blushing?"
"I’m not blushing."
"Captain Blackbeard does blush."
"I do not."
"This is a huge win for me."
"That seems dramatic."
"I’m dramatic."
"That’s true."
We’re close enough now that I can feel the heat coming off him. Close enough that his hand brushes mine between us. The teasing slowly drains out of the room, leaving something quieter behind. Softer. More dangerous.
"This feels a little couple-y," I murmur.
"It does."
"That should concern us."
"Probably."
"There’s still time to save yourself, you know."
"From what?"
"Me." I gesture vaguely toward myself. "My shed of flamingos. The pizazz. My seasonal emotional instability."
His fingers lace through mine. "I think I’m past saving."
Shit. Me too. Way past saving.
Carter’s thumb drags slowly over my knuckles as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. The look on his face is softer than I’ve ever seen it. His guard is lowered, edges blurred. It makes my chest ache in a way I don’t entirely appreciate.
"So," I tease, because if I stop joking entirely I may actually combust, "hypothetically speaking… if we kissed right now, would that make this more or less complicated?"
His gaze drops immediately to my mouth, eyes hooded with want.
"Much more."
The answer draws out a lick of heat low in my stomach.
"Damn," I whisper. "That’s incredibly unfortunate."
But neither of us moves away. If anything, Carter moves closer.
The space between us keeps shrinking. The mattress shifts beneath us as he turns fully toward me, one hand sliding from mine to my waist, fingers spreading there as if he’s been thinking about touching me for a while now.
"You know, for someone who claims to tolerate me, you stare at me an awful lot."
His mouth curves faintly. "You like when I look."
"Well, that’s—"
Whatever sarcastic comeback I’m about to make dies the second his hand tightens on my waist. Enough to make my breath catch. Enough to send heat spiraling straight through me.
His mouth crashes into mine hot and deep, and my entire body lights up instantly. I make a startled sound against his lips as his hand slides up my side, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us at all.
Jesus Christ.
The kiss turns messy almost immediately—teeth catching, breath hitching, my fingers tangling in the front of his pirate shirt. Carter kisses like he does everything else: controlled right up until the moment he absolutely isn’t.
And God help me, that might be the hottest thing I’ve ever discovered.
He dips his head, mouth latching onto my exposed nipple. His warm wet lips suckle hard, making my dick leak. Fumbling one-handed with my fly while trying not to lose his mouth, I groan against the kiss.
"Okay—these have officially become a safety hazard."
Carter laughs softly against my lips, the sound rough and warm and entirely unfair.
"The leather pants?"
"The world’s most hostile garment." I finally manage to shove them down enough to breathe again. "Whoever invented these hated gay people specifically."
His hand slides over my hip, fingers dipping beneath the loosened waistband, and every coherent thought immediately abandons ship.
"Funny." His dark eyes drag over me. "You seemed very committed to them earlier."
"That was before blood flow became a memory."
His mouth twitches. Then his gaze drops lower again, heated enough to make my pulse stutter.
"Oh," I whisper. "That look means trouble."
"You’re trouble."
"True, but right now I’m also trapped in pleather."
"Should I grease you up with lube?"
I stare at him, genuinely stunned. "Jesus Christ. Who are you?"
"That bad?"
"No, that was alarmingly hot." I shove at his shoulder weakly. "You can’t just spring competent dirty talk on me without warning."
A laugh rumbles out of him, low and rough, and before I can recover, he kisses me again—harder this time, one hand sliding my shirt from my shoulders while the other finally helps drag the stupid leather pants farther down my hips.
"Better?" he murmurs against my mouth.
"So much." I breathe a sigh of relief. "I may write you a thank-you note."
Then Carter ruins me a little by looking at me as if I’m something precious instead of ridiculous. It’s honestly very annoying of him.
His hands settle at my waist as he finally wrestles the pants the rest of the way down my hips. Cool air hits my skin, immediately followed by the drag of his palms over my thighs. I suck in a breath.
"There. Crisis resolved."
"You’re a hero."
"I know."
The smugness should be unattractive. Unfortunately, it’s doing things to me.
I hook my fingers into the front of his pirate shirt and tug him closer again, kissing him before he can say something unbearably confident.
He kisses me back, one hand sliding up into my hair while the other anchors at my hip.
The room feels smaller, hotter somehow, crowded with tangled limbs and half-undone costumes and tension that’s finally stopped pretending to be anything else.
Carter pulls back just enough to look at me, breathing a bit heavier than before. "You’re beautiful."
His voice is so sincere that tears sting my eyes. I blink back the betrayal of emotion and focus on his talented mouth, his tight pecs, and his mussed hair. Damn, I need this man inside of me like yesterday.
"Grab the lube from my shaving kit in the bathroom."
Carter is off the bed before I even finish the sentence, moving with the kind of focused determination usually reserved for emergency situations and Black Friday sales.
I blink after him. "Well, that’s encouraging."
Cabinets open in the bathroom with increasing urgency. He reappears a second later holding up three tubes triumphantly.
"Bubblegum, Pina Colada, or Strawberry Daiquiri?"
The fact that he’s asking this with complete sincerity nearly takes me out.
"Strawberry."
"Excellent choice."
He climbs back onto the bed, pirate shirt half open, pants lost somewhere, and hair wrecked as he settles between my knees. Then his mouth curves slightly. "For the record, if this strawberry stuff stains the sheets, I’m blaming you."
"That feels unfair considering you sprinted for it like an Olympic event."
Carter kisses me again, slower this time, tasting faintly of tequila and mint and trouble. His tongue slides sinfully with mine, our lips making wet noises as we devour each other.
His hand slides up my thigh while mine hooks behind his neck, keeping him close because apparently, I’ve become attached to breathing the same air as this man.
He pulls back and drags in a breath.
"You’re staring again," I breathe against his mouth.
"You’re pretty."
The answer comes so easily it catches me off guard.
I blink at him. "Wow. You really are gone for me."
The teasing fades as he leans his forehead against mine, grounding us both. The room feels quieter despite the racing pulse in my ears.
"You tell me if you need anything," he says softly.
That unbearable tenderness is my undoing. I brush my fingers through the back of his hair, trying to smile past the sudden ache in my chest. "Careful, Carter. Keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to start thinking this means something."
His expression softens instantly. "Benji."
And just hearing my name like that—warm, certain, affectionate—does something catastrophic to my heart. So naturally, I ruin the moment.
"If you get too sweet, I will cry, and then nobody gets laid."
Carter huffs a laugh against my mouth. "Good to know where the line is."
Then he kisses me again, hand tightening gently on my thigh, and this time I let myself stop thinking long enough to simply feel it—warm hands, tangled sheets, soft laughter between kisses, and the startling realization that this doesn’t feel reckless anymore.
It feels right.
His hands are soon replaced by his mouth, trailing kisses down my thighs. He licks my sac, then follows it with a stream of cool breath. My body shivers beneath his mouth as he sucks one nut, then the other into his mouth, lightly stroking them with his tongue.
Before I can recover, he sucks the head of my dick between his lips. He teases me with wicked licks and soft slurps until I’m begging.
"Take the whole thing. Swallow all eight inches."
The suction of his mouth breaks momentarily as he leans his head against my thigh and laughs.
"Eight? More like six and a half at best."
"Rude. Less talking, more blowing."
Carter takes me deep in his throat before sliding back up to the tip, eyes focused on me the entire time.
I can’t look away. His swollen lips stretched around my dick is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
"Lube, please."
He reaches for the tube and drizzles a dollop into his hand, rubbing them together to warm them before sliding his fingers over my hole.
My slutty self moans and opens for him, inviting him deeper.
Carter slides one long finger, then two, inside me, stroking slowly.
He watches his fingers disappear in my ass, then flicks his gaze up to watch my reaction. His eyes sparkle with tequila and lust.
I want this man to obliterate my guts.
I bend my knees until they touch my ears, exposing my hole completely. Carter’s tongue snakes out to lick the strawberry flavor from my skin. His warm strokes over my hole have my breathing coming fast and shallow.
Jesus Christ, I’m panting like a dog begging for his bone.
"I’m ready," I blurt, on the edge of desire and combustion.
"Maybe I’m enjoying myself."
"Carter—" My tone carries a dire warning.
Carter obeys wisely, sitting up on his knees.
He rolls on the condom he got from my kit and grasps the base of his dick, lining it up with my hole.
And just to be ornery, he pushes the tip past my tight rim, lighting me up with the stretch and burn, before pulling back out.
He repeats this three more times until I lash out with a feral growl.
He laughs and fixes his grin on me before pushing fully inside. Then he covers me with his weight, seeking my willing mouth. He tastes of strawberries and silicone.
"God, you feel amazing." He pulls out and slowly slides back in with a groan. "Knew it’d be good like this."
Damn, he says the sweetest things. My knees fall open wider to cradle his body. His tongue and his dick are all I know, all I feel. Carter becomes the center of my universe, my sole reason for existing. Well, him and the orgasm I know he’s going to give me.
"Get up on your knees," I pant.
He sits up, grasps my bent knees for support, and thrusts into me hard enough to make me cry out.
"Yeah, like that."
Again and again, he plows into me, skin slapping, balls smacking, until we’re both grunting like rutting pigs.
The smell of sweat and sex fills my senses. I’m lost in a haze of desire.
"Harder. Fuck me hard."
Carter leverages my hips, slamming into me with a grunt. "Gonna… come… soon."
"Same. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop."
My head clouds with heat. Sparks fire in my belly. My thighs tremble. Carter shifts, and the angle hits me just right. My stomach twists and spasms as the high crests. It rolls through every muscle, every cell, until I cry out hoarsely.
"Carter!"
"Fuck, yes."
He thrusts once more, twice, and spills his load.
I peel open my eyes to watch his face as he comes.
Pinched tight, eyes squeezed shut, and mouth drawn into a thin white line.
His breath shudders out of him as he comes apart against me.
A quiet, wrecked sound slips from him before he collapses forward, weight settling warm and heavy against my chest.
For a second, neither of us moves. Just breathing. Just existing in the aftermath.
I stroke a damp lock of hair from his forehead and gaze down at his dopey smile. He looks nothing like the controlled, composed man who moved into my neighborhood and started rearranging my life.
Fuck me. This was supposed to just be hot pirate after-party sex. But as he exhales against my chest, something in me shifts in a way I can’t easily undo. Something fuller. Warmer. Like something slid into place I didn’t realize was missing.
I swallow, staring at the ceiling because looking at him feels too dangerous.
"Hey," I murmur.
His eyes open a fraction, glassy and dazed in a way that would be funny if it didn’t feel so intimate.
"Still with me?"
He hums faintly in agreement.
"Yeah," I whisper, mostly to myself. "That’s going to be a problem."
A small, tired laugh escapes him, muffled against my skin.
And I know—without either of us saying it out loud—that nothing about this is simple anymore.