13. Carter #2
Moonlight spilled through the kitchen, casting streaks of silver across the floor. The large kitchen suddenly felt too small. His pulse quickened as he took a step closer.
“You were supposed to be the one thing I never lost,” she said in barely a whisper.
The words slammed into him with unyielding force. For years, he convinced himself that she had moved on, that he didn’t matter to her anymore. That whatever they shared belonged to naive kids who didn’t know any better.
He cupped her cheek, staring into her eyes, past the surface and deep into her soul. She didn’t forget him. Or them. She remembered everything just as he did. His fingertips brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, relishing the soft feel of her skin.
Her breath caught, echoing in the quiet space.
“Carter…”
God, the way she said his name. It broke through his own walls, resurrected by loss and fear. Tearing down the carefully constructed barrier around his heart, reminding him that she was the reason it beat.
His gaze dropped to her mouth.
The air between them electrified with years of regret, longing, and heartbreak. Every stolen glance they’d had since she returned to Winterridge. Every confession left unsaid.
Her hand lifted, pressing against his shirt as his head came down. Her fingers fisted the fabric, but instead of pushing him away, she drew him closer.
His fingers slipped into her hair, ignoring all those old warnings that had him let her go in the first place. He was done listening to them, done listening to her brother, and the made-up hierarchy of society.
He bent his head, giving her a chance to push him away, to tell him she didn’t want to. When she didn’t, he captured her lips with his, sinking into her warmth. Her mouth moved, no hesitation, just a desperate rhythm that he kept pace with.
She lifted from her seat. His hands slipped from her face and dug into the flesh of her ass, lifting her onto the counter. Her legs instantly wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his backside. So many nights he dreamed about her, about her mouth on his, her hands dipping beneath his shirt.
A shiver ran through him at the cold contact of her hands on his bare stomach.
Eight years.
Eight years of convincing himself he had done the right thing. Eight years of wondering where she was, what she was doing, and whether she was happy. Eight years of seeing her in every Christmas tradition he tried to keep alive at Winterridge. And now. She was here in his arms.
He trailed his mouth over the silky skin of her neck, dragging his tongue across the soft skin, tasting her sweetness. He’d spent too many years trying to forget how it felt to have her this close, but as his tongue swirled and she moaned, he never wanted to forget again.
Her hands grabbed his face, guiding him to her. Their lips crashed together in a frenzy. Desire surged through his veins, his cock pressing uncomfortably against his pants. He stepped closer still, his hand urging her lower back until her core rocked against his bulge.
Those cold fingers skimmed along his waistband and fumbled with his zipper, yanking it open in one graceful tug.
If she touched him, he wouldn’t be able to last, and he had eight years to make up for.
He hooked the top of her pajama pants and tugged them past her hips, tossing them behind him as he spread her legs with his shoulders.
“No panties,” he managed to say as he slid his finger across her wet center. Her ass wiggled as she anticipated, and he didn’t wait long, tipping forward and licking the swollen nub. She cried out with the thrust of his finger sinking into her damp heat.
A smile tugged at the edge of his lips, and she slammed a hand over her mouth. A tremor wracked her body, her thighs vibrated as he pulled her closer to the edge of the table. Her legs draped over his shoulders, the heels of her feet digging into his shoulder blades.
Her ass lifted, pressing into him, an invitation he would never decline. He continued licking, sucking the swollen nub, his finger working in tandem. Tiny moans echoed around him, her moist walls clamping down on his finger. She was so close.
He slashed his tongue with more purpose and swirled the swollen bead. He slipped another finger inside, curving upward and hitting the sensitive spot. Her body arched, a wave of tremors sending her into a convulsion of pleasure. He didn’t stop, not until he drew out every last second of bliss.
Her legs went limp, and he stood, meeting her satiated gaze. “That was—”
“My favorite Christmas gift ever,” he said, cupping her cheek.
Her eyebrow rose, dipping beneath her bangs. “I thought it was a gift to me?” she asked, nuzzling into his hand.
“It was.”
“Then in that case, it was one of my favorite gifts.”
“One of?” he exclaimed, his fingers tickling her sides.
She squirmed in his arms, a sweet laugh that spread joy through his entire being echoed around them. He stopped tickling her, and her grayish-blue eyes met his. “My favorite…” A smile curved her lips, her teeth sliding over her kiss-swollen lip. “The paint swatches.”
“The ones you stole from your dad and wrapped up for me.”
“I didn’t steal them; I permanently borrowed them.”
A laugh slipped from her lips and she didn’t try to muffle it this time. Red spread across her cheeks, and God, he wanted to kiss her again. He pulled her close, and her tongue thrust into his mouth without hesitation. His cock pressed even harder against his pants.
She cupped him, stroking up and down his hard length. “I think it’s your turn.” She shifted on the table, but he stepped into her, keeping her in place.
“Tell me more about the swatches.”
She blinked up at him, and he rested his forehead on hers, his thumb gently stroking her bottom lip.
“I remember opening that box Christmas morning.” Her eyes held his as she seemed to drift off into the memory. “There had to be fifty swatches in there.”
“Seventy-two.”
Her eyes widened. “You actually counted.”
“I assembled the collection.”
A warmth spread across her face, her smile softening. “Everyone else thought it was the weirdest gift, but it wasn’t.”
“You spent three days debating over colors for Tori and Taylor's dollhouse. I think it was because you enjoyed looking at those swatches and comparing color combinations.”
“Even when we were young, you knew me in a way no one else did.”
While everyone else looked at colors, Ashley saw possibilities. While everyone else saw a room, Ashley saw what it could become.
“You cared more about those rooms than most people care about their houses.”
“I still have them.”
His heart slammed to a stop in his chest. Shock spread through him, making him question his own ears. “What?”
“The swatches.” Her smile trembled. “They’re in a box in my apartment. A lot of the colors have been discontinued, but every now and again I take it out for inspiration.”
Unable not to touch her, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the curve of her lobe. “I should have known then.”
“Known what?”
“That you’d become exactly who you were meant to be.”
“And who was that?”
Carter smiled. “The woman who can walk into an empty room and make it feel like home.”
She grabbed his face, pulling him to her, lips syncing, tongues thrusting against each other as if trying to bridge the gap between all the time lost between them.
His cock pulsed with every building desire, and when her hand tightened around the rock-hard length, a groan rumbled from deep in his chest.
“I want you,” she said, sliding off the counter.
A creak of the stairs cut through the haze in his mind, and he scooped her up mid-bend to the floor and carried her to the broom closet, slipping behind the door, and quietly closing it.