21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter twenty-one
Violet
Waking up next to him without an alarm or a call from Chris or Megan is heaven.
The light creeps in around the blackout curtains and lays itself across the sheets. Carter is on his stomach beside me, one arm flung over my waist, face turned toward my pillow, breathing deep and even.
We have nowhere to be—it’s a strange feeling. Paris is outside, and we’re in here, naked and utterly uninterested in the rest of the world.
The day drifts around us. There is no other word for it. We slide between sleep and sex and half-finished conversations, ordering room service we mostly forget to eat because every time one of us reaches for food, the other reaches for skin instead.
He’s sweet with me in a way I’m still not used to. Little things. His nose nudging into my hair, trying to inhale me deep into his lungs. His fingers tracing the line of my spine while he talks about something and doesn’t seem to notice he’s doing it.
Without the weight of his test results hanging over him, he’s lighter. Who am I kidding, so am I.
The ease between us feels familiar in a way, going back to being kids sprawled in Liam’s room. Only now we’re older. And there’s a softness here that I didn’t think I’d ever have again, woven with all the history that sits between us.
Every time his hand curves around my hip or his thigh slots between mine, it gets harder to remember why I spent years building walls taller than both of us. Harder to reconcile the boy who shattered me with the man who holds me like I’m worth handling carefully.
At some point, we end up sideways on the bed, legs tangled, with breakfast and lunch trays abandoned on every flat surface. The room smells of cigarettes and sex.
His lips brush my shoulder. “We should go to my suite,” he murmurs against my skin. “Check in with the guys. Eat something that wasn’t wheeled in on a trolley.”
Carter and the band are sharing the entire top floor: one sprawling penthouse that looks out over the city. I’ve been avoiding it, and everyone in it, for obvious reasons.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers immediately. “Very sure. I don’t want to hide this from them. They’re my family.” His mouth curves against my shoulder. “Plus, as much as I love staying in your room . . . mine’s better.”
He kisses me once, then throws the blanket back and reaches for his phone, tapping out a message.
“I’ve let them know we’re coming for dinner.”
He’s standing at the edge of the bed, naked and scrolling, his muscles cut in sharp lines, tattoos crawling over his skin. The metal along his cock makes my mouth water.
Today, he has been relentless about me and my pleasure, controlling the pace and calling the shots. It’s left me pleasantly wrung out, but he’s been having way too much fun being in charge.
He’s had his fun. Now it’s time for mine.
I crawl across the mattress and wrap my fingers around the base of his cock. His phone slips a fraction in his hand. I meet his eyes, then lean in and close my mouth around the head.
He hisses, gaze dropping fully to me now.
His cock is already sensitive from fucking me raw all day. I take my time, easing him into it. He chucks his phone onto the bed without looking where it lands and gathers my hair in his fist, pulling it out of my face.
I love the way he tastes, that mix of salt and the tang of metal. But with him standing and me kneeling on the bed, there’s only so much I can do. He’s too big for this angle, my jaw already working overtime.
I pull off him, drag in a breath, then flip onto my back and shimmy down the bed until my head hangs over the edge, hair cascading toward the floor.
His eyes narrow. “What are you doing, Storm?”
“Use my throat,” I say. “Fuck me properly.”
The sound he makes is obscene. “You’re killing me, Vi.”
He braces a hand on the mattress, the other around the base of his cock, and feeds himself into my mouth. I flatten my tongue and work on staying open for him, willing my throat to relax as he starts with shallow thrusts, letting me get used to his rhythm.
From this position, all I can see are his thighs and the swing of his balls, so I close my eyes and let everything boil down to sensation and trust. He pins my wrists to the mattress as he pushes deeper, testing how far he can go.
I gag once, twice, eyes watering, and he pulls out for me to drag in air. Spit sticks to his length and strings between us, but then he drives back in, a little deeper.
“That’s it, Storm,” he rasps. “Open up for me.”
My throat bulges around him. I time my inhales to the moments he draws back, my whole world shrinking to the stretch, the burn.
I’m wetter than I’ve been all day, from nothing more than being held, used, and watched.
His Jacob’s Ladder scrapes against my throat every time he thrusts in.
It doesn’t hurt, but it’s . . . an unusual feeling.
When he finally sinks as deep as he can go, he picks up the pace, hips driving in a relentless tempo that feels more like he’s fucking my pussy than my throat. His balls hit my nose, and the lack of oxygen sends a rush through my veins that turns everything inside me incandescent.
All I can do is lie here, snatching breaths when I can, trying not to fixate on the throb between my legs. Every time he slides in, he holds me there a little longer before pulling back. This time, my pussy contracts, and I’m teetering on the brink.
He lets go of my wrists. One hand drops to my clit, fingers finding it immediately, circling in tight, ruthless strokes. His other hand wraps around my throat, thumb pressed over the spot where he’s inside me.
He squeezes.
When he thrusts in again, the pressure around my throat increases. It’s almost like he’s jerking himself off from both sides, inside and out. I can’t moan or say his name. There is no air left for sound. My whole body is one long, desperate line of want and trust.
Black dots press in at the corners of my vision. My clit throbs under his fingers. My lungs scream. Every time he holds himself there, buried deep, it winds me tighter, to the point where the lack of breath and the pleasure start to blur.
He pulls back; oxygen floods my lungs, spreading through my cells, and my body ignites. The orgasm tears me apart from the inside. The black dots encroaching on my vision fade and are replaced by a blinding white light. Everything goes hazy, my mind goes blank, my body convulses.
I lose all sense of time and space. It’s the biggest drop into ecstasy I’ve ever experienced.
When my vision clears, Carter is crouched over me, panting and blinking hard. My jaw aches, and there’s hot wetness cooling on my chest.
I glance down.
My tits are painted in his cum, my skin streaked white and glistening.
“Jesus Christ,” he manages, dropping onto the bed beside me and throwing an arm over his eyes. “That was . . .”
“The best head you’ve ever had?” I supply, proud of making him lose his mind. It was hands down the best for me. My pussy is still clenching at nothing, aftershocks rippling through me.
He laughs breathlessly. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”
His phone chimes somewhere near his hip. He peels his arm off his face, grabs it and squints at the screen
“Food’s arrived. We should clean up.”
“Good,” I say, rolling off the bed. “I’m starving.”
The blood rushes out of my head the second I stand and the room sways. My knees dip.
“I’ve got you.” Carter catches my arm before I face-plant. Without warning, he bends, shoves his shoulder into my stomach, and lifts me over him in a fireman’s carry.
“Carter, what the fuck?!”
He smacks my ass hard. “Silence, woman.”
I laugh against his back, my body limp over his shoulder, still blissfully floating.
Dinner can wait ten more minutes.