Page 74 of Leah

“Yeah,” I let out through parted lips.

I felt his thumb along my bottom lip, and it was practically instinct that had me flicking my tongue out at it. He cursed and fitted his thumb into my mouth, and I sucked on it, closing my eyes as he moved faster into me.

“You feel good, babe,” he gritted out. “Fuck, fuck.”

There was only so much of these movements I could take, writhing against him, moaning with him as it climbed to record heights.

“Carter,” I cried out, and he seared my mouth shut with his, swallowing my cries as he rubbed his hand over my clit, sending me straight over the edge. I quivered and he stilled, pounding me one last time, gripping me so tight, it hurt. I felt his cock pulse inside me, and he groaned long and slow through his orgasm.

My heart was beating erratically.

For three years, I’d been missing out on this.

It almost made heartbreak worth enduring.

Almost.

Twenty-One

Carter

We showered. I washed her body, every fucking inch of that goodness.

“You’re just trying to feel me up, aren’t you?” she teased as I ran my hands over her tits.

I smirked. “You can see straight through me.”

She was so beautiful under the water, batting her eyes at me. She had a way of looking so fucking innocent, but I knew better—we both did.

“Always,” she replied.

It took everything in me not to drop to my knees and bury my face against her stomach. To hold her to me—to tell her how much I missed this. But I didn’t want to freak her the fuck out. I’d already done that enough times already.

I stepped out and left her alone, but I felt her eyes on me as I strode out of the tiny bathroom. If it were up to me, I’d have whisked her away into a high end resort. I’d have bathed her under a fucking waterfall—she deserved better than this.

I collapsed onto the single bed, shaking my head for a moment at how puny the fucking thing was. It barelyaccommodated us. Sex had been a tight fit, and I wished she hadn’t beaten around the bush and given us a room with a decent sized bed.

But I knew Leah.

She would have got the room under the false assumption that two beds meant we wouldn’t run the risk of fucking. Her pathetic attempt was adorable, and I wanted to squeeze her to me and kiss that cute little mouth.

Needless to say, I was on a high.

Fuck, I felt so alive.

I felt myself humming a tune I didn’t even know.

A tune I was making up on the spot, and the words—they were in front of me, floating in the air around me. I just needed to grab them, put them together, string a bunch of lines and hum them until I felt ready to make a song.

I got up and threw my jeans on. Unable to find my shirt, I walked out of the motel room shirtless and barefoot. It was too dark out, and no one was milling around. I kept my gaze planted to the ground anyway and approached the vending machines outside.

I bought a couple bottles of water and a crapload of snacks. When I got back to the room, I threw them on the bed and turned something on the television. White noise.

I felt restless, like all I wanted to do was go back in there and kiss the fuck out of her. I didn’t like being away, not for one second. What if she was under that water regretting what we’d just done?

That possibility made me uneasy.

I had to win her over, make her remember what she felt for me. There was no way those feelings were gone. Not after what we’d just done.

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