Page 89 of Craving Carla

“I want to stay with you,” I admit, my voice soft. “I want you to...”

I freeze, unable to finish the sentence. Amari takes his finger to my chin, lifting it so that our eyes meet.

“Tell me what you want, Carla,” he says, his voice gentle but insistent.

“Show me what real love feels like, Amari.” The words come out before I can stop them, leaving me vulnerable and exposed.

He grins, taking my hand and leading me up the stairs to his cabin. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me. I step inside, taking in the space as he closes the door behind us.

The cabin has that standard layout that reminds me of my old place in the community, but nicer, more upscale. Amari kicks off his shoes and begins removing his suit jacket. I follow suit, pulling off my sweater and setting it on the sofa.

It doesn’t look like he’s spent much time here—there are hardly any personal touches. I notice a large monitor on the kitchen table with a tablet and laptop, presumably where he conducts his business. When I turn around, he’s already in front of me, pulling me into his arms.

Amari’s hand moves to the back of my neck, his touch firm but gentle as he tilts my head up. He leans in slowly, as if giving me time to pull away if I want to. I don’t. When our lips meet, it’s like electricity coursing through my body. His kiss is soft at first, almost questioning, before deepening with a hunger that matches my own.

His mouth moves against mine with perfect pressure, his tongue teasing the seam of my lips until I open for him. The taste of him—mint and something darker, richer—fills my senses, making me dizzy with want. I cling to his shoulders, needing something to ground me as the kiss steals my breath and my sanity.

When he finally pulls back, I’m panting, my lips tingling from his attention. He leans in close to my ear, his cool breath brushing against my skin, making me tremble.

“You will only know love from me from this night going forward, Carla,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ll never give up, pursuing you relentlessly until there isn’t a shadow of a doubt that you know you love me with every fiber of your being.”

His words make my knees weak, and I sway slightly against him. He steadies me, his hands firm on my waist.

“My beautiful Spider Queen,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine. “You hold my heart in your hands now. Youcan shatter it into a million pieces if you choose—but I hope you’ll guard it as fiercely as your children guard you.”

I feel like I’m floating, untethered from reality, as his hands begin to explore me. They move to my breasts, cupping them through my shirt, his thumbs brushing over my hardening nipples. Then they trail down my sides, gripping my ass through my jeans, squeezing with just enough pressure to make me gasp.

In one fluid motion, he grips my thighs and lifts me up. I wrap my arms around his neck instinctively, our lips locking in another intense kiss as he carries me up the stairs. He moves through the bedroom and into the attached bathroom, setting me down carefully on the sink counter.

He steps back and flips on the light, then begins to undress in front of me. I watch, biting my lip as each piece of clothing drops away—first his tie, then his cufflinks, shirt, pants, socks, and finally his boxer briefs. His body is striking—lean muscle sculpted across smooth, rich brown skin. And his dick… I swallow hard, the memory of how it felt still vivid in my mind.

“Stop biting your lip,” he commands, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes my core clench, “or I’ll bite your pussy instead.”

I immediately release my lip, watching him with what must be open desire on my face. He comes toward me again, capturing my mouth in a deep kiss as he lifts my shirt over my head, then expertly unhooks my bra. His fingers move to the button of my jeans, brushing lightly against my stomach and sending a jolt through my core.

He pulls back and walks to the linen closet, grabbing towels and washcloths before turning on the shower. Steam begins to fill the room as he returns to me, kneeling to remove my pants and panties. I step out of them, feeling exposed yet somehow safe as he looks up at me with reverence in his eyes.

He rises to his full height, towering over me. “Let me worship you,” he says, his voice a soft command.

“Okay,” I breathe out, letting him guide me into the shower.

The hot water pours over us as Amari turns me away from him. With gentle hands, he gathers my thick curls, carefully braiding them into a single plait before pinning it up. The quiet intimacy of the moment—of him tending to my hair—makes my heart swell.

He takes a washcloth, soaps it generously, and begins at my neck, moving with slow, careful strokes. He lingers at my breasts, the cloth sweeping around each one before gliding over my nipples. I gasp, the coarse fabric and slippery soap sending waves of sensation through me.

His hands move lower, washing my stomach, my hips, my thighs. He kneels down to clean my legs, his face level with my core, and I can feel his breath there, making me tremble. He looks up at me, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, and the hunger in his gaze makes me weak.

He stands and gently turns me around, washing my back with the same tender care. Then he turns me to face him again, his hand moving between my legs with the washcloth. I moan at the contact, my head falling back as he touches me with slow, focused attention.

“I love the sounds you make,” he murmurs, his lips against my ear. “So responsive, so honest.”

He rinses me off, making sure every trace of soap is gone, then places his washcloth in my hand. “Now you wash me,” he commands softly.

I start with his chest, moving the soapy cloth over the hard planes of muscle. His skin is smooth beneath my touch. I move to his arms, feeling the strength in them as I wash each one. Then his stomach, the ridges of his abs tensing under my touch.

When I reach his dick, I hesitate for just a moment before wrapping the cloth around him. He grunts, his eyes closing briefly as I wash him with gentle strokes. He’s hardening under my touch, and the power I feel in that moment is intoxicating.

“You’re getting comfortable,” he says, opening his eyes to watch me.

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