Page 127 of Carrick
The fabric slid across my eyes, soft and absolute, plunging me into velvet darkness. I inhaled sharply, and everything changed.
The world condensed into touch. Sound. Scent.Him.
Carrick’s voice was the next thing I felt—closer now, a breath against my cheek.
“You’re not allowed to cum until I say so.”
My thighs tensed.
“You understand me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
The pause that followed was heavy and holy.
“Good,” he murmured. “Now we begin.”
I wasn’t lying in Carrick’s bed anymore. I wasn’t wrapped in rope or stretched open and waiting. I wasn’t even Bellamy, not exactly. I was pure sensation.
A heartbeat. A breath. A body waiting to be unmade.
I didn’t hear him move, but I felt him. The shift in the air. The heat of his body nearing mine. The subtle creak of the mattress under his knee as he climbed up beside me.
Then the first touch—his fingertips dragging lightly up the inside of my thigh. Not teasing. Not hurried. Just mapping. Like he was reacquainting himself with something that already belonged to him.
He didn’t speak. The silence said everything. His hand skimmed higher, slipping beneath the edge of my panties, one finger dragging through the wetness there with maddening patience. He hummed under his breath, low and approving.
“You’re soaked,” he murmured. “Already.”
I swallowed. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good,” he said quietly. “But not good enough. I want you wrecked before I even start.”
I whimpered before I could stop myself. His finger withdrew, leaving me empty and wanting, and then I felt the shift of him moving again, and the sound of something small being uncoiled.
The vibrator.
I felt the cool silicone graze my skin, just the lightest touch between my thighs, and then the buzz—soft and low, barely more than a hum, but lighting something in me like fire catching a fuse.
Carrick pressed it against my panty-covered clit, just barely, holding it there with one fingertip, not increasing the pressure, not changing the rhythm. Just holding me there.
Waiting.
My hips bucked before I could catch myself.
“Don’t move,” he said, voice a thread of command spun through velvet. “Not unless you want me to stop.”
I clenched my fists against the bindings, desperate to stay still, to obey. The pleasure was immediate and maddening, sharp and hot andnot enough. I tried to chase it anyway—let it build, let it gather like a storm just behind my ribs.
Carrick shifted closer, and I felt the weight of his hand on my stomach.
“You’re going to stay on the edge for me,” he said. “Until I decide you’ve earned something more.”
The vibrator lifted.
A sharp gasp punched out of me.
“Please—”
