Page 174 of Carrick
“You want your reward, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “Please.”
He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, and his next words hit like a dark promise I’d waited my whole life to hear. “Then you’re going to take every inch of me.”
A breath. A beat.
“And you’re still not going to cum until I tell you. Understand?”
“Yes! Yes! Carrick! Fuck, yes.”
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes again, and when he smiled, slow and dark and certain, it sent a shiver through me that made my whole body tighten. “Good girl.” The words coiled around my spine like smoke, hot and possessive.
He rose to his full height, the air between us humming, charged with something electric and inevitable. Then, with slow, deliberate control, he undressed—each movement a quiet act of dominance, a wordless reminder of who I belonged to. There was no rush. This was a performance, and I was the audience. The desperate, dripping girl he had stretched out and trembling on his bed.
His pants dropped first. Then his boxers followed. And God—his cock stood thick and veined, flushed dark, hard as sin and heavy where it lay against his abdomen. The kind that split you open. The kind that ruined you slowly, sweetly, until there was no room left in your body for anything but him. My breath caught. My thighs parted without thought.
He saw the look in my eyes—andsmirked.Slow. Dark. Knowing. “You want it?” he asked, voice like velvet edged in steel.
I nodded, wrecked. “More than breath.”
And it was true.
He moved between my legs, and the world stopped. No teasing. No warning. Just the blunt heat of him at my entrance—then a single, savage thrust that buried him to the hilt.
I screamed, back arcing as my legs locked tight around his waist. Pleasure tore through me—sharp, stretching, perfect. He drove into me like he was built for it, like every inch of me had been created to take him.
“Oh, my… fuck.”
Carrick growled into my throat, his voice thick with feral need. “You feel that?” His hips rolled, pressing impossiblydeeper. “That’s what you needed, isn’t it? Not tenderness. Not pretty words. You needed to be taken.”
“Yes. God, yes. Please.”
He pulled back and drove into me harder, the kind of thrust that cracked something wide open inside me. It wasn’t muscle or bone—it was something deeper. A splintering beneath the surface that let him all the way in.
“Every time you come to me like this,” he panted against my skin, “I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”
I moaned, clawing at his back, nails dragging down sweat-slick muscle as I fought to stay present, to hold on.
“Say it.”
“I… I belong to you.”
He thrust again, deep and merciless. “Louder.”
“I belong to you.” He kissed me, fierce and unrestrained, all tongue and heat and teeth. There was nothing soft in it. Nothing held back. It was the shape of everything he didn’t say pressed into my mouth, his cock, his hands.
His rhythm turned brutal, precise. Each stroke angled perfectly to that spot that made me lose language, made me moan like I was breaking open from the inside. One hand gripped my thigh, the other braced beside my head, holding me wide and open and his.
“You want to come?” His voice dropped, darker now, edged in command and possession.
“God… yes, Carrick. Please.”
“Then beg.”
Tears blurred my vision. My voice cracked. My body was so close, on the knife’s edge. I was shaking. Weeping. Gone. “Please, Carrick… fuck, I can’t—I need it. I need you to let me. Please… please.”
His hips slammed into mine faster, deeper. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, obscene and perfect. “You’re mine,”he snarled. “My girl. My sweet, perfect submissive. You take what I give you. And you cum when I say.”
