Page 40 of Carrick
The silence after the storm. The way her body fit into mine like it had always known where to land. The way she didn’t hide the tremble in her limbs or the damp at the corner of her lashes. The way she let herself be held.
She’d given me everything. Without fear. Without hesitation. And I’d give it back—steady, grounded, without limits.
Tenfold.
Every damn time.
9
Bellamy
Morning didn’t slaminto me the way it usually did—no jolt of light, no gut-punch of panic. Just warmth. A stillness that felt earned, not borrowed. My eyes opened slowly, blinking into the quiet hush of Carrick’s room, where everything was muted and low, like the world knew not to disturb what had been undone here last night.
I was still in his bed, tucked beneath the weight of the comforter, limbs heavy, skin flushed and sore in places I couldn’t name. Muscles throbbed with the deep, satisfying ache of having been used—thoroughly, deliberately. Not just touched, but taken apart and rebuilt. I didn’t remember falling asleep. I just remembered coming undone.
His arm was slung over my waist, solid and anchoring. Not possessive—justpresent. And somehow, that was the part that lodged itself deepest. Not the pleasure. Not the sting or stretch or shuddering release. But this. The after. The fact that he stayed. That he didn’t retreat into silence or vanish into himself the moment it ended. He remained exactly where he’d left me—wrapped around my ribs like a promise I hadn’t asked for.
That, more than the whip, was what I didn’t know how to process.
Behind me, he shifted, breath ghosting across the back of my neck. I froze—reflex, instinct—until he murmured something soft and half-asleep into my skin, a sound more vibration than words.
“Still alive?”
I snorted. “Barely.”
His voice was rough with sleep, but the corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll try harder next time.”
“Sadist.”
“Yes, but a consensual one,” he said, voice curling with amusement. “You said ‘green’ multiple times. If I remember correctly, the last one was after you begged me not to stop.”
Heat flushed up my neck.
“God,” I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. “I was high on pain and endorphins. That doesn’t count.”
Carrick chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest where it pressed against my back.
“Sure, kitten. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
I twisted slightly to look at him over my shoulder. His hair was wild from sleep, dark curls loose around his face, eyes still heavy-lidded. His expression was relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen before—unguarded, just for a second.
“You’re being very casual about this,” I said softly.
“Should I be dramatic instead?” he asked. “Fall to my knees and confess my undying devotion?”
I rolled my eyes, but the smile tugging at my mouth was real.
“No, I mean... it’s just easier than I thought. Being here. Talking to you. After last night.”
Carrick shifted onto his back, folding his hands behind his head, eyes tracing the ceiling.
“I’ve always thought scenes say more than sex ever could,” he said. “You scream in someone’s arms, let them hurt you, letthem hold you while you fall apart... what else is there to figure out?”
I let the silence stretch.
“What if you’re still figuring out whether or not it was a onetime thing?” I whispered, unsure whether I actually wanted him to hear me or not.
He turned his head to look at me. His expression didn’t change. But something in his eyes went very, very still.
