Page 58 of Carrick
Bellamy nodded. Then nodded again. “Yeah. More than.”
Good. That was good.
But I still didn’t know what to do with the feeling settling behind my ribs. It wasn’t panic. Wasn’t fear. It was weight. That quiet gravity that comes after the fall.
I wanted to kiss her again—slow, this time not to consume, but to keep.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I reached for her hand and pressed my lips to her knuckles. Just once. Simple. Soft.
She blinked, visibly thrown by it. “That was…”
“Unexpected?” I offered.
She nodded. “Tender.”
“I can be both.”
“Don’t ruin your rep on my account.”
“Too late.”
She leaned into me then, head against my chest, letting me wrap my arms around her. Just standing there. In the heat. In the mess. In the aftermath of something that felt less like release and more like a turning point.
I didn’t say anything. I just held her.
And I knew—deep in my gut—that nothing about this was casual anymore.
12
Bellamy
I was still shakingwhen we left the pump shed.
Not from fear. From adrenaline. From the high of being wrecked and held all at once. From the way Carrick looked at me when I came apart around him, like I was something holy, even as he fucked me like he was trying to break me open.
And maybe he had.
I felt raw and loose and sated andso damn alive, I wasn’t sure how to come down from it.
I’d pulled my clothes back on with shaking hands, the denim clinging to skin that still hummed with aftershocks. With no bra or panties to shield my tender skin, every step held the echo of his hands, his mouth, his heat.
He just kept his hand at the small of my back while we walked—grounding. Protective. Quietly possessive. And I let him. Let him guide me across the yard like his cum wasn’t still dripping down my thighs, like my legs weren’t jelly and my skin wasn’t marked by every place he’d held me.
He didn’t rush me.
Didn’t ask anything of me.
Just walked beside me in silence, muscles taut, shirt tugged halfway out of his jeans. His hair was damp with sweat, and eyes still burned with something that hadn’t cooled at all.
When we stepped into the house, the hum of the central AC hit like a kiss to sunburned skin. I exhaled, finally, and made for the hallway with slow, deliberate steps.
“Shower,” Carrick said behind me. “I’ll take the one in the guest room.”
I turned just enough to catch the edge of his smirk—crooked, unreadable. His gaze flicked down my body, hungry and sharp.
I nodded, pretending not to feel my pulse skip.
