Page 85 of Carrick
I stayed silent, letting the weight of the question settle in the space between us.
Carrick didn’t push. Just waited.
Finally, I said, “I don’t know what this is.”
He tilted his head. “You sure? Because what just happened between us doesn’t feel like nothing.”
“It felt…” I closed my eyes. “It felt amazing. Powerful. Safe. But that doesn’t mean?—"
“That we have to fall into something complicated?” he finished for me.
I nodded. Carrick laced his fingers through mine. “Then let’s keep it simple.”
I glanced up.
“While you’re here, we lean in,” he said. “We explore. I will give you what you need. You give me what I need. And when it’s time to walk away, we do. No regrets.”
My heart twisted. It sounded too neat. Too safe. But maybe that’s what I needed—something with borders. A container Icould breathe in. Something that didn’t ask for more than I had left to give.
“And what do you need?” I asked.
His eyes darkened. “You. Submissive. Open. Brave enough to take what you crave.”
Color bloomed in my cheeks, but I didn’t look away.
“And what do you need, Bellamy?”
The truth surfaced like breath after drowning. “To feel like I still belong to myself.”
He nodded, slow and sure. “You do. Every second. Even under me. Especially then.” From anyone else, it would’ve sounded like a trap. But Carrick said it like a promise. And God help me, I wanted to believe him.
We sat in silence; the conversation draping over us like a second skin. “Okay,” I whispered.
He arched a brow.
“Okay, we try. While I’m here, we explore. I won’t fight you—unless I want to,” I added, lips curling.
His grin was molten. “Fight all you want, baby girl. Just know I’ll win.”
A shiver lit through me—not fear, but anticipation. I wanted this. Him. Us. Whatever we’d just made between kisses and confessions. But it couldn’t go deeper than this room. Not if I wanted to survive it.
I slipped from his lap, wrapping the blankets tighter around me as I sat on the edge of the bed. My legs ached in ways that made me smile. Carrick moved behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders, kneading slow and steady.
“You need food.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
He kissed the side of my neck, and then stood, stretching, his muscles rippling beneath the tattoos I hadn’t dared to trace yet.
As he tugged on a pair of sweatpants, I watched him quietly. He didn’t know it, but this version of him—the soft, post-scene Carrick—was more dangerous than the Dom. This version could make a girl believe in things. In hope. In staying.
He caught me watching and grinned. “You can ogle me later. Breakfast first.”
“Bossy.”
He winked. “You like it.”
