Page 90 of Beauty Beneath the Sorrow
“Need something else?” he smirks.
I grin, slightly shaking my head. Hooking my arms around him, I pull him close. His soft, warm length rubs against my skin, making my pussy throb again. A small bead of sticky come escapes. I bring my hand between us and swipe my finger across my stomach and along the wet liquid. Then, I slowly bring it up to my lips. Carter’s eyes are trained on me as I trace the outline of my lips before sliding it into my mouth and sucking it off.
“I’ve got more if you want a better taste,” he growls. His two fingers pinch my chin, keeping my lips slightly parted.
“I bet you do,” I purr.
“You’ve got a needy little pussy, don’t you?”
Sucking his thumb into my mouth, I swirl my tongue aroundit, coating it with saliva. He runs his tongue along the front of his teeth. I tilt my head back, releasing his finger. “Only for you.”
“You’re going to have to give me some time.”
My delirious fog starts to lift, and I’m hit with the realization that Carter answered his phone while we were fucking.And it was my dad.
“What was answering your phone about?” I ask.
He slips back into the room. I follow him as he heads to the couch to grab his boxers. “I wasn’t going to deny you an orgasm.”
Even though it’s dark outside and there’s only a low yellow glow from a table lamp in the corner, I’m enjoying him in full view, which means he’s doing the same.
I cross my arms at my chest. “But that was my dad.”
“I know,” he shrugs. “I got off the phone as quickly as I could.” He struts over to me, lacing his fingers through my hair before hooking them behind my head. Gently tilting his head, he forces eye contact.
“I still feel awful for keeping this from my dad. We’re trying to work on our relationship.” I swallow what feels like cotton.
“I know. It weighs on me.” Carter presses a lingering kiss on my forehead. My eyes fall closed, melting into his gesture. “But you make me feel good. And I hope I make you feel good, too.”
Thoughts of how I feel about Carter are a typhoon of what-ifs and confusion, but I keep my answer simple by leaving out all the background noise and thinking of the two of us. When the view from the outside world is raised, Carter and I are simple and raw. But once that veil collapses, things become convoluted.
“Really fucking good,” I tell him with all my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lina
Istand in the middle of the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of wine. Glancing at my full luggage, still needing to be unpacked from my recent trip, I think seriously about buying new clothes. The most tedious part of being a flight attendant is unpacking and repacking every few days. Not to mention the real disdain I have for wrinkled clothes at this point. Although rolling does help, there are some creases that are unavoidable. Pulling my mouth to the side, I think about how good online shopping would feel right now.
Then, my eyes find their way to the dining area, where my small circle table is covered in bouquets of white roses. It was a pain to ship them home, but it was worth being able to look at them all the time. They’ve filled my entire townhome with the sweetest scent. I catch myself grinning lustfully while taking a sip of my wine.
I haven’t spoken to Carter in a couple of days, and I’m surprised at how much I miss him. Now that I’m home and I know he is as well, I’m antsy about seeing him.
Yes, a new pair of shoes will fix this.I set my glass down and lean my hip against the counter. Swiping into my favoriteshopping app gives me a little rush of serotonin. If the timing could not be worse, the app closes as a call comes through from my mother.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer the call. Of course, after a brief return greeting, she immediately starts talking about herself.
“I can’t believe how many people came up to me to compliment that the masquerade ball was the best event they’d been to all year.” She strokes her own ego with apparent joy.
She’s referring to the rich donors in the small group of people who come to these events to throw their money around. Most of the time, they’re honored on stage, have exclusive tables, and get access to things the rest of the attendees don’t. They love the perks and adulation.
“That’s so great to hear,” I rattle off my canned response, half rolling my eyes. I guess it is in the name of charity, so I let her pompous, self-serving nature slide this time.
“I barely saw you the whole evening. I hope you were able to make your rounds. I know a lot of people expected you to mingle with them,” she passive-aggressively asks, even though she’s aware that I spent the evening away from all that superficial garbage.
“Yeah, of course I did,” I reply, clutching the bowl of my wineglass. “But my friends were also there to enjoy the event. I spent most of my time with them.”
I don’t want to have this conversation anymore. It will only make me more tired and bothered.
