Page 14 of Carter
Every thrust drove me higher, every whisperedHarpercracked me wider open, until I was nothing but heat and heartbeat and the sound of his voice in my ear.
And when release ripped through me, shaking and raw, Carter followed—burying himself deep, groaning my name like it was the only word that mattered.
We collapsed together, sweat and breath and tangled limbs, the storm still humming under our skin.
For the first time since that night in the ER, I felt… not just safe.
Claimed.
14
Harper
The room smelled like sweat, skin, and faint laundry detergent from the sheets. My heartbeat was still slowing, every nerve humming, my body tangled with Carter’s like we’d been doing this for years instead of minutes.
His chest rose under my cheek, solid and steady now, though I could still feel the storm coiled inside him. His hand traced slow circles at the base of my spine, like he couldn’t stop touching me even if he tried.
For a while, neither of us spoke. Just the sound of our breaths finding the same rhythm.
Then Carter’s voice rumbled low against my hair. “I didn’t plan this.”
I smiled faintly, lips brushing his skin. “You think I did?”
“No.” He shifted, looking down at me. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them, but not just with want. With weight. With honesty. “I told myself coming to California was about the work. New start. New team. That was it.”
“And now?” I asked softly.
His thumb grazed my jaw, his expression sharp andvulnerable all at once. “Now I can’t get you out of my head. And that scares the hell out of me.”
Something inside me tightened. “Scares you how?”
“Because the last time I let someone in…” He blew out a rough breath. “It ended ugly. And I can’t afford ugly anymore.”
I studied him, seeing the cracks under all that steel. “Then maybe you need to stop looking at the past to measure the future.”
He gave a quiet, disbelieving huff. “You always talk like that?”
“Only when I mean it.”
His gaze held mine, steady, searching. For the first time, I let him see it all—the exhaustion, the fear, but also the way he made me feel more alive than I had in years.
I reached up, brushing my fingers across the scar on his shoulder. “Where’d you get this one?”
“Afghanistan,” he said, voice flat, but softer now. “Shrapnel. Missed bone by an inch.”
“And this?” I traced a smaller line across his ribs.
He caught my wrist, not to stop me, but to hold it there. His eyes burned into mine. “That one’s older. Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” I whispered.
His throat worked, like he wasn’t used to anyone asking. For a long moment, he just stared, then pressed his forehead to mine. “Careful, Harper. Keep talking like that, I might start believing I deserve you.”
I kissed him then—soft, slow, the opposite of everything we’d done before. A promise instead of a demand.
When we pulled apart, I whispered against his lips, “Maybe that’s the point,” I said as I straddled him.
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