Page 75 of From the Ashes
“Yes,” she breathes out. I close the rest of the space between us and lean into the most delicious offer I’ve ever been given. Her lips are soft and full, her scent invading my every sense. She moves her hand to my nape and pulls herself closer to me.
I break our kiss for a second and stare at her beautiful face, “Is this okay?” I ask, and she nods back at least five times, her eyes stuck on my mouth. She kisses me again, this time with more urgency, as if she were running out of time or maybe… Maybe as if she was finally letting go of fear. All this time, her fire was there, inside her, only it was contained, afraid to spread and devour everything on its way. Lana isn’t afraid anymore. I know it in my bones and from the way she lifts herself on her knees to tower over me on the couch. Am I rushing her? How can I be sure that she’s ready? I can’t bear the idea of hurting her. I keep my hands on her waist, careful not to overstep.
“Are you sure?” I ask in one breath, her little body pressed against mine.
“I am sure,” she states without a doubt. The next second, I hoist her in my arms and carry her upstairs. She rests her head in the crook of my neck, my heart pulsing against the side of her body as my mind thinks of every detail I need to focus on to make sure I’m reading her right. There are only three doors, one open with a bathtub behind it and one with Noah’s name spelled into large blue letters and soccer stickers on it.
“Over there.” She points at one of the doors. Holding her body with one arm, I open it and step into her little heaven. The bed in the middle of the room is decorated with orange and pink pillows. There’s a small plant hanging from the ceiling and thick beige curtains concealing the window. She has a large wood dresser and a light color rug with a foot-length mirror in the corner of the room. Frames, lilac candles, and small objects are displayed on the dresser. As I carry her to her bed like a bride on her wedding day, I’m hit by the delicate scent of honey coming from her sheets. I lay her down carefully, but I remain standing, next to the bed, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now. This isn’t my first ride, but Lana’s different. Everything about her is.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I state in a neutral tone.
“You won’t. You’d never,” she replies quickly without an ounce of doubt in her chestnut pupils. She’s sitting on her bed, her legs folded under her thighs, looking at me from below with her big doe eyes, and I clench my hand at the sight.
“What if I trigger you in some way? I could harm you without even knowing,” I say flatly, even though the words burn my tongue. She shakes her head, her brows furrowing lightly. Is she worried? Afraid?
“You won’t. I…I trust you.” Resting her hand on my chest, and probably sensing the beat of my heart under her palm. I may look like a block of ice, but underneath, everything has already spread into an uncontrollable wildfire.
My breath hitches as I stare at her, my hands shaking. “ What if I hurt you, and you turn away from me… I…I love you, Lana, and I could never forgive myself.” I cup the side of her face, my thumb brushing against her cheek, and she leans into my touch instinctively, closing her eyes for a moment.
“You…loveme?” she murmurs, her lower lip trembling as her voice cracks under the weight of my revelation. Her hands clutch the hem of my shirt, twisting nervously, as she looks up at me.
“Love doesn’t even cover it.” I shake my head, my fingers running in her hair to rest on her nape. “You’re everything to me.” I declare, my voice hoarse, deep, shaken to the core.
“Carter,” she breathes, then lifts herself onto the bed, both feet planted as she pulls me into a kiss. I’m still standing, my hands locking around her waist and neck, wishing I could hold her forever. This time, I kiss her back with the same urgency she’s giving me. Her touch grows more certain, and my chest tightens at the sheer trust she’s placing in me. I let my hands move slowly, deliberately, cupping her waist and resting beneath her ribs, where I know she feels safe. I’m careful, anchoring her instead of overwhelming her. She exhales softly against my mouth, and that sound… That sound shreds every boundary I’ve built around my heart. She breaks the kiss just enough to look at me.
“I’m not afraid of you…so stop being afraid for me,” she whispers, steady and sure, reading me like an open book. I draw in a breath. If she’s telling me this, I need to believe it, I need to trust that I’m not screwing everything up right now. She wants this as much as I do. But I need one more thing to be completely sure. One final test, to know she’s truly ready for us to cross that line.
“Do you trust me?” I ask quietly, our breaths heavy and loud, tangling in the charged air between us. She nods without hesitation. I pull back a few inches, keeping one hand on her waist while reaching for the knife I always keep tucked in the back pocket of my jeans. The quiet click of the blade unfolding cuts through the room as I watch her reaction. If she truly trusts me, she won’t be afraid. Her pupils stay wide, unchanged. Her breathing remains steady. Her skin doesn’t break a sweat.
No fear.
Not a trace.
Opening her palm, I place the knife in her hand. “If I ever step out of line, I want you to stop me,” I say, my voice cold, sharp as the blade. Her beautiful brows draw together. “If I ever make you feel unsafe, afraid…then swear to me you’ll take this knife,” I tap the spot over my heart, “and drive it in. Until I no longer breathe.”
“Carter…” she murmurs, her eyes glossing over with emotion.
“Until I no longer breathe,” I repeat, needing her to understand this isn’t a request, it’s a vow. “Swear it, Lana,” I say, as gently as I can.
“I…I swear,” she finally says, her small hand tightening around the handle. The room falls into silence, only our breathing filling the space.
She’s trusting me to take care of her, and I will.
I vow to.
LANA
This moment was so perfect, until I ruined it. Minutes after I let the knife fall onto the bed, my breathing turns sharp and uneven. I’m spiraling over something so small, yet it freezes me in place. Carter stands there, steady as ever, waiting in that quiet, patient way he always does.
“Sorry, I’m-” I shake my head, feeling like an idiot for what I’m about to say, “I’m nervous.” I admit.
“Lana,” he grounds me with his voice, deep and steady, taking my chin gently in his palm and lifting it so our eyes meet. His cobalt gaze is dark, dilated, an ocean I’m drowning in. Ifidget, arms folding across my chest, which is silly because that’s the opposite of what I really want to do.
“You’re perfect,” he says, kneeling in front of me. His hands find mine so gently, like he’s approaching a wounded animal.
Always gentle.
Always tender.
