Page 60 of From the Ashes
“Carter,” I take his jaw between my hands, “I…I want this too. The white fences, the morning pancakes. The rings might wait a bit. I’m not ready yet, but… As much as I admire you for knowing who you are, I’m still healing and I’m still wondering if I can…” He furrows his brows, searching in my features the words I can’t say out loud.
“I’m not sure if I can be everything someone might need in a relationship,” I admit, lowering my gaze and clasping my hands tightly in my lap. I hate that I don’t know myself better. There are so many ways to show love, and I understand that closeness matters, but I’m not sure what I’m ready for. Ben took away my sense of safety. I was never sure if he wouldn’t start hitting me in those moments. I had to keep my guard up, my eyes shut, and hope to get through it without bruises.
“Lana,” he covers my shaking hands with his, “there’s no rush, no pressure. I’m not expecting that from you until you’re ready. I mean it. I will never push you into something you can’t handle. I’m not him.” He connects his forehead to mine. “I’m not him,” he repeats.
“What if it takes months, or years…?” I murmur weakly.
“I’ll wait.”
“What if I freak out and…”
“Lana, don’t.” He takes my chin between his fingers, holding me there so gently it makes my chest ache. “We trained together at the club, we kissed, we rode on my bike, and right now you’re sitting on my lap. I don’t see any signs of panic in you, except your wide pupils, but I’m guessing that isn’t fear.” His words chip away at my walls, brick by brick.
“How does it feel when I do that?” He squeezes my hand.
“Good,” I whisper.
“And that?” His hand leaves my chin to comb through my hair, fingers brushing my scalp in slow, calming strokes. The touch lifts the hairs on my neck and sends warmth down my spine.
“Good,” I breathe out. His touch is like cotton against my skin, soft, steady, safe. He’s not the same as the one who hurt me. He’s entirely different.
“And when I do that… How does it feel?” His voice drops, low and rough, and my stomach clenches at the sound. Then his lips brush mine like he’s testing the waters. When he pulls back, I almost chase after him.
“Words, Lana. I need words.”
“Good,” I whisper. “Really good. It feels…amazing.”
He holds my gaze, cobalt eyes locked in. “Can we try one more thing?”
I inhale, hesitant but trusting. “What’s on your mind?”
“Do you trust me?”
“I trust you.”
“Then stand up, sweetness,” he says, voice soft but firm. “And get back on your chair.”
“Wait, what?” I frown, brows pulling together.
“Just do it, Lana. Trust me.”
“Ok—okay…” I slip off his lap and sit back down in front of him, watching as he rises and then lowers himself in front of me,one knee on the ground. My heart stutters, and I lick my lips at the sight of him kneeling before me, this beautiful, strong man who’s choosing tenderness.
“Just say no, and I’ll stop immediately,” he assures me. He gently lifts the hem of my dress, inch by inch. My breath hitches.
Higher.
Then higher.
He stops at the middle of my thighs. I hear the soft, shaky exhale he lets out, and I feel the same anticipation swelling in my own chest. With both hands, he settles on the outside of my thighs, pressing his fingertips into my skin, just enough to ground me. His touch is warm, slightly rough, and it lights a slow fire in places I thought would never feel again. He shifts closer, and then his lips brush just above my left knee. The kiss is soft, feather-like, but it lands like a spark. My breath catches. Goosebumps rush across my skin.
He lifts his face slightly. “Do you like when I do that?” I nod three times, heat spreading in my body like a wildfire. “Good,” he mutters, before lowering his head again. He kisses the same spot, then moves a little higher, trailing a series of soft, lingering kisses along my skin. My head tips back, and I clamp my mouth shut, swallowing the sound that wants to escape. A minute passes. Then he stops, smooths my dress back down until it pools around my ankles, and stands slowly. He leans forward, his body close enough to steal my breath, his face hovering inches from mine.
“Still scared?” he murmurs.
I swallow hard. “No…not anymore.”
“Trust yourself, Lana. You’re stronger than you think.” He kisses me again, his mouth firmer now, his hands gripping the chair like they’re the only thing keeping him anchored. His lips are hungry, but he never loses control. I match him, my fingers fisting his shirt, letting the fire inside me speak for once.When he pulls back, I shake my head, not ready to part from him. Carter stares at me, chest heaving, his eyes burning with something wild and restrained. Then he takes my hand, presses a kiss into my palm, and shuts his eyes.
