Page 92 of Carved
Her eyebrow arches, a flicker of amusement crossing her face, but it’s laced with something colder. “And where exactly do you want to be, Kent?”
“Here.” I let the word hang, heavy with intent. “With you. In your space. Where I can watch your back while we figure out who’s fucking with us.”
She laughs, sharp and cutting, the sound slicing through the tension like a blade. “Did I invite you to move in? Because I don’t recall sending out a housewarming card.”
The dismissal is cutting, a test to see if I’ll back down, if I’ll retreat like I did before. But I’m not that man anymore, and she’s not the only one who knows how to play dirty.
I stand, closing the distance between us in three steps, my hands finding the edges of her robe before she can react. I rip it open, the silk parting to reveal the body I haven’t so much as let myself dream about. Her words are so sharp, but this body….
Fuck, her body.
“You wrapped yourself up like a fucking present, Lila,” I say, my voice rough with the hunger I’ve been trying to leashsince I walked through her door. “Don’t act like this isn’t an invitation for me.”
Her eyes flash, not with fear but with fury, and she shoves at my chest, hard enough to make me brace myself. “That’s the kind of line rapists use, actually. Sure you want to go with that logic?”
I chuckle darkly, leaning down into her, letting her feel the heat of my body against hers. “I remember how much you liked fighting me for it, Delilah. How you’d claw and curse while your pussy begged for exactly what I was giving you.”
Her breath catches, a split-second crack in her armor, but she doesn’t back down. She never does. My hands find her breasts, cupping them with deliberate slowness, thumbs grazing her nipples through the thin silk still clinging to her shoulders before I shove it down to pool at her elbows.
She tenses, but doesn’t pull away, her eyes daring me to keep going, to see how far I’ll push this before she pushes back.
“Fuck, these got bigger,” I murmur, squeezing gently, testing their weight in my palms. “Fit my hands like they were made for me.” I roll her nipples between my fingers, slow and teasing, watching her pupils dilate as she fights to keep her composure. The silk robe slips further, pooling around her waist, and I lean in, my lips brushing the curve of one breast, not quite touching but close enough to make her shiver.
I see her jaw clench from how hard she grits her teeth to keep her reactions at bay.
“Fuck off. You don’t get to just—” she starts, her voice sharp but fraying at the edges, betraying the heat building under her skin.
I cut her off by dragging my tongue across her nipple, reveling, savoring the way it hardens under my touch. Her handsgrip my shoulders, nails digging in, not pushing me away but anchoring herself as I suck gently, then harder, drawing a low moan she tries so stubbornly to bite back.
My other hand works her opposite breast, kneading, teasing, rolling the peak until she’s arching into me despite herself.
“Look at you,” I growl against her skin, my breath hot on her flesh. “Fighting so hard to pretend you don’t want this.” I pinch her nipple lightly, just enough to make her gasp, then soothe it with my tongue, relishing the way her body betrays her defiance. My free hand slides down her stomach, stopping just above the slope of her pelvis, fingers brushing the sensitive skin there, teasing without giving her what she’s starting to crave. “That youneed.”
She’s wet—I can tell by the way her thighs press together, the slight hitch in her breath when my fingers dip lower, grazing her impossibly soft skin. I don’t push inside yet, just trace the seam where her thighs clench together, applying pressure that’s not quite enough, making her squirm. A single digit delves into the crease of her pussy, finding her nub swollen. It throbs beneath my fingertip.
“You’re dripping for me, aren’t you, Delilah?” I say, taunting. “All that control, and you’re still begging with your body.”
Her hand shoots to my wrist, gripping it hard, but she doesn’t pull me away. “It’s Lila,” she snaps, her voice breaking on a ragged edge as I press harder, circling her clit, feeling her heat against my fingers. Her legs begin to part of their own volition. “You don’t get to—”
I don’t let her finish. My mouth crashes back to her breast, teeth grazing the sensitive peak as my hand forces her legs open the rest of the way, finding her slick and ready for me.
Still, I don’t push inside yet, just slide my fingers along her folds, teasing, spreading her wetness with leisure. She’s trembling now, fighting to keep her walls up, but her hips tilt toward me, chasing the contact I’m withholding.
“Fuck, your cunt’s just as tight as I remember,” I exhale, finally slipping two fingers inside her, curling them with the precision that used to drive her wild. She moans, loud and unfiltered, her nails digging into my shoulders as I work her, slow and deep, drawing out every shudder. My thumb finds her clit again, circling with relentless focus, and her head falls back, exposing the long line of her throat.
“You don’t get to call me that,” she gasps, but it’s weak, her body contradicting her words as she grinds against my hand. “I told you—it’s Lila.”
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, my fingers still moving inside her, building her higher. “I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want, Delilah,” I say, and before she can argue, I slap her breast, the sharp sting making her cry out.So pretty.I lean in, lapping at the reddening flesh, soothing it with my tongue while my fingers keep their rhythm, pushing her closer to the edge. “Maybe I’ll call you my little whore. That’s what you are for me, isn’t it? Even now?”
Her hands fist in my hair, pulling hard, but it’s not to stop me—it’s to keep me there, to demand more. I oblige, sucking her nipple hard, my fingers curling deeper, thumb pressing harder against her clit until she’s panting, her body taut with the need I’m callously withholding.
And then I stop, pulling my hand free just as her hips start to buck, leaving her gasping, flushed, and furious. Her eyes snap to mine, blazing with rage and unfulfilled desire. “You bastard,” she breathes, her voice shaking with the intensity of being left on the brink.
I wipe my hand on my jeans, the scent of her clinging to my fingers, and step back, grabbing my jacket. “Did you forget who you’re fucking with?” I ask, my voice steady despite the ache in my own body. “I’ll be back with my stuff in a bit. Don’t make me break in.”
She doesn’t respond, just watches me with those predator’s eyes, her chest heaving, robe open, body still trembling from the edge I didn’t let her cross.
I turn toward the door, every muscle screaming to finish what we started, but this isn’t about winning—not yet. It’s about showing her I’m not running, that I’m here for the fight, for her, for whatever fucked-up future we’re carving out of this mess.
