Page 31 of Venus
His mouth is glistening, and his eyes are hot enough to set me on fire.
Vulcan, indeed.
“If you want more,” he says, low and smug as he licks his lips, “you’ll have to wait.”
My mouth falls open. “That is messed up.”
“You’ll live,” he says with a grin.
“Next time you want me to suck your dick, I’ll remember this.”
He winks at me. “Looking forward to it.”
Then he backs out of the room and steps into the men’s bathroom to wash off his face, leaving me standing there in a cupboard and wetter than the mop.
It takes me a few minutes to remember how to use my legs for anything other than spreading them for a firefighter with a skillful tongue. When I emerge, Carter is leaning against the wall, arms and legs crossed. The picture of smug nonchalance.
“You look cute when you’re blushing,” he teases.
“You’d look cute with my foot three feet up your ass.”
“Kinky.”
I roll my eyes and we join the rest of the crew again. If anyone knows about how we just defiled that closet, they say nothing.
Later in the night, long after everyone should be in bed, including me, I show up at Carter’s door.
No heads up. No text. I just…show up. I don’t even know why I do, and I don’t remember the drive here. I haven’t even changed or showered yet, too preoccupied with thoughts of him.
He opens the door, looking half surprised and half like he’s expecting a confession.
I don’t give him one. Instead, I step into his apartment with no rush, no teasing, no tension.
Just him and I and the space between our bodies slowly fading away. I think a part of me knows this isn’t casual anymore, but I can’t allow that. I don’t want it and he knows it.
I need to let this all go before I start falling harder, but I can’t. I don’t want to.
I can’t be with him. He knows it, even if he doesn’t see me in the same broken way that I do.
But I also feel sick at the thought of never seeing him again after this is all over. I can’t see us just being…friends after all of this.
But all of those thoughts fade away when he kisses me like he’s been waiting to do it all night. It’s filled with everything he shouldn’t say to me, so he has to show me instead.
I let him undress me piece by piece, and let his hands learn every inch of me like it matters how well he knows it. Like I’m not meant to be just another body in the dark.
When we land on the bed, he doesn’t fuck me frantically. He doesn’t fight me for control. He doesn’t try to impress me.
It’s just us. Him and I, letting ourselves fit together like the puzzle pieces he so desperately wants us to be.
After we finish, I lie with my head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat in the heavy but warm silence. I trace shapes on his chest like I’ve done a dozen times before.
“So are you always that bad at skee-ball?” I ask quietly.
He laughs, low and gravely. “Maybe I just like letting you win.”
I smile against his bare skin. “Sure you do.”
He doesn’t reply, and he doesn’t have to. The world keeps spinning, but right here, in this room, wrapped up in this man who so clearly adores me, I feel like things might be okay.
