Page 71 of Love to Hate You

Chapter Twenty-Three

Carter

I wake well-rested, as if I’ve slept a full twenty-four hours. It’s like my mind clicked off and I stopped worrying about my future, my mom, and everything else that eats away at me in the dark. I can’t remember the last time I woke feeling this energized. The urge to throw off the sheets, grab some athletic shorts, and go for a five-mile run hums through my blood.

I stretch, ready to attack the day.

Mid-flex, I realize that I’m not alone. A warm body is curled next to me. Just as my cock stirs with interest, it hits me like a ton of bricks who I ended up in bed with last night.

Daisy.

After years of pent up need, I finally had a taste of her sweet pussy. And then she returned the favor with the best damn blow job of my life.

Fuuuuuck.

What the hell did I do?

No, seriously.

What the hell did I just do?

I drag a hand over my face. The last wisps of sleepiness disappear and I’m wide awake. I swear under my breath.

Quietly.

The last thing I want is to wake her. Not yet, anyway. Not until I figure out how I’m going to extract myself from the situation. I can’t believe I allowed this to happen. I’ve always held myself to a certain standard where Daisy is concerned. A line I refused to cross no matter how tempted. Last night, I didn’t just nudge my toe over the line, I fucking demolished it.

Line?

What line? There’s no fucking line.

Not anymore.

Did I say fuck already?

Yeah, well…it bears repeating.

Fuck!

My gaze drops to Daisy. One of her arms is thrown over my body and a leg is tangled with mine. Her breasts are smashed against my side and the heat of her pussy burns my thigh. Normally, I can’t stand all this cuddling bullshit. I tend to need a little space after knocking boots. Both physically and emotionally. I’m looking for release, not entanglements. And I’m always upfront about that.

Sure, you can stay the night. I’m not going to kick your ass out immediately. Contrary to what Daisy thinks, I’m not that much of a prick. Plus, I’m never against a second round. Sometimes a third, if it’s particularly good and we have enough condoms on hand. But I have zero interest in pretending that screwing is anything more than that.

But this…

Already it feels different. Instead of feeling panicky, I want to pull her closer. More than that, I like it.

I like the feel of her body next to mine.

I like the way she fits against me.

Kind of like we were made for one another.

That being said, it can’t happen again.

Not ever.

Thank fuck we stopped short of having sex. Although, what we did last night was bad enough.

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