Page 32 of Until We Kiss

Regardless, I’m a nervous wreck by the time I get to the room. I feel like I’ve been away from Carter for too long, and it’s weird how some of those darker thoughts are already slipping into my head. I’m limping and balancing everything in one hand as I shove the keycard into the door. I slip in and immediately wrinkle my nose.

It smells like ass, so I flip the deadbolt and rest the door on it, leaving it cracked open for the fresh air, before rebalancing the tray and kicking Carter’s flip-flops off, all while trying not to drop shit.

“Morning.”

My heart jumps into my throat. Carter’s voice fills the room behind me—loud and full as ever. And fuck if it doesn’t send goosebumps smattering across my shoulders.

“Perfect, Theo. So good. I could spend the rest of my life in your mouth.”

I trap a groan in my throat and turn around. “Morning.”

Christ, fuck me.

He’s still on the bed, lifted onto his elbows, legs apart and one knee bent, balls resting between his thighs, abs flexed with how he’s half propped.

I hold the drink caddy and stand there, pretty much blatantly staring.

“Um… thirsty?” I ask.

He smiles—a full one that shows his dimple. “What’d you get me?”

He slides towards the side of the bed and then stands. My mouth dries. He stretches, his dick half tented, stomach and thighs and pecs all flexing.

I turn, trying not to notice out of the corner of my eye as he cups his balls, kinda wiggling them, then with his other hand, itches his chest.

I head for the sliding door. “We can eat on the patio.”

He mentioned doing that our first night here.

“Hell, yeah!” He crosses to his suitcase, then kneels to flip open the top. He rifles through, a faint birthmark that I hadn’t noticed before, like a mushroom, on his left ass cheek. It makes me smile.

I slide open the door to the happy titter of morning birds. Kiskadees and Orioles.

“What’d you get me?” Carter steps out in running shorts—tight on the thighs, but poofy around his dick—the shiny black fabric making his package look massive.

I set everything on the table, then hand him his bag.

He peeks inside. “Churro? Fucking sweet!”

He pulls it out, looking like a turtle just blessed with a strawberry, and a knot forms in the middle of my chest. He drops into one of the chaise lounges and takes a huge bite, grinning as he chews.

The churro’s about nine inches long, an inch in diameter, sticking straight out of his hand in a way that makes me… well…

I sit in the other seat and take a swig of coffee with almond milk.

“This is sogoooood.” He swallows a first bite, then rips off another, his tongue darting out to lick at the corner of his mouth. “Hits the spot. All big and crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. You wanna try?”

“Nah.”

He tips it toward me. “I could give you a taste.”

“No, I’m okay.”

He waggles it before taking another bite.

Jesus, he’s not giving me any space to think here.

“Glad you like it,” I say. “I know you love cinnamon.”

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