Page 39 of No Save Point

Ican’t fucking think straight. Tate’s words are still ringing in my ears, crawling under my skin, settling in places I don’t want them to be. Because he knows. He’s always known.

The way to get inside my head, the way to push my buttons, the way to toy with me like I’m a game he’s already beaten a hundred times.

Now, he’s done it again.My stomach is still tight, my breath still catching in ways I can’t control, and it’s not just because of Tate. It’s because of Carter, too. Who’s sitting next to me, still trying to process whatever the hell just happened, still too caught up in his own thoughts to realize I’m already making a decision.

Because if Tate wants to play games? Fine. Let him. I’m not playing his game, I’m playing Carter’s. And right now, he needs me. I scoot toward him, watching the way his body reacts before he even registers what I’m doing, the way his shoulders tense, the way his fingers flex against his knees, the way his breath stutters when I bring one knee over his thigh and settle onto his lap again.

He blinks, wide-eyed, barely keeping it together. “Haven—”

I don’t let him overthink it. I slide my hands up his chest, feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palms, feel the way his entire body is locked up. But I do. And then, just to see what he does, just to test, just to confirm what I already know, I shift. I settle lower, pressing down fully, my weight fully on him now.

Fuck. I freeze. Because holy shit, he’s thick. Carter makes a sound, low and desperate, like he’s just now realizing I can feel it, like he doesn’t know what the hell to do with the fact that I’m not ignoring it.

I pull back, just slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, just enough to watch the moment he completely loses his ability to function. “Fuck, Carter.”

His whole body jerks, his breath sharp, his hands snapping up like he wants to hold onto me but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to. His lips part, his tongue flicking out to wet them, his lashes fluttering like he’s trying to clear whatever fog just took over his brain.

“Haven, I—”

I rock against him. Just slightly. Just enough. He fucking whimpers. It’s soft, broken, barely there, but fuck, I hear it, and it lights something inside me that I can’t put out. And I haven’t even really touched him yet. I can feel it in the way his body is trembling under mine, in the way his hands hover just above my waist like he wants to grab on but doesn’t know if he should, in the way his breath stutters every single time I move. I shift again, just enough to feel the way he responds, just enough to let him know I’m not ignoring the fact that he’s so fucking hard beneath me, that I’m very, very aware of exactly what I’m doing to him right now.

His his lips parting, a sharp breath escaping like he’s barely holding onto his sanity. I test him just a little more.

I lean in, dragging my lips just beneath his jaw, letting them linger there for half a second before whispering, “Didn’t know you were so big, Carter.”

His entire body jerks. “Haven.”

His voice is barely holding together, completely fucking ruined, and God, I need more of it. I press another kiss against his throat, just to see how he reacts, just to feel the way his pulse pounds beneath my lips. And he whimpers again. Actually whimpers. Low and desperate, like he’s trying to keep it in but failing miserably.

I tilt my head, watching the way his hands tremble as they finally land on my waist, gripping me like he’s trying to ground himself, like he’s trying to hold onto something before he completely unravels. I want to watch him come apart in my hands. So I move again, rolling my hips just slightly, just enough to get another sound out of him, just enough to make him lose the last bit of composure he’s been clinging to. His head drops forward, his breath ragged, his grip tightening on me like he’s two seconds away from completely falling apart.

And then, voice barely above a whisper, his next words shatter whatever self-control I had left. “Please, Haven.”

His lips part, his breath coming in sharp, uneven pulls, his hands gripping my waist like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

I could give him space to recover, to process, to settle back into that nervous, sweet, innocent version of himself that’s been unraveling beneath me for the last few minutes. But I don’t want that. Judging by the way his body is reacting to me, the way his fingers keep flexing against my waist, like he wants to grab hold and take control but doesn’t know how, neither does he. So I lean in, dragging my lips along his jaw, slow and deliberate, feeling the heat rolling off his skin, feeling the way his chest rises too fast, like he’s barely holding onto himself.

I keep my voice low, teasing, knowing exactly what it’ll do to him, I murmur, “Do you want to feel how soaking wet you’ve made me?”

Carter sucks in a sharp breath so hard I think he might actually choke on it. His grip on me tightens instantly, his body jerking beneath mine, his head snapping forward like he needs to see my face, like he needs to know I really just said that.

I reach over, shutting the lamp off, the soft glow of the TV now the only thing illuminating the space between us.

Carter’s eyes widen in the dim light, his breath heavy, his pulse thrumming visibly beneath the skin of his throat, his hands still clutching me like he has no idea what to do with them. So I help him. I reach for the hem of his shirt, dragging it up, slow, letting my fingers graze over his skin as I peel it over his head, letting myself take in the heat of him, the broad expanse of his chest, the way every single inch of him is so goddamn firm beneath my hands. And Jesus fucking Christ. He is so much hotter than I expected.

Every inch of him is muscle and heat, tension coiled beneath his skin, his shoulders strong, his chest defined, his stomach lined with tight, solid ridges.

And I can’t stop staring. Because I knew Carter was built, I could see the way his shirts stretched over his arms, the way his hoodies fit snug against his frame, but this?

My nails drag lightly across his stomach, and he shudders, his hands twitching on my hips like he’s about to completely lose his fucking mind. And I want him to. I want him desperate. I want him ruined. And now, I’m going to make sure he gets there.

His hands are still gripping my waist, his body tense beneath mine, his muscles locked up like he’s terrified of making the wrong move. I guide his hands higher, over my ribs, over my stomach, letting him feel the warmth of my skin, the way I’m practically burning up for him. “Touch me, Carter.”

His breath stutters, his fingers twitching, his whole body locking up again.

“I—” He stops, swallows hard, his lips parting, eyes searching mine like he needs to be absolutely sure he’s allowed.

I nod, slow, deliberate, making sure he understands. “There’s no wrong way to do it.”

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