Page 34 of Debts and Desires
“Sorry,” I whispered after another moment.
“For what?”
“For saying you didn’t know what you were doing.” He chuckled.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t makin’ you come this whole time.”
“Me, too,” I breathed. “How many was that?”
“I counted fifteen.”
“Holy shit,” I groaned. We laid in comfortable silence for a few.
“Here,” he said, moving out from under me. He was gone, and I missed his warmth. I was starting to fall asleep when the warm rag at my entrance made me jump. “Sorry,” he whispered, continuing to clean me up. I didn’t notice much after that until I was being lifted. I opened an eye and then the other, looking at him as he carried me down the hall and into his room. As he lowered me, he smiled, probably at my confusion.
“Your bed is soaked. You sleep here while I clean it up. I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay,” I whispered, closing my eyes again. I was too tired to be embarrassed. He was being nice, super nice, and I wasenjoying it. I don’t know how long it was before I felt the bed dip. I drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
Sometime in the early morning,I woke from a wet dream. As I came to, I realized it was Carter. He moved from between my legs, carefully moving me to my side. He lifted my leg and slid into me from behind, then pulled out.
“I didn’t mean to wake you, baby,” he whispered, his voice deep and rough. He slid himself back into me and I moaned. “Fuck, Em,” he breathed. “I know it was wrong while you were sleepin’, but I had to taste you.” He moved his hips at a slow, agonizing pace. “I wanna hear you sing for me again.”
After as much as I had come hours before—plus the one that woke me up—I didn’t think it was possible to come again. Carter proved me wrong two orgasms later.
15. DUDE, WHERE’S MY SELF-CONTROL?
September 10
Day Fourteen
180 Hours to Go
Iwoke up slowly, my body delightfully sore as I stretched. The clock on the bedside table read ten twenty-eight. I could feel Mac’s warmth behind me and I smiled. I still hadn’t figured out how he always got Carter’s bedroom door open. I knew Carter didn’t leave it open because Mac wasn’t allowed on the bed. I reached behind me to pat him and froze when I felt smooth skin. Either Mac had been shaved in the middle of the night or Carter was late for work. I rolled over to face him.
“Carter?” I whispered, poking his cheek. “Carter, you overslept.” He grumbled and pushed my hand away. “Carter?” I said, louder. Whiskey eyes met mine, half asleep, half hooded with lust, and all around annoyed.
“What?” he growled.
“You overslept,” I repeated. “It’s ten thirty.”
“You kickin’ me out of my own bed, Buttercup?” He was still half asleep.
“What? No. But you have work. You’re late.”
“Ain’t goin’ in today.”
“Oh… Sorry,” I said. He stretched, his muscles flexing slightly. I stared, not even remotely caring that he was smirking at me. That’s when I noticed the tented sheet a little further down.
“Don’t look at me like that, Emogen,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Not unless you want a repeat of last night.” I bit my lip at his words. Part of me definitely wanted that again. The other part of me was rational and still sore, wondering if I’d be able to again. I was so lost in my internal debate that I didn’t have time to move before he had me pinned to the mattress, kissing down my body.
“Carter!” I gasped when his mouth made contact between my legs. He wouldn’t let me move as his tongue swirled and licked, bringing me over the edge within minutes. He climbed up my body, thrusting into me in one go. He wasn’t as rough as he’d been last night, but he definitely wasn’t as slow as he was this morning. I went to move my hands to his broad shoulders when he grabbed them, pinning me by the wrists with one hand. “No. You lay there and take what I’m givin’ you.”
I wanted to argue, to fight back, but I was too tired and it felt too good. I only stared at him as he pumped in and out of me. He stared back, and I realized it was the first time we were looking at each other. I meanreallylooking. It was like he was trying to see my soul. I wanted to tell him it was still on vacation after he’d sucked it out of my clit last night, but decided against it. Especially when that small voice creeped in, telling me he was staring because I wasn’t as pretty with the lights on. I knew what I looked like most mornings, and that was a sobering thought. I probably looked like a mess and he was staring because of it. I felt my cheeks heat, and I looked away, picking a spot on the ceiling to look at instead.
His movements became more erratic, faster. I bit my lip when his hand reached between us, playing with my clit.
“Give it to me, Buttercup,” he commanded, and I swore I saw stars as my eyes fluttered shut. Just as I went over the edge, he followed. I opened my eyes again. He was still staring.My eyes went anywhere but his. Why wasn’t he moving? Did I look so bad that he had to stare? My brain was going a million miles an hour while my body began to beg for more rest.
