71. Distracted by the D
I knocked on Carter’s door with one goal in mind: To Confess Love. He opened the door, and I didn’t even get out a greeting. He hooked a finger through my belt loop and pulled me into his chest. His mouth came down on mine, his other hand pushing the door closed and then I felt the full palm of his hand on my butt, squeezing hard. He gripped me like he thought I might slip away, his kiss deepening as we stood in place, my bag dropping through my fingers, my hands reaching up to grip his hair.
Any chance of talking disappeared in the pull of his mouth off mine, his hand pushing me back, and as my shoulders hit the door, his knees hit the floor, his fingers at the top of my leggings. His name was a question off my lips and he ignored it, pulling at the waist of my pants and my panties, and then they were skimmed down my legs and around my feet.
He was a man on a mission, and my flats were off, my left thigh lifted over his shoulder, and then his mouth was between my legs, my hands skittering over the door as I tried to hold on to something. “Carter,” I gasped his name around the time that his tongue found that spot, the one he discovered one morning and could barely hold me down after. It wasn’t my clit, it was further back … and when he flicked his tongue over it, I was gone. I collapsed against the door, my hands weak on his shoulders, my weight on him, his hands holding me up as he worshiped me with his mouth.
Light flutters, so light and constant and perfect—at that spot then up to my clit, his fingers biting into my bare ass, a guttural groan humming over my sensitive skin and spelling out his enjoyment. I wanted to move, wanted to not be standing, two wants that got lost in the swell of pleasure. When I came, my nails dug into his shoulders, my foot braced against the floor, my thighs tightened around his head, and everything in my mind went black.
I had a vague recollection of him lifting me up. Of him carrying me to his bed. I found my bearings around the time that my back hit the sheets. I helped him pull off my shirt and watched as he yanked at his, his abs flexing as he threw it into the corner of the room, his fingers quick as they worked at his pants. He was so freaking hot. So strong, the cut of his muscles showing in the simple act of shedding his clothes. His eyes were on mine the entire time and when he crawled onto the bed, hard and ready for me, I was ready for him.
I was so ready for him.
“You need more furniture.” I picked up a shrimp with my chopsticks and gestured to his bare bones room.
“I don’t like clutter,” he remarked, scooping fried rice onto his plate.
“Yeah—I’ve seen your closet. I could tell.” I popped the shrimp in my mouth and chewed, watching him crack open a Coke.
He glanced my way. “You prefer your men messy?”
“Not at all.” I thought of Vic, who tossed his clothes on the floor, a maid picking them up the minute our back was turned. “I’m just jealous I wasn’t born with that gene.”
“I don’t know if I was born with it or if it was beaten into me.” He made a whip motion with his hand, and I raised my eyebrows.
“Please tell me it wasn’t by Presa.” I made a face and he laughed.
“No, no. My mom. She wouldn’t let me eat unless everything was in its place.”
I smiled at the image, one so different than my childhood. I could picture him, a miniature heartbreaker, then a lanky teenager, put into place by a bossy mother. “I wish my mom had been more like that. Maybe then…” Maybe then I’d be a lot different. Maybe then I wouldn’t have struggled so much when the rug was yanked out from beneath me.
He shrugged. “It’s one of those things that you hate as a kid but learn to appreciate the benefits of later. I think they did a pretty good job of raising me.”
“Was your Dad strict too?”
He nodded, scooping out some noodles and holding them out for me. “Do you want kids?”
Kids? That wasn’t something I had ever thought about. Literally. I had always assumed I’d have them, just hadn’t ever really thought if I had wanted them. Vic had wanted five boys. So that had always been that. Discussion over, damn whatever sperm or Chloe had to say about the matter. “I don’t know,” I said, taking a sip of my tea.
“I think you’d make a great mom.” I almost asked him to repeat himself, wanted to hear the words one more time.
“Really?” I scrunched up my face. “I can’t even handle myself.”
“The best parents are those that try. And that can admit their mistakes.”
Well, wasn’t that the truth. Maybe, if my parents admitted their own shortgivings, I would have seen more of my own. “So…” I said slowly, setting down the box of food and sitting back in my chair. “You’re saying that because I’m a train wreck, I’ll be a great mom?” I narrowed my eyes at him and he smiled.
“I’m saying that Chloe Madison doesn’t seem to do anything half ass.” He stood and walked around the table, leaning over and resting his weight on the arms of my chair.
“That sounds like a challenge,” I mused, grinning wickedly up at him.
He laughed and pressed his lips to mine. “You up for it?”
I was up for it. And as it turned out, so was he.