Giving the sauté pan one last shake, I lifted it off the stove and slid it into the oven to keep warm while I cooked the pasta. Everything was going smoothly. The water was coming to a rolling boil. More importantly, Carter was pulling up the driveway.
Checking my clothes for splatters and stains, I grabbed the box of linguine and measured two small handfuls. Then threw a third in the pot, remembering Carter’s appetite. I was just easing the noodles under the water as he walked through the door.
There’s a common trope about the air being sucked out of the room when in the presence of ‘the one.’ Pronounced thee. I don’t know about the lack of air, but I can tell you the room grew about twenty degrees warmer. Despite my attempt to play it cool, a flush drew across my cheeks.
“Are you cooking, Angel?”
“Laundry,” I replied. “The water heater went and I need hot water.”
“Haha.” Coming over, he peered over my shoulder, into the pot of water. “Pasta. What’s in the oven?”
“Chicken Marsala.”
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Neither did I.”
“Did you do this for me?”
“T-t-two thirds of it.”
“And this?” His fingers traced the hem of my shirt, brushed the small of my back. Aaaannnndddd there went all the oxygen in the room. I glanced at the burner to see if I accidentally raised the flame. The temperature in the room rose another few degrees. “Is this for me?”
“Tonight.”
“Only tonight?”
“Tomorrow, you’ll have t-to vie with Iain f-for my attention.”
“Someone has Iain for the night.” The playfulness in his voice was gone, replaced with blatant concern.
“Em has him.” Tapping the wooden spoon on against the edge of the pot, I sat it on the counter. Then, turned to face him. “Is that a problem?”
“No!” he backtracked. “No. I just…it feels like I’m missing a limb.”
I smiled, and then quickly reigned it in. “I’m sorry. Was that supposed t-to be f-funny?”
“I hadn’t meant it as a joke, but I’m naturally witty.”
“And naturally immodest.”
“I’ll tell you a confession, Angel. My confidence—it’s all a ruse.” Leaning closer, he pressed a kiss to the corner of my jaw. “I like the haircut.”
My hand drew to my nape, fingering the stubble. “It’s not t-too short?”
“You could be bald and you’d still look amazing.” Stepping away from me, he panned over the kitchen table. My hope diminished of him ruining dinner and fast-forwarding straight to sex. “Can I help with anything?” he asked. “Maybe set the table?”
“The t-table’s set. We’re eating in the dining room.”
Carter’s eyebrow cocked in question. “Fancy plates and everything?”
“Gram always said that dining rooms were made f-for intimate dinners and f-family holidays. That and I think Jake had sex with Paisley on the kitchen t-table. I might drag it out into the yard t-tomorrow and set it on f-fire.”
Disconcerted, Carter stared at the offending table. “For real?”
“Apparently.”
“How did this all come out?”
“The girls had a f-few drinks. They wanted t-to know about Iain’s conception. When I was reluctant t-to give the details, they decided t-to exhort the information by plying me with stories of their own sexual depreciations.”
“That wasn’t Jake and Violet’s first.” I was aware of that. Em had started to say the same when Paisley cut her off. She clearly didn’t want me to know the sordid details about Jake’s fuckpad above his club.
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t need t-to know any more about Jake’s perverted sex life than I’ve already witnessed. As of now—”
“Witnessed?” Carter inquired. “What did you witness?”
“I’ll t-tell you about it when we sit down.” I gestured to the pot of pasta. “Why don’t you drain that while I plate up the chicken?”
A few minutes later, we were sitting at the table, ensconced in the warm glow of candlelight. Carter reached, lifted my plate, and began filling it with copious amounts of pasta.
“Enough!” I exclaimed. “My god, I’ll never eat all of that!” I could. Easily. But I wasn’t going to ruin a good round of sex by placing myself in a carb coma. I wouldn’t feel like moving. Which sucked royally because I loved carbs.
“Relax, you know I ain’t gonna let it go to waste.” He placed my plate back in front of me and began filling his own. “So, what exactly did you witness today? I thought you were going shopping.”
“We did. After going t-to the salon. We were shopping when Paisley started picking a f-fight with Jake so they could have make-up sex. Apparently, they like it rough.”
“That’s the least of it.”
I raised my hand, beseeching his pause. “Stop there. I don’t need t-to know any more. It’s bad enough that I know what I know.”
“Angel,” Carter said, losing his patience.
“Jake showed up at the store. He and Paisley started getting it on in the dressing room. It was so disgusting. They weren’t even quiet about it. Shut up! It’s not funny!”
“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. He was hiding his amusement behind a mouthful of pasta and chicken.
“It’s not. I was mortified. When I ran out of the store, I still had stuff in my hands and I set off the alarms. The store manager f-freaked out and called the police. I thought I was going to get arrested.”
“For what?”
“Shoplifting, obviously.”
“If anything, they would’ve arrested Jake and Violet for lewd or indecent behavior.”
“Apparently she thought they were causing a distraction so I could score some new threads at a f-five f-finger discount.”
“So, what’d you end up telling the police?”
“It was a prank. They were trying to embarrass me.”
“They fell for that?”
“Of course not. Jake offered them tickets to Portage.” It was a huge end of the summer bash, a festival of bands. Hautboy hosted it every year. They anchored a barge out in the bay in place of a stage. People lined the waterline by beach or boat. From Friday evening through Sunday afternoon, it was nonstop music, watersports, and general partying. Tickets normally sold out within minutes of going on sale, so scoring a few from the band themselves was a big deal. Even if they didn’t use them, they could sell them at a decent profit.
Carter stabbed at his chicken, falling uncharacteristically silent. It was a testament that I’d struck a nerve. “What did Tate have t-to say?” I asked. Perhaps he’d provided a little insight as to the band’s fate.
“We’re not playing at Portage this year.”
And there it was. The beginning of the end.
“It’s not what you think,” Carter clarified. “He just had twins. Your brother’s getting married in November. There’s a shit ton going on in our own personal lives right now. We all need a break.”
It wasn’t like he was going to point his finger at me and place blame. He was being a gentleman and assuming guilt.
“Is that what Tate t-told you?”
“It’s the truth.”
“You don’t have t-to lie on my behalf. I’m an adult.”
“I know exactly what you are, Angel.” A bit of a smile returned to his tone. “I wasn’t going to say anything because I knew you’d blame yourself.”
“Rightfully.”
“I think we’ve gotten as close to a blessing as Jake will ever give us,” Carter voiced. “As long as I’m not dicking you around, I think we can pull this off.”
If it weren’t for the band, I’d say fuck Jake. As it stood, I pushed the food around my plate. My nerves were already on edge. The conversation quashed what appetite I had left.
“You going to finish that?” Carter pointed his fork at my plate. Shaking my head, I pushed it toward him. He slid his plate aside and started to work on my meal. “This is good, Angel. Really good.”
“Thanks.” I wanted to be the highlight of his evening. Not my cooking. In an attempt to drown my annoyance, I poured another glass of wine.
“Should you be drinking that?”
“I pumped earlier. Besides, Em has Iain f-for the night.”
Carter’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Why do I feel like this whole day was less an outing and more of a strategy meeting?”
“Because you’re naturally clever.” And incredibly dense at the same time. Most men would’ve said the hell with dinner, wiped the table clear of its contents, and fucked me on the thing. Against it. Under it. You get the point. He actually thought this was about the food.
Rising from my chair, I lifted the platters and headed for the kitchen to pack up the leftovers. Carter’s priorities obviously lay with his stomach. Perhaps I should’ve stuck with the oysters and green M&M’s. Even if they’d gone to waste, he would’ve gotten the hint.
“Are you mad at me?” Carter asked, trailing me into the kitchen. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” I was disappointed. Incessantly disappointed, it seemed. In the middle of the night. The first light of morning. Naptime. All the fucking time.
“Disappointed?” he objected.
Oh shit.
I froze in place. The dishes rattled in my hands.
“You gotta give a guy a chance,” he chided. Taking the dishes from my hands, he placed them in the sink. “You cooked; I do the dishes. I know how shit works.”
Oh. My. God. Nobody could be that clueless.
No. Fucking. Body.
“Jess didn’t leave me completely in the dark,” he continued. “You’d think she’d’ve taken it easy on me after losing a leg, but she always had some mundane chore for me to do around the house, with the explanation that my wife would appreciate it someday.”
I’m sure she will. Shame she wasn’t me. “I’m t-tired. I think I’ll go t-to bed.” If I stood there another moment, I might scream.
Fucking dishes. I could give a flying fuck about the dishes.
I wasn’t asking for world record breaking sex. Though, it was Carter, so it would be. Nonetheless, I wanted two minutes to share some kind of non-platonic affection. The smaller part of me wanted proof that he wasn’t just ‘dicking me around.’ Sue me. I wanted the lock, stock, and barrel. I wasn’t settling for less. Not even from Carter Strickland.
“You forgetting something, Angel?”
“What?” Right. I forgot to pack the leftovers. “If you’re not going t-to eat it, t-toss it,” I said irritably. He could choke on them for all I cared.
“Damn, you’re impatient,” Carter grumbled. Grasping my arm, he jerked me around to face him, and with the same momentum, crushed his lips against mine. I growled in annoyance, but as my mind caught up to speed, it altered to pleasure. I came to the quick realization that he’d been toying with me, the idea spawned by his shaking chest. He was laughing at me.
Perturbed, I broke this kiss, biting his lip in the process.
“That’s not very nice, Angel.” Lifting his hand to his lip, he dragged his finger across it, rubbing away the sting.
“You’re not being very nice.” I took a step back as he stepped closer. Really, I wanted to climb him like a tree. He grinned down at me. Though, it was more of a smirk. My cheeks flushed with color.
“Being nice is overrated.”
I had to agree.
I took another step back. Carter’s eyes flashed, smug. My ass nestled against the table. The dishes rattled. I nearly moaned. Carter placed his hands on my waist and lifted me onto the table. His hands. He had his fucking hands on me. My heart rattled in my chest as he leaned forward and reached around me. The next thing I knew the contents of the table were ricocheting against the cabinets and floor.
“Oh my God.” My voice was hoarse to my own ears. It was laced with ribbons of desire and anticipation.
“Did you like that?”
“Maybe a little. Ok. A lot. I liked it a lot.”
“The girls texted me,” he confessed. “Said I should make it dramatic or else.”
“I’ll have t-to thank them.”
“Me fucking too.” He took my mouth again. Ardent, yet gentle. Testing. Exploring. As if I was the treasure he’d waited for his whole life, and not the other way around.
I tugged him down with me to the table, until my back rested against the hard surface. My hands threaded into his hair, my fingers slipping through his dark curls. He was right about one thing. Once wasn’t enough. His hair was going to be a main source of my personal entertainment. Well, among other things. His body was a fucking wonderland.
I planned to memorize every curve by touch. I already knew it by sight. I'd coveted him for as long as I could remember. Probably longer if I was being honest. I never thought this day would come. I was finally allowed to touch him because he was mine. Solely mine.
“Those sounds you make…and those hands,” Carter croaked. “You need to slow down.”
“I'd rather not,” I declined. “I'm enjoying myself.”
“I haven't barely started,” he quipped. “I’d like it to last a little longer than a few seconds.”
I felt aglow. I caused that. I wanted him to lose himself over me. On me. Christ I wanted it bad. “We have all night. We can do it again. I want t-to make you come. Now.”
“Jesus, Angel.”
“Please.” He’d already acquiesced, because as I pushed against his chest, he gave. I rose with him, keeping my palm against him. As I dropped to my feet, I let my fingers trail downward, tracing his stomach. He jerked under my hand, his belly rising and falling in rhythm with his breaths.
Undeterred, I slipped my fingers into the waist of his jeans and unfastened the button. His breathing stopped. With a quick slide of his fingers into my hair, he jerked my head back. His mouth closed over my jaw, his teeth scraping gently across my skin. Shivers ran down my body, raising goosebumps across my skin.
I worked eagerly at his zipper, every fucking tooth fighting my progress. The fact that he was hard underneath my hand had me trembling with anticipation. “Come on! Damn it!” I cursed, giving it one last tug. It gave at my command. I slipped my hand eagerly beneath the band of his boxers and scored with a large handful of cock. I moaned victoriously. Holy. Fuck.
The overwhelming sense of desire was pure madness. I stroked him up and down, sliding my thumb over the head. Carter’s hips bucked in response. “Fuck! Oh my God! Your hands are so fucking soft.”
Eagerly, I worked him harder. Faster. His breath puffed against my jaw, warm and demanding. No joke. I think he was being honest when he said it wouldn’t last long. Desperately, I dropped to my knees and began peeling his jeans down his ass and thighs. His cock bobbed out, thick and hard. Wetting my lips, I wasted no time and took him into my mouth, wrapping my hand around the base, while cupping his balls in the other hand.
“Holy fucking Christ!” he gasped, falling forward. He caught himself in the edge of the table, his fingers curling against the wood. “Not yet! Not fucking yet!” Despite his pleas, his hips bucked, thrusting his cock to the back of my throat. “Em…G…D…Em…Asus four…Em…mmph ah!”
I had him reciting chords. And failing, judging by the noises escaping him. Searching for another distraction in an attempt to delay the inevitable, he fell silent. His hips slowed. I granted him another show of mercy and released him from my mouth, sliding my lips over the head of his cock, and then tracing the underside with the tip of my tongue. Though, I was greedy for his release. I wanted to claim his release, feel the triumph of having taken him there.
“No! God no!”
I glanced up, lured not by the words, but his tone. “You want me t-to stop?”
“No!” he said, quickly changing his tone. “Fuck no!”
Keeping my eyes on his, I tried to remedy the situation, returning to the work at hand. There was definitely something going on upstairs. His entire demeanor changed. He maintained the charade, but I had the sinking feeling it was all about to go downhill. Literally. His cock was already going soft, contrary to my efforts. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything.”
“You were into it. What happened?”
“It’s my fault.” Gingerly, he tucked himself back into his pants. The sure sign of blue balls was already affecting him. “I was just about there, but I wasn’t ready. I wanted it to last longer for fuck’s sake.”
I bit back a smile, smug, but sympathetic. He was in obvious discomfort. I stepped closer, mustering what I hoped was sultry or passionate. “There’s a cure f-for that, you know.”
To my surprise, he stepped back. “You gotta give me a minute. I gotta get my head back in the game.”
“Those chords worked a little t-too well.”
“Wasn’t the chords. Was that table. I remember sitting around that thing, and your gram feeding us. And you had those pigtails. Those god damned fucking pigtails. That’s all I could picture. It would’ve been sexy if it was the older you, but—”
“I’m not a little girl anymore.” My temper spiked, hard and fast. The teasing in my tone now gone.
“I know th—”
“Coop and Tate are the same age difference as us.”
“I know that!” he repeated more forcefully. “But he didn’t watch her grow the fuck up! It’s not quite the same!”
I stepped back at his advance, humiliation pairing up with frustration.
“Don’t do that,” he pleaded. “I’m fine. I swear. You just have to give me a few minutes to recoup.”
“Carter, I wouldn’t f-fuck you right now if your cock was magical, t-ten feet long, and could incite orgasms f-from across the room.”
“I don’t know about ten feet long, but I’ve been told its mag…” Prudently, he let his retort drop. I wasn’t in the mood for a battle of quips.
“Go home, please.”
“Angel.”
“Don’t call me that!” I wasn’t his Angel. I wasn’t that little girl with the bleached blonde hair in pigtails. I was a woman who inspired thousands of hard cocks across the campus of OSU.
“This is nothing,” he assured. “It’s not a big deal.”
“This is t-too hard!” I exclaimed. “A relationship shouldn’t have t-to be this much work! I watch everything I say and do around you! I redecorated the bedroom so we could have a space of our own! I primped all freaking day t-t-today! I’m t-tired of trying t-to reinvent myself so you don’t think of me as Bratty Mattie!” My emotions got the best of me. My eyes brimmed with tears.
“Can you please come here?” He held his arms out, looking up from under his lashes. He had no depth. He was an idiot, shallow and clueless.
“No!”
“Please?”
“GET OUT!” I grabbed the closest thing, a vase from the shelf beside me, and tossed it onto the floor for emphasis. He just wasn’t getting the point.
He did now, his back straightening along with his expression. “What the fuck did you do that for?”
“Because you’re not listening!”
“Why won’t you talk to me?”
“Oh my God! You’re so fffffucking dense! I don’t want t-t-t-to t-talk to you! I’m t-tired of t-talking! I want more! I don't understand! You give it out t-t-to thousands of girls across the damn country, but you can’t get it up for the one that counts!”
“Wow.” He had the nerve to shake his head at me. “That was really low.”
“Toying with people’s hearts is low!”
“Is that what you think I'm doing?”
“I really don’t care anymore. I’m t-tired. I need some space.”
“I’ll sleep on the sofa then.”
“Go home, Carter. Please.”
“Funny, I was beginning to think this was my home.”
“F-Funny, your name’s not on the deed,” I shot back.
“I wasn’t talking about the house,” he retorted. “I was talking about being with you. You're my home, Matilda. I thought we were family.”
“I'm not looking f-for a f-friend, Carter. I have enough of those.”
“I don't want to be your friend, Matilda. I'd prove that if you'd give me the fucking chance.”
“Not tonight. You'd be doing it f-f-for all the wrong reasons.” I wanted to know that he loved me, that he desired me. That he couldn't breathe without me. Couldn't breathe when he was near me for fuck’s sake. The only thing he wanted to prove was that he wasn't impotent.
“You want me to leave.” Fighting back tears, I nodded. Carter’s frown deepened, the corners of his mouth turning down in anger. “Fine, but remember I'm not the one walking away tonight. You kicked me the fuck out.”
As he slammed the door behind him, I tossed another vase. It was the last word, in a sense, a show that I wasn’t broken. It was a lie, of course. Inside, I was shattered, my heart, my soul, the strength of my being, lying among the glass shards on the floor of Gram’s kitchen.