Chapter Fifteen

Carina

WHEN THE MESS YOU get yourself into is no fault but your own, you can’t complain about it. You roll with it with as much dignity and tact as you can. Growing up with my stepfather, I learned that lesson quickly. I made a mistake, I was punished for it. Now that I’m out of his rule and living my own life, the concept is still similar, albeit a little less painful. I fell for a taken man. The problem was he was only taken in a one-sided fashion. I can’t stop putting myself in Megan’s shoes. If I were the one to lose Smith, how awful the feeling must be. I shake the bad feelings away and try to concentrate.

My Bose headphones cancel out all noise. I don’t have the music on, just complete silence. I’m at my small glass desk in my bedroom with the door closed. I’m pounding the keys, desperately trying to make headway on my manuscript. As soon as we returned from his parents’ house, Smith got a call and had to head in to work. He was not pleased. I’ve never heard him curse so much and so strongly as he did after he hung up the call. Part of me is happy to have a little space from him and what he makes me feel. Never in all of my years have I been so attracted to a person. His looks aside, the personality that shines through in every single moment of his life is enough to knock me flat on the floor delirious with lust and…love.

Currently, I’m deleting more than I’m writing. It’s a fight to get words on screen tonight—so distracted by his kiss and then by his ex. The thought gives me an idea. I pull up the chapter in which my characters have their first kiss and I revise it. I close my eyes and remember his lips against mine. I write every detail, every feeling, every touch. Our first kiss becomes theirs and even on paper the moment jumps off the pages as truth.

“This is how it needs to happen,” I whisper to myself. Reading over the scene makes my heart pound. It’s so real. I need outside perspective to know if it’s as strong as I feel it is. Dialing Jasmine is easy. She’s speed dial number one on my cell phone. Like any best friend, she picks up right before it goes to voicemail in no-man’s-land. No one listens to voicemails these days.

“I have to read you something and I need an honest opinion,” I say. I forego a hello in favor of getting down to business.

I hear talking and laughing and then complete silence. “I’m ready,” Jasmine says simply. There are no questions, no shit because it’s the weekend and I’m working. I remember she’s out with our friends. An invitation I didn’t accept because I thought Smith and I would be preoccupied with each other for at least twenty-four hours.

“I rewrote part of chapter ten,” I say.

“The kiss,” she replies automatically. Her agent hat has replaced her best friend cap.

I nod, glazing over the words in front of me with wide eyes. “Yes. I changed it…fixed it. I think. Here, listen,” I order. With a quick click I make my font larger and begin reading. I made the scene resemble our first kiss so fully that I moved it outdoors by a tree and changed the dialogue to gel with the moment that is seared into my mind. Reading it back to Jasmine I can look at it as a fly on the wall instead of breathing and loving in the moment and it impacts me the same way: a sledgehammer cracking my ribs apart. “A flower stands at its most beautiful just before it wilts away and dies. A black and white photo is timeless—it lingers in shoe boxes for generations. Words in black and white are eternal. This kiss, the one I feel in my soul, transcends any visual dimension the eye can see. It’s more than forever,” I read aloud the last part. My breathing is more jagged and my throat is clogged. Tears sneak out of the corner of my eyes.

“Fuck, Carina,” Jasmine says. Her voice is raspy with emotion. “That is beautiful. You’ve never written anything more…real. You know I’m going to ask, though.”

“He kissed me, Jaz,” I say, grabbing my throat with one hand. “And the world stopped cold. I fell so hard and it only took seconds. It sounds real because it is real, and my life is strangely more appealing than fiction. How did this happen?” I’m doing this. It’s down. My feelings and words are strewn about my laptop screen. My truths. Our secrets. There’s no hiding them.

Jasmine swallows loudly. “This is unbelievable. If you can insert, no pun intended, more of your real life with Smith into this novel, the sky is the limit. I’m crying and I don’t cry, Carina. As far as first kisses go in books you just devoured first through third place,” she says. I can tell she’s breathing heavily, just as affected by my words as I am. “Like maybe took over Jaime and Claire’s spot, for Christ’s sake.”

I hit the save button and lay my forehead down on my desk. “This is what it feels like,” I whisper.

“Yes. You lucky bitch. I can’t even pretend to know what you feel, but your words? Those I can take and run with. Give it to us, honey. Give it all to us,” Jasmine breathes. She laughs. “The first time you fuck him? Give me a few hours heads-up. I want to grab a glass of wine and my vibe.”

“You’re atrocious. You think I’d give gory details about that?”

“Yes,” she replies. “As your agent, I expect them actually.”

I grunt. “I thought we’d be making details right now, but he’s working tonight.”

“Working?” Jasmine asks. “At night? Sounds suspicious.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s working. I’m worried, though. Did you see the news? The attack at the shopping mall in NorCal?” A conversation switch is mandatory now that we’ve delved into my sex life.

“Sick fuckers. Don’t let fear run your life. Especially now that you have the hottest bodyguard on the planet.”

“He deploys soon, remember? I’ll be all by myself. Not that I’m worried about solitary confinement. Well, maybe a little bit.” I don’t even have to say his name.

“You haven’t heard from him or seen him since the day you left. What makes you think anything will change?”

Leaning back in my chair, I tilt my chin up to stare at the ceiling. It’s illuminated by the glow of my computer. “I have a feeling something bad will happen. I can’t explain it.”

Jasmine groans. “Then don’t explain. Don’t think about it. Just read me that scene again. I’m going to grab my glass of wine.”

I laugh. “Shut up. I’ll talk to you later. I’ll send over the finished chapters in the morning.”

“Good luck,” Jasmine rasps.

“With what?” I ask.

“Smith. When he gets home from work.” With a laugh she says goodbye and ends the call. Checking messages again without anything new, I toss my cell on the desk next to my notebook and headphones. I may need to move my desk into the empty bedroom. I’ve been working too late and I think it’s because my work station is located a few feet from my bed.

I read my new words a few more times and stand from my chair to stretch my tired hands over my head. I throw on a nightshirt that hits high thigh, wash my face, and brush my teeth. All through the mundane tasks I revel in the knowledge that I’ve written our first kiss. A kiss that will live forever in the pages of a book. It’s freeing and terrifying at the same time. I’ve gotten used to my friends reading my work and assuming I write non-fiction. How will this be any different? Other than the fact that I’m dating the person who I’m writing about? Early on, Smith and I decided that he wouldn’t read anything until I was finished—until it returned from the editor and the draft was final, final. He’s got more willpower than me, that’s for sure. If someone were writing a story about me, I’d have to know everything as it was written. Especially if it were sitting right under my nose. Smith doesn’t even glance at my marker boards. He says his momma raised a gentleman.

Our wooden floors creak underneath my steps as I head for the kitchen. The old bungalow style of our house is brand-new to me. It’s different than the house I grew up in and is much different than the house Roarke built for us. Surrounded by these walls gives me a new lease on life in more ways than the obvious. The water goes down easily as I stare out into the dark purple night, trying to quench a nagging thirst. A coyote calls out from the ravine several houses down, and lightning bugs dot across the window, flying so slow even I could catch them.

My eyes are heavy when I slide into bed and pull the cool sheet over my bare legs. I click on the small side lamp on the opposite end table so it’s not dark when Smith comes home, and I close my eyes. My mind still whirs with the thrill of his lips against my own and the way he looked at me when he gently pulled away. Smith was starry-eyed. My stomach flips with excitement at the thought. Once his face enters my mind, I can’t shake it. It’s half tan and smooth and half red and scarred. Even his body is a representation of before and after. Pre-mortar and post mortar. Or in easier terms: Megan and Carina.

With no family of my own and the evil ghosts from my past plaguing me, this afternoon was a reminder of what will never truly be mine. Smith lost a lot, but he still has so much. My hope is that I can be a part of it for as long as he’ll let me. I open my eyes once more and the blue digital clock reads 12:07 a.m. I close my eyes for the final time, turn off my brain, and finally fall asleep.

First, sunlight peeking from the blinds wakes me. Next I’m acutely aware of the heavy arm slung across the middle of my body and his chest pressed against my back, creating a heat that warms me from the outside in. When I stir, Smith props himself up on his elbow and looks down at me. “What time did you get in last night?” I roll over to face him. The smile comes without my permission. Waking up to this sight makes me happier than anything in my past.

“This morning,” he replies. “A few hours ago.” A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s 7 a.m. “I didn’t want to wake you when I came in. You looked so peaceful in your drool filled slumber.” He smiles and it melts my insides. I suck in a deep breath.

“I do not drool,” I say, furrowing my brow. “I sleep like a Disney princess. Don’t suggest anything to contradict that.” I wipe at my bottom lip. It’s currently dry. “You should go back to sleep, Smith. You can’t possibly be ready to wake after only a few hours of sleep.”

Shrugging, he pulls me into his warm, shirtless body and yanks the quilt back up to our necks, his hands now wandering over my body. “Sleep is the very last thing on my mind right now.” His gaze burns into mine and his hands find the hem of my nightshirt. His lips twitch. “You wear so little to bed. I can’t help myself,” he says. With a featherlight touch his fingertips stroke the side of my thigh up to the string of my panties. He hooks a finger in and drags his finger underneath it, teasing himself. Teasing me, too. “It took all of my self-control to go to sleep with this much of your bare skin in touching proximity.”

I blush. Big time. Everything below my waist cries out for attention in one wild rush of excitement. It’s been too long. But it’s more than that now because everything before this has been lukewarm. “What did you do at work last night?” I ask before all important thoughts flee my mind in favor of his touch—something that scrambles my brain cells. “Why did it take so long?”

His face changes. His hand stops on my hipbone and he grabs it, his fingers encompassing the whole side of my body. Breathing in and out makes his hand move with me. It’s warm. It’s demanding. “It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Smith replies.

I shake my head. “When people say stuff like that typically there is almost always something to worry about, but you don’t want to worry the person. Do you see how counterintuitive that is? Now I’m worried because you told me not to worry.”

He sighs and then pulls the covers over his head and disappears under the blankets. In a fast maneuver that tickles and makes me pull away in mock protest, he makes his way between my legs. With the edge of the quilt in my hand I lift it to see his smiling face between my knees. “You’re trying to distract me,” I say. Pressing my lips into a firm line, I try to hold a serious face. “Smith Eppington. You better tell me what I want to know.”

Smith takes the sides of my panties and pulls them down and off my body with one fierce tug. It’s playful, but so damn hot at the same. Some noise exits my mouth and it makes him smile, his good side wider than his bad. I shake my head. “Is it working?” he asks, then kisses the inside of my right thigh. “Are you distracted?” His warm breath on my skin clenches my core. He drags his lips up and down, inching his way higher.

I adjust my legs and try to calm my breaths. “I don’t see how I can’t be distracted with my underwear on the floor and your head between my legs. I don’t forget,” I say. Tapping the side of my head, I finish, “I’m like an elephant.”

He licks the inside of my left thigh and runs his hands under my nightshirt up and down the sides of my rib cage. I shiver. Tipping my head back, I close my eyes.

“An elephant isn’t what I want to think about right now,” Smith growls. “I’d ask you how you like this, but I honestly don’t care. I’m starving for you. You’re wet. I smell you.” With his lips pressing against my skin, and the disappearance of my panties, he’s turned into a lust crazed man. A man I’ve wanted to meet since I first laid eyes on him.

Taking the quilt, I throw it back so he’s fully exposed and not lacking oxygen. “Don’t think about an elephant. Think about me,” I say, breathing in and out in a panic as I realize what’s about to happen. His tongue traces lazy circles where my leg joins my body. “And whatever you do, do not stop doing that,” I moan.

Smith finally moves his head where I want it. My own head, which feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, swims in sheer bliss. His mouth is warm and his fingers stroke me deftly, slipping inside to rub just the right spot, the place most men don’t even know exists. I moan out as the sensations—the connection—envelops every nerve ending. Smith is aggressive in his maneuvers, pushing my legs out to give himself better access, holding my hips down when I try to arch my back.

Knowing I won’t be able to hold out much longer, I give in completely, as if I had a choice, and let myself grab his hair and ride the sensations. The noises coming out of Smith cause a riot of emotions. The dominant one being lust. There’s no calmness or leisurely pleasuring happening. It’s animalistic, complete loss of control. I guide his head into me when I feel him slip another finger inside. He strokes a few more times, without halting his flicking tongue, and I lose it. The orgasm hits my body in waves, from my tingling thighs to the warm flush of pleasure cascading every square inch of skin on my body. The waves go on and on, my muscles tense, and my eyes closed tight.

When Smith is sure I’m finished he rests his chin on my lower stomach, but doesn’t remove his massive hands from my thighs. The heat from his palms keeps me in a fog of bliss, unsure if more is coming. “And that is how it’s done,” I say, sighing. I haven’t had an orgasm in months. I haven’t had an orgasm that strong and body consuming in my lifetime. He’s smiling at me, his eyes lazily wandering over my face and exposed stomach. “I still can’t catch my breath. No elephants in this room, huh?”

He kisses the flat plane of the skin stretched across my hipbones. “Who needs to breathe when you can have orgasms?” Smith smiles. It’s predatory and full of promise. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of doing that? Of hearing your screams, seeing your face knowing I’m responsible for making you feel good, tasting your sweet pussy?” He shakes his head and licks a trail from my stomach back down between my legs. He presses a soft kiss at my wet entrance. “Feeling you clench in release around my fingers while I envision it being my dick instead?”

I take a deep breath as my muscles contract from his mouth. “Probably as long as I’ve dreamed about reciprocating the favor?” I ask.

He stops kissing and fingering me. “You mean sucking me off?” Smith’s gaze flicks up to meet mine and I can tell it’s painful for him to take his attention away from where he really wants it.

“Or a blow job. Your dick in my warm, wet mouth,” I say. Tracing my lips with my thumb, I continue. “My lips wrapping around you as I lick and suck, taking you all the way back into my throat until you come.” I smirk. My confidence is bolstered by the adrenaline and the pure power I feel being in his presence. He continues staring, a blank, unreadable expression playing across his features. “Unless you don’t want that,” I amend.

Smith doesn’t take his eyes off my mouth as I speak. I’m unable to read his feelings on the subject and regret speaking in such a manner. He started the dirty talk, so I assumed it would be okay for me to reciprocate. “That’s not your thing. It’s okay. Sorry for mentioning it.” I blush every shade of red and I’m tan. I try to lean up, but he places a hand on my stomach to hold me in place.

“She’s never done that,” Smith says, voice so low I almost don’t make out the words. “I’ve never had a blow job. Don’t be sorry for mentioning it. I’m celebrating internally. I needed a moment to process what you said.”

He’s joking. He has to be. A full-grown man who looks like Smith gets blow jobs whenever he wants. He told me Megan was the only woman he’s ever been with. I believed it, but I also assumed their sex life was top-notch. Look at her. Look at him. I never saw this coming. Not by a long shot. “Don’t joke right now, Smith.” My eyes are wide, confused.

“Say my name again,” he growls.

I grin. “Smith.”

Leaning up on his knees, he pulls down his black boxer briefs. His erection springs free and I can’t take my eyes from it. I haven’t seen such anatomy in too long and I’ve never seen Smith’s. Envisioning it was my favorite game. Feeling it through his pants, pressing against my stomach when he hugged me gave me a pretty good idea what he was packing, but it’s nothing like seeing it in the flesh right now. It’s long, a rigid nine or ten inches, with a girth much wider than I’ve ever encountered in my sheltered years. Nothing compared to Roarke. I have no comparison. It’s beautiful.

When I finally pull my gaze up to his eyes, he bites his bottom lip. “One thing on my body didn’t get fucked up,” he says. “Still game to show me the ropes?” he asks. He lifts and lowers his thick, broad shoulders.

I sigh. The butterflies in my stomach threaten to rise into my throat. It’s an odd sensation. A little bit of stage fright mixes with absolute passion. I’ve never been a fan of blow jobs, honestly. It was something I had to do because men like them and it’s how you return the favor. Right now my mouth is watering for Smith. I want to taste him. I want to own this first—something that no one else can say. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” I say, my gaze still taking in the lower half of his body. “Well,” I stutter.

With his hands perched on his hips, he says, “Finish that thought, please.”

His command draws my gaze up to meet his. Smith’s warm voice is gritty with desire. It twists my insides into knots. “It wasn’t really a thought,” I reply. Taking his hand, I guide it back to my core. “It’s more of a given. I want to have sex with you.”

Smith sucks in a breath, bites his lower lip, and closes his eyes. His eyebrows knit together. He’s holding himself back. It’s a look I’m not familiar with. In my previous relationship holding back wasn’t ever on the agenda. Roarke took from me exactly what he wanted regardless of how I felt. “We aren’t in the living room right now, so it’s obviously not on the agenda,” I say. I scoot forward to give him better access and tentatively reach for his hard-on.

I watch as he swallows hard and then raises his other hand to my face. I lean into it. “All this time, I’ve gotten to know everything about you on the inside. The outside was a tightly held treasure of a mystery. The promise of the eighth wonder of the world. I’ve wanted to touch you like this for a long time,” Smith growls. My eyes flutter closed for a brief moment as his fingers play me like his favorite instrument. “It’s not a disappointment. In case you’re curious. Every curve,” Smith whispers, dragging the hand from my cheek down my neck and trailing over the swell of my breast. “Every beauty mark.” The tip of his finger grazes the spot right next to my belly button. “Every single line, dip, and hair on your entire body.” He leans in and kisses me. A breath stealing kiss. A life-altering kiss. Into my ear he says, “Is my favorite memory.”

“No more memories. Just now. Okay?” I say against his lips. “Our future,” I promise.

He agrees with a megawatt smile and just the right words again. My heart flutters like the wings of a bird. This takes courage—a facet of my personality that’s buried deeply inside somewhere that hasn’t been accessed for years. Since I was a little girl, hugging my knees and praying for a miracle. My miracle happened. Just later than expected.

“Well, this one last thing can go into memory. If you think it worthy enough,” I reply.

Smith smirks as I lean over and push his boxer briefs further down his sculpted thighs. I take him into my mouth and relish in the hiss of air that leaves his mouth when I slide him in deeply. He swears. Every curse word in the book. Words I’ve never heard before pass his lips. For a man who has never received oral sex, he finds his role quickly. One hand is wrapped around my hair and the other is pushing the back of my neck in the fast rhythm that I quickly realize he enjoys most.

My hand is tired and my jaw feels like it may never shut again, but the pressure is on to give him the best first of his life. It’s all I can give him at the moment and it feels glorious. Smith tells me a few times to slow down because he wants to last a while longer, wants to feel my wet mouth around him longer. I know it won’t take much longer when the grip on my hair tightens. I keep my hand pumping and take him to the back of my throat. He comes in several hot, long bursts down my throat. On the last jerk, he falls back into the kneeling position.

I keep my mouth latched around him until I’m sure he’s finished and swallow the remnants. His grip loosens on my hair and neck. Taking a deep breath, I sit up again into the kneeling position. “Finish your thoughts, please,” I say, taking his words.

“Best orgasm of my life. You swallowed it,” he says, eyes wide.

I smile. “What did you think I would do with it?”

“Spit it all over my body and break out into a thankless argument about how female ejaculation isn’t real,” he replies.

Smith and I break out into laughter at the same time. He pins me on the bed. His weight is welcome and warm. The urge to have him deep inside me surfaces and I wonder if he knows how deliriously happy he makes me.

I cover my mouth with one hand to stifle the laughter. Grabbing my wrist, he pulls my hand down. “Never cover that blessed device. Do you understand me?”

I giggle and shrug. His beautiful eyes crinkle in the corners as he smiles down at me. “I understand,” I say, feigning obedience.

His mouth turns down as his smile disappears. “I’m sorry for being rough with your head. Surprisingly I had little control of that in the heat of the moment.”

His concern gives me pause. “Don’t apologize. I know you would never hurt me purposefully. You would never hurt me in any way.” How I hope this is true. How I hope he is my forever. He runs his fingers through my hair gently. “Would you?”

I know him well enough to know he will read between the lines like a pro. His eyes glaze over. He kisses my forehead and then the tip of my nose. I close my eyes when he kisses my eyelids.

When I open them to find his true emotions playing across his face, for the very first time, I know my hopes will become a reality. “I love you, Carina. I love you forever.”

And nothing can steal them away.

Nothing.