She arches her brow. “Carter,” she breathes out, “stop holding back.”
I don’t know who moves first—maybe her, maybe me—but the second our mouths meet, there’s no going back. The kiss is hot, desperate, her fingers slide into my hair, and my hands tighten around her waist. She moves against me, rolling her hips once, and I groan into her mouth because fuck, I’mthisclose to losing control. Her tongue brushes mine, and I pull her harder against me, feeling her everywhere, needing more but knowing I shouldn’t.
Not here, not when she just stopped shaking.
When I finally tear my mouth away, I press my forehead to hers, trying to find a scrap of self-control somewhere under the wreckage she just left me in.
“Catalina, we can’t,” I whisper, holding her tight against my chest.
She groans and slams her head against my shoulder dramatically. “You are so fucking annoying.”
I grin, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Good.”
catalina
. . .
The storm is over. The wind is gone, the thunder long passed, and what’s left behind is the kind of silence that rings in your ears. I fucking made it through my first tornado, and I didn’t die. From him, though? That might still be on the fucking table.
I shift carefully, slipping out of Carter’s arms where he’d wrapped himself around me sometime during the night. My body aches in that slow, heavy way that comes after adrenaline has burned through you and left nothing behind but exhaustion and raw nerves.
He stirs as soon as I move, his arm reaches across the space I just vacated, finding nothing. His brows draw together, and then his eyes blink open, soft, hazy, and unfairly blue, clouded with sleep and something darker that makes heat flicker low in my belly.
“Mornin’,” he rasps, his voice deep and rough with sleep, his heavy Southern drawl curling around the word like honey.
For fuck sake.
My body reacts before my brain can even pretend totalk it down, a rush of heat surges straight to my already soaked lace panties.
I swallow and try to sound normal.
“Good morning,” I manage. “Sleep well?”
His lips curl into the laziest, cockiest smile I’ve ever seen, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me and loves every second of it.
“I sleep better when you’re next to me.”
Oh?
His gaze drags over me slowly, lingering like a touch, not even bothering to pretend it’s innocent. His eyes are still half-lidded with sleep, but what’s behind them is anything but soft.
It’s dangerous. Possessive. Hot enough to make me feel like I might actually scream.
God, why does he have to look so fucking good in the morning?
I sit up straighter, tugging the blanket tighter around me even though I’m still fully clothed. It doesn’t matter. My entire body is humming, sensitive, and aching in the most infuriating way.
He stretches, and I nearly fucking lose it.
One long, slow pull of his arms above his head, muscles flexing beneath his thin t-shirt, hem rising just enough to flash a strip of inked skin and those goddamn abs that look carved from sin itself.
I’ve seen him shirtless before but, fuck, I need to get railed.
“I need a shower,” he mutters, running a hand through his messy hair, scrubbing down his face like he’s trying to shake off the leftover sleep.
“Oh my God, Carter,” I blurt, throwing the blanket off in frustration. “You cannot say shit like that in that voice,stretch like that in thatshirt, and then just casually mention needing a shower like I’m not sitting here physically fighting the urge to climb you like a tree.”
