His filthy words push me over the edge. My body seizes as my orgasm rips through me so hard it steals the air from my lungs. I scream into his hand, my walls clenching around him, milking him, refusing to let go.
“Carter!” I cry into his palm.
A dark, wicked chuckle rumbles from his chest. “That’s right, baby,” he growls, “scream my name. That’s the only fucking name that’ll ever leave these pretty lips.”
He slams into me a few more times before he follows meover the edge, groaning low in my ear as he spills deep inside of me, filling me until I can feel his cum dripping down my thighs.
Still catching his breath, he eases out of me, tugging his pants back on. He helps me stand, steadying me with those strong hands before grabbing a nearby towel, and gently cleans me up with a tenderness that doesn’t match the filthy things he just did to me.
He presses a lingering kiss to my bare shoulder, his beard scraping my skin in a way that makes me shiver all over again.
“Let’s get you home, princess,” he murmurs, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “So I can clean you up properly.”
carter
. . .
She’s sitting between my legs, her bare back resting against my chest, her body’s so soft and warm it damn near undoes me. I drag the cloth along her shoulder, taking my time, pretending like I’m just washing her and not losing my fucking mind at how good she feels against me.
I dip the cloth back into the water, squeezing it out, lathering up more soap. My hands move over her like I have all the time in the world—because right now, with her, I do.
“Are you always this silent when you’re being pampered?” I tease against her ear.
She lets out a little laugh, the sound vibrating through her body, right into mine. “I mean, it’s not a massage at the Ritz-Carlton, but this will do.”
I smirk against her skin, brushing her hair away from the nape of her neck. That’s when I spot it. Ink. Tiny, black numbers inked behind her ear.
Five-five-five.
I trail my thumb over it, curious.
“What’s this, baby?” I ask, the pads of my fingerslingering there longer than necessary. “Why do you have random numbers tattooed on you?”
She shivers under my touch, goosebumps breaking across her golden skin.
“It’s not random,” she says quietly, “Amelia tattooed it for me. It’s my favorite angel number. Five-five-five.”
I raise a brow, grinning against the side of her neck. “Angel number?” I chuckle, teasing. “Baby, you’re gonna have to explain that to me. I’m old, remember?”
She giggles, and fuck, that sound—it sinks under my skin, rattling around inside my ribs. I feel her relax even more into me, like she belongs here.
“It’s about transformation and change,” she says, her voice softer now. “It reminds me that no matter how many times I’ve screwed up, I can start over. I got it during a time when I needed something to believe in.”
I run my fingers over the ink again, tracing it slowly, letting the silence stretch between us.
“And do you feel like you’ve been able to overcome those bad habits?” I ask. “Learned responsibility since being here? Grown into the woman you want to be?”
She goes quiet for a beat, then lets out a soft sigh.
“Yeah,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think so. Ihopeso.”
I wait, sensing she’s got more tucked behind that answer. I don’t rush her. I just hold her, letting her set the pace. She leans her head against my chest, nuzzling into the crook of my neck. When she speaks again, her voice is even softer, like she’s trusting me with a secret she’s barely ready to say out loud.
“I think being here... I can confidently say I don’t want to go back to Los Angeles,” she murmurs. “I don’t mind working, getting my hands dirty. Don’t get me wrong, it’sfucking disgusting sometimes, but... It’s rewarding, you know? Earning money that’s actuallymine.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected.
“No more Los Angeles, darlin’?” I murmur, teasing lightly to cover the way my chest aches. “What about your fancy lifestyle? What about Erewhon and designer handbags?”
