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“Yeah. Except for being with you.” He thumbs my lower lip before he kisses me again.
Then we don’t need words. Our lips speak them. Our fingers convey meaning. Our hunger translates what’s in our hearts.
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Carson peels away the sundress I wore to the rehearsal as I step out of my shoes. He unhooks my bra as I tear the crisp white shirt from the waistband of his slacks. We attack his fly together, his fingers focused on the fastening, mine on the zipper. The second he’s open, Carson shoves his boxers down. I do the same with my lacy, barely there panties. He takes my hand, and I assume he’s going to lead me to his bedroom. Instead, he pulls me closer, then bends and lifts me against his chest.
“What are you doing?” But I already know, and as much as I don’t want to be affected by the romantic gesture, I totally am.
“Taking you to bed in my arms,” he growls as he darts across the apartment in ground-eating steps.
I don’t want to hurry through our last night. Some part of me wants it to last, but I need it to start now, go longer, stay with me forever…just in case.
When we reach the bedroom, he manages to have me on the mattress, flat on my back, before I can even blink. Next, he flips on the lamp, grabs a condom from the nightstand, sheathes himself, and crawls between my legs in the span of a single breath.
“Tell me you’re wet,” he demands, gripping his cock and positioning the head against my opening.
I shiver with thrill. “Drenched.”
Some part of me wants to tease him, torment him with naughty suggestions I’d love him to make real, delay our gratification until we’re both an instant from exploding. But we’re already on the edge in our hearts. Our bodies won’t be far behind.
“Good. I’ve got to have you. Right now.”
That’s all the warning I get before Carson reaches under my ass, lifts my hips to him, and drives inside me. I gasp when he’s immersed deep, to the hilt. He sparks nerve endings that never quite go dormant when he’s around.
The friction has me crying out and writhing beneath him. Carson knows my body so well now. He’s learned it methodically over the past sixteen days. He knows how much I like to feel the sting of my scalp when he tugs at my hair, like he’s doing now. He quickly discovered how much I love the little bites he nips up and down my neck when he’s fucking me. He also figured out how crazy I go when his strokes are slow and controlled and a delicious torture because I have to wait for each and every one.
But I’ve learned him, too. Carson loves my nails in his back, my whispered words in his ears, and my legs wrapped tightly around his hips.
“You’re so deep inside me.” The words spill from my mouth. “It feels so damn good and I…ah. Yeah. That spot. There.” As he drags over the sensitive area behind my clit with his cock slowly, I grit my teeth and sink my nails into his skin a bit more. “Carson, please…”
I know he likes to hear me beg, too. He knows how to make me plead for his mercy so easily. Sometimes, I try to fight him. Sometimes, I even succeed for a minute or two. But inevitably, like now, he drowns any resistance I have with a passion so consuming I can’t muster the will to stop myself from beseeching him to give me the dazzling bliss only he can.
Every time between us is stunning and breath-stealing, but tonight it’s as if he’s so zeroed in on me—on us—that he delivers every stroke, every touch, every kiss precisely when and where I need it to surrender all of myself to him with dizzying speed.
“Fuck, Ella. Yes, sweetheart. This is… God, I need you.” His strokes pick up speed and I can’t hear his next words. His lips brush my neck, making me shudder in his arms. My heartbeat gongs in my ears. I’m only aware of the way he fills me, the way he overwhelms me, the way we’re both bellowing for breath as we move together toward a pinnacle that will—shockingly—surpass all those we’ve shared before.
“Carson. Babe… More. Deeper. Please! Don’t stop.” My voice is a high-pitched cry as I’m perched on the edge of a climax that I know will undo me completely.
He digs his fingers into my hips. His methodical strokes deepen until I’m clawing and wailing, my body thoroughly electric and alive.
“Ella. Listen to me.” He tugs my hair again until he snares me with his gaze. “You. Will. Not. Leave. Me.” He punctuates each word with an emphatic thrust that leaves me no doubt how he’s feeling.
I love him, too. My heart is alive and celebrating this one glorious moment, even though it’s already bruised and weeping at the thought of what tomorrow will bring.
“Hear me?” he demands, pumping inside me furiously. “Tell me. Say it. Right now.”
I’m torn. The words are on the tip of my tongue. I’m desperate to agree. Dying to, actually. I want to let myself commit to him in this moment so I can blame the pleasure he’s using to coerce me later. If I promise him, I have to follow through, right?
But I don’t speak. This is the rest of our lives, and we are adults. Plus, the ecstasy catches up to me before I can utter a word. It clutches my throat, seizes my vocal chords, and robs me of thought. I can only hold on to Carson tighter as I squeeze my eyes shut and unravel all the way down to my soul in a pleasure that’s both sharp and burning…and yet exquisitely pleasurable. Carson’s strokes pick up speed, igniting every nerve ending and tissue already swollen and on fire for him. He stiffens and grunts as he pours himself out. I keen for him until my throat hurts. Until I run out of breath. And still the ecstasy stretches on, almost vibrating inside me.
I open my eyes to him during this endless, timeless perfection. He’s waiting, staring. I see love there—so much. The kind of steadfast, I’ll-always-put-you-first devotion I’ve never had, especially not from my own parents.
Isn’t this really what I’ve been searching for my whole life?
Finally, the grip of our mutual pleasure breaks, and we’re left staring at one another, without breath, without words. Heartbeats and gazes speak for us. Besides, what can words convey now? We’re in love. And we don’t know if it will lead to anywhere except heartbreak.
He rolls to his left, taking me with him until I’m on top. I collapse onto his chest, arms around him. He clasps me tight. I don’t know if it’s the orgasm or the solemnity of the moment or maybe I can blame PMS. But I begin sobbing, falling apart in his arms.
It’s not like me. I’ve always had to be the strong one for my sisters. I’ve always managed to keep them—and myself—going, even when the world might have looked dim. Right now, I only see the rest of my miserable life stretched out before me without Carson.
Who knew that taking a simple job to pretend to be his girlfriend for two and a half weeks would rip my soul in two?
“We have to talk about it, Ella,” he says as he eases free and disposes of the condom.
“I know.”
“I want you to stay with me. Keep your job. Move into the house I bought. Just…be with me.”
His words tear my chest open and make me bleed. It’s so tempting and yet so complicated. “You make it sound easy, like all I have to do is say yes. But—”
“I’m asking you to give up a lot, I know. Your aspirations, being near your sisters… We’ve talked through all that. But the problem goes deeper for you, doesn’t it? What’s really holding you back?”
I can’t put it into words. A fear that I’ll give up everything and somehow still be alone. My head is telling me that, with Carson, it’s not logical. But what if I make the leap and he’s so wrapped up in Sweet Darlin’ that he forgets me? Loses interest in me? Drifts away from me? I’ll be in an unfamiliar state without any family or friends of my own. I won’t have my own space. I won’t even have a job I secured by myself. Yes, I could simply pull up and move back to California, move near my sisters again and pick up the pieces. I’m not worried about where I’d live. I’m worried about the devastation to my heart.
What’s Carson giving up to prove he’s serious about us?
I don’t want to doubt him, and some part of me knows the question is unfair. But I can’t help how I feel. The emotions just…are. Trying to argue them away seems pointless. I know from experience they only come back until you figure them out.
That anxiety, the fear of ending up alone
, is something I’ve never overcome.
“If that’s really what you want, I need to think.”
He nods. “Sweetheart, that ring belongs on your finger.”
I’ve become so used to wearing it in the last couple of weeks its weight feels completely natural, even comforting. In fact, I have a terrible premonition that I’ll feel naked without it. “When you first gave me this ring, it was purely for the purpose of outwitting Gregory Shaw.”
“Things change, Ella. Do I still want to keep him from getting any deeper into my company? Of course. Is that the only reason I want you to wear my mother’s ring? Hell no. If I’m being honest, it never was. I’ve been hoping for a while that I could convince
