He nodded, and I placed my hands on his knees, gliding them up his strong thighs.He leaned back against the shower wall, widening his legs to make room for me.
I ran my hand over the steely length of his erection.His breath stuttered, and his eyes drifted closed for a moment.Then he opened them, staring down at me with an intensity that made my core clench.
I palmed the heavy weight of him before pumping my hand up and down.My thumb brushed his tip, gathering a bead of moisture and smearing it along his shaft.Carter hissed, bucking his hips.
I leaned forward, dragging my tongue along the slit.He groaned, fisting his hands in my hair.Experimentally, I took his head in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it and savoring the saltiness of his arousal.
“Fuck,” he whispered, his hips jerking gently.
Encouraged by his reaction, I opened wider, taking as much of him into my mouth as I could.With one hand gripping his thigh and the other sliding along his shaft in time with my mouth, I found a rhythm that made him grunt and groan.His fingers tightened in my hair, guiding me as I bobbed my head.
When I peered up at him through my lashes, his eyes were darker and stormier than I'd ever seen them, filled with a hunger that had me squeezing my thighs together.
“So damn good.If you don't stop now, I'm gonna come.”
I hummed appreciatively around him.I wanted to taste all of him.
“Jesus, yes!”Carter's self-control snapped, and he thrust up, fucking my mouth once, twice, three times before he spilled down my throat.I slowed my pace and swallowed before reluctantly releasing him.He grabbed me under the arms and hoisted me up, settling me across his lap.
“Have I told you that you're perfect?Because you are.Utterly fucking perfect.”
I giggled, almost giddy.
It would be dangerously easy to get used to this.
* * *
“I could get used to this.”
It was after midnight, and Carter Cassidy was making pancakes in my kitchen.After drying off and dressing—me in my favorite soft pink nightgown and Carter in nothing but his black boxer briefs—we agreed we needed to refuel.
“Don't.I'm not a very good cook,” he said, watching the griddle intently.“After Mom died, it was mostly takeout for Dad and me.”
“Will you tell me about her?”
“My mom?”
He looked over his shoulder at me, and I nodded.His shoulders tensed as he flipped a pancake.“She was extraordinary.Beautiful, smart, kind.The type of person who lit up a room.”
I leaned my hip against the counter, giving him space but staying close.“How did your parents meet?”
A wistful smile crossed his face.“High school sweethearts.They married young, right after graduation.My dad worshiped the ground she walked on.”
The griddle sizzled as he poured more batter.“I was twelve when it started.She'd always been active—yoga, running, you name it.But suddenly, she was in constant pain.Some days she couldn't even get out of bed.”
“Did they ever figure out what was wrong?”
Carter shook his head, his jaw tight.“No.Went to specialist after specialist.No one could give us answers.She'd have good days and bad days, but the pain never really went away.”
He slid the finished pancakes onto a plate and handed it to me.As I took it, our fingers brushed, and I saw the raw emotion in his eyes.
“It was hard watching her suffer,” he continued.“She tried to hide it, especially from me.But it was obvious how much it wore her down.”
I set the plate aside and touched his arm.“Carter, I'm so sorry.”
His throat bobbed.“I was sixteen when...when she couldn't take it anymore.I found her.My dad never recovered from losing her.Neither of us did, really.”
His words hung in the air between us.I thought of my own struggles with chronic pain, the dark moments when it seemed overwhelming.But I'd had support, doctors who believed me, treatments that helped.Carter's mother had none of that.
