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I shake my head, but she continues.
“Trust me, Carter. I’ve seen more than my fair s
hare of true evil. The bad ones don’t care if they’re bad.” She lifts her delicate palm to my face, and it takes everything in my power not to flinch away from her touch. “You’re one of the good ones, even if you don’t know it.”
Carter’s jaw ticks, one of the few signals that lets me know I’ve gotten to him. I’ve studied his mannerisms like he studies me. He’s my new favorite subject. Carter isn’t bad. I think he’s just…different. And in my book, different is definitely not a bad thing.
Normally, when I flirt with men, it’s for a reason. There’s always an end game. Bigger tips, free shit, etcetera. Seduction is so deeply ingrained in me that it’s become second nature. I catch myself doing it without even noticing it. But not with Carter. With Carter, I let him see me. He intrigues me, to say the least. He makes me feel safe, which is something I’ve never felt in my entire life.
Just being in Carter’s presence fills me with such a sense of relief. Under Carter’s careful watch, I feel bulletproof. Invincible. Untouchable. Which is why I basically begged him to walk me home. My father may not be a problem anymore, thanks to Carter, but that doesn’t mean I’m no longer in danger. It doesn’t mean Murray isn’t still out there, somewhere.
My thoughts drift back to that night. The night we never speak of, never even hint at. Carter swooped in like some sort of avenging angel, saving me, taking care of me, and then when it was over, acting like it never happened. I was grateful, of course. I didn’t want to talk about it. I still have nightmares about my father coming back for me, and what resulted afterward. But, I wanted him to acknowledge that we shared something that night. Instead, he watches me from afar, when he thinks I’m not paying attention. At work, at home, even at the damn grocery store. He’s always there, so close, yet so far away. The saddest part is that I feel like Carter’s the best friend I have. We hardly even speak to each other, yet he knows me better than Jade, Dahl, or any of them. How pathetic is that? My stalker is my best friend.
“Quinn?” I snap out of my thoughts to find Carter with a concerned expression, his grey-blue eyes that match my own search my face for clues. Always concerned. For me. I decide to give him some truth. He deserves that much. I adjust my bag on my shoulder and exhale loudly.
“I can’t get that night out of my head. I was fine. I really was. But, lately, I’ve just had a weird feeling. Like I’m being watched or something.” He looks a little sheepish, so I rush to continue. “And not by you.” I’m not sure if my suspicion is even warranted. It’s nothing but a feeling. That, and the fact that Gia has been barking in the middle of the night for the past few days. Carter’s eyes harden, but he still doesn’t respond, so I keep talking.
“I know it’s selfish of me, but I feel safe with you. You’re the only one I trust. I haven’t told anyone else about my father, my past…” I trail off. He looks so angry that I’m about to take it back and walk home alone, but before I can get the words out, he roughly snatches my hand in his and tugs me in the direction toward my apartment without a word. All I can focus on is the fact that he’s touching me. On purpose. Carter’s hands are huge and surprisingly soft for a Savage. I know he gets his hands dirty for Graham. I saw him get his hands dirty for me. But I have a feeling there’s a whole lot more to this man who follows my every move, yet keeps his distance like his life depends on it. Such a walking contradiction, but when my mom was alive, before my dad ruined her, she once told me that nothing worth having was easy. And I want Carter.
I’m practically dragged the entire way home, my little legs trying to keep up with his giant strides. Carter doesn’t speak, but I didn’t expect him to. He’s a thinker, not a talker. Once we reach my apartment, we both linger at my door, and so many unspoken words pass between us.
Why don’t you talk to me?
What made you this way?
How can I make you smile?
What is going on inside that beautiful mind of yours?
Instead, I blurt out the question that’s been nagging me for the past few months.
“Why do you follow me, Carter?” My words are barely a whisper, but when my eyes meet his, I know he heard me.
“Why do you like it?” he retorts, shocking the hell out of me.
I don’t even know how to respond to that. I must look like a fish with my mouth popping open, and then shutting it when the words die on my tongue.
“You watch me, too, Quinn. Women look at me for two reasons. They either want a night in bed with a ‘bad boy’, or they’re afraid of me. But not you. You look for me, and when you find me across a crowded room,” his hand comes up to cup my jaw, and he runs a thumb across my bottom lip, looking pained, like he doesn’t want to touch me, but can’t resist, “I see these lips quirk up into a relieved half-smile. I see this tense body relax the slightest bit.” His hand moves from my face, down to my neck, along my shoulder, and slowly travels down the side of my body until it rests on my hip. I let out an audible gasp when he squeezes me there. “So, I know you like when I watch you, Quinn. The question is why? Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Jesus, this is the most I’ve ever heard him say. His words are blunt, but they aren’t meant to sound cocky, I realize. He legitimately doesn’t understand that I’m genuinely interested in him. I cock my head to the side, trying to figure him out.
“Do you really not know?” I hiss, narrowing my eyes at him. Six months of this…this back and forth, this push and pull, and he doesn’t have a clue?
His jaw hardens along with his grip on my hip in response. I gulp, feeling nervous under the intensity of his stare. I don’t get nervous around anyone. What makes Carter an exception? Maybe it’s the fact that he already knows way too much about me that makes me feel so vulnerable. Maybe it’s because I can’t read him and his intentions.
“I like you, Carter. Jade, Selene, and Dahlia…they’re great. But they know me on the surface. The shallow end. Ankle deep, if you’d like. You…you’ve swum into the deep end of my life with me. You don’t just watch me—you see me. And I guess I like that, even though it scares me. Even though, most of the time, I feel like I might drown.” Carter’s hand leaves my hip, and he drags his fingers through his hair and exhales loudly.
“I’ll destroy you, Quinn,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“Maybe I want to be destroyed by you.” I’ll gladly take his brand of destruction. I don’t wait for permission. I reach up on my tippy toes, curl my hand around the back of his neck, and plant my lips on his. They’re softer than I thought they would be. Plump and pillowy. His mouth is unmoving at first, but I bite his bottom lip, and with a growl, he opens his mouth to devour me. He brings his massive hands to hold my face in place while his tongue sweeps inside my mouth, dancing with mine. I moan into his kiss—an involuntary action on my part—and he pulls back abruptly, leaving me love drunk and breathless. His face hardens back into aloof Carter, and I know I’ve lost him.
“Go to bed, Quinn. Lock the door behind you,” is the only thing he says before he walks away.
I cannot believe he just left me like that. Maybe I’ve imagined this connection to him. Or maybe the pull is only one-sided. I just wish he’d let me inside his head, or better yet, his heart. Gia doesn’t even look up at me from her throne—AKA the couch—when I walk in the door. “Missed you, too, lil’ bitch,” I grumble as I make my way to the kitchen. I haven’t eaten all day, and even though I’m nowhere near hungry now, I fix myself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. I plop down on the couch, flipping through the channels on my TV. I do a little happy dance when Fear with Mark Wahlberg and Reese Witherspoon comes on. I love this movie. There’s something weirdly hot about Marky Mark and his stalking ways. My own stalker invades my thoughts, and I replay the past hour in my head for the millionth time. Why did he leave so abruptly? Why is he so intent on staying away from me? Maybe he just has some sort of weird fixation with me, but isn’t actually attracted to me. Or, the most likely scenario, he feels a false sense of responsibility toward me since he saved me that night. If that’s the case, I don’t need his pity. I’m not a damsel in distress, and I don’t need a hero. I’ve been fine here on my own for the past three years. Carter gives me a sense of security I’ve never had, sure, but that’s not the only thing that draws me to him. Just the thought of him watching me because he feels sorry for me has me feeling oddly rejected. As if leaving me after I attacked his face wasn’t rejection enough.
I ditch my half-eaten bowl of cereal, let Gia out to do her business, then get ready for bed.
I slide under the white and grey damask comforter of my giant, four-poster bed that is way too big for this tiny space—and for me, for that matter—and attempt to fall asleep. I can’t stop thinking about Carter, which makes me feel desperate, which then pisses me off for being such a typical girl about everything. I’ve never been that girl. I toss and turn for an hour before I decide to relieve some tension. Then, maybe I’ll be able to fall asleep. I throw my blanket off and spread my legs wide before my hand drifts down between my thighs.
After that kiss, I couldn’t leave her. I watched her through the window after I left. I saw her pleasing herself. When she plucked her pebbled nipples, I told myself it was my hands she wanted on her. When I saw her playing with her sweet, pink pussy, I told myself that she was wishing it was me inside her. And when she made herself come, I told myself she was imagining me. I debated on jacking my cock right outside her window. I’ve talked myself out of it countless times before. But tonight? Tonight is different. Giving myself a wank isn’t going to cut it. I need to see her, to feel her, to smell her, to taste her.
