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It’s a long time to wonder.
Neither of us have said a word since we got in the car, and I know, or at least I think I know, it’s because we’re both thinking the same thing.
At least, I hope that’s why. There’s the chance that I’m misreading this, that the want is one-sided. I bite my lip, wondering how to handle this if he doesn’t initiate.
He parks in my driveway, even though his own, or his brother’s, rather, is just next door. It’s dark now, the night illuminated by the candy-cane streetlights that line Candy Cane Lane. Every house in the neighborhood is lit up with twinkling lights, even Ryan Sheppard’s now that Maggie has fined him into getting his act together.
I take a breath. Exhale. This is it. Either he asks to come in, or he doesn’t. Or I ask him. Perhaps for hot cocoa? Ugh, lame. How PG-rated can I be? I could ask him in for a real drink, assuming he likes low-priced wine. Or leftover spaghetti, but I’m not sure that’s really a thing.
I’m about to open my mouth to ask him if he wants to come inside to split a package of shredded cheddar cheese when he reaches over and takes my hand. The feel of his skin against mine is enough to make me wet, even as chaste as a simple hand-hold.
Clearly, I’ve got a raging case of lust.
Please, please, please let it be contagious.
“I don’t think I can let you go inside without kissing you goodnight,” he says, bringing the back of my hand to his lips. One kiss. Then he turns my hand over and kisses the inside of my wrist, our eyes locked as his lips press against my skin. Holy crap.
I need—
I don’t think. I un-click my seatbelt and straddle him in what I’m quite sure is record-breaking time. He captures my mouth with his and this isn’t the soft kiss from last night. This is lust, pure and simple, hot and heavy. His hands slide over my hips and grab my ass, his grip firm. I can barely breathe as we crash together, lips and tongues and teeth, the feel of him hard against me through my tights. I tangle my fingers in his hair, delighting in tugging it in my hand, then gasping as he brings one hand from my ass to my breast, easily maneuvering beneath my coat to get where he wants. His hands are urgent, insistent, as he squeezes me, one on my ass, one on my chest, gentle at first and then harder as I groan against his mouth.
“Do you want to come inside?” I finally manage to pull my lips away from his long enough to ask. “For sex,” I clarify. “I was trying to think of a polite reason to ask you inside but I don’t have any decent alcohol on hand, so let’s just cut to the chase.”
“I thought I landed a good girl,” he says, grinning against my mouth, trailing a kiss down my jaw and to my neck. I nearly faint at the sensation of his lips against the soft skin below my ear, shivers rippling over me.
“For you,” I manage, panting a bit, “I can be bad.”
What am I even saying? This isn’t how it usually goes for me. Usually, there’s some basic kissing followed by some basic sex. Not this. Never like this.
Carter groans, his tongue flicking across my earlobe. “You think you could prove that?”
I think about that. Now that I’ve floated the idea, it definitely seems like I need to follow through. Because he’s definitely been with girls more experienced than me, right?
The hand on my ass is working its way under my dress and I moan at the touch, knowing that, if we stay in this car much longer, I might come right here.
“We should go inside,” I tell him. “I’ve got a, um, surprise for you.”
His eyebrows rise, a grin tugging at his lips. “Do you now?”
I nod quickly, fling his door open and slide off his lap. I’m a little unsteady as my feet hit the ground.
But I have to focus. Now that I’ve offered the surprise, I have to make good on it. But the problem is that I don’t have a surprise. So this is going to take some improvising.
“Come on,” I say, waving him on behind me. I try to do a sexy little wiggle up to the door, but I end up nearly tripping on my welcome mat. Thankfully, I don’t think Carter saw. Or, at least, he’s distracted enough to not say anything.
After tossing Rudy enough treats to distract him, I drag Carter straight to my bedroom, which is thankfully clean. There’re stacks of books on the dresser and my nightstand, but the bed’s made, and that’s the most important part, right?
