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He studies me for a long moment as if he’s able to see all of the conflicting emotions warring inside me. His voice drops as his expression softens. “Are you sure? You seem nervous.”
“I am,” I admit. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want this to happen.” Especially since I’ve been waiting so long for him to make me his.
“All right.” Flames ignite in his eyes. “Lead the way.”
Huh?
I gulp. “You want me to...” My voice trails off as I wave toward the staircase.
When I continue to stare, hoping I’ve gotten it all wrong, he presses a kiss against my mouth before whispering, “I want you to grab hold of my hand and take me upstairs to your room, Elle. Show me how much you want this.”
The pterodactyls are back in full force. My heart flutters madly beneath my breast as my fingers tighten around his. “Okay.”
I can do this.
It’s no big deal.
With every step that brings me closer to the staircase, I try not to overthink the situation. Once we reach the second floor, I lead the way, walking through the spacious loft area with its cozy couch and big screen television. Just like Carson mentioned, there’s a cabinet stuffed full of board games.
Instead of stopping, we bypass the space and continue moving down the long stretch of hallway where four of the five spacious bedrooms are located. Each one was designed with its own en suite. Mine is the last one on the left. The entire house has a north woods vibe to it, including my room. The walls are painted a light blue gray with white trim. There’s a dark wood mission style dresser with a matching nightstand next to the bed. A large mirror is positioned over the rectangular piece of furniture, and a white ceramic deer head hangs opposite. The bedspread is a light blue plaid that matches the overstuffed chair parked in the corner.
A potent concoction of excitement and anxiety rushes through my veins as I pull him over the threshold and into my private space. Now that I have him here, I’m not quite sure what to do with him. My fingers open and I release his hand as my arm flutters back to my side.
Another burst of nerves explodes in my belly.
“Come here, Elle.” His voice dips, becoming so low that it strums something deep inside me.
One step is all it takes to close the distance between us until we’re standing chest to breast. Mine rises and falls in rapid succession with each quick inhale and exhale. His hand lifts, feathering across my cheek before slipping around the side of my head until he can hold the back of my skull in his wide palm. Carefully, he pulls me to him until his lips can slant across mine. Each caress is soft, barely there before disappearing.
In between kisses, he murmurs, “I want you to be sure about this. If you’re not ready, we don’t have to do anything. This isn’t about me, Elle. It’s all about you. I couldn’t stand it if you had regrets afterward. This experience is too important for that to happen.”
His words do the unthinkable and settle everything rioting dangerously inside me. “I’m ready. You’re the one I’ve always wanted. Even before I fully understood what that meant.”
He pulls away just enough to examine my face. “If you want to slow down or stop at any time, all you have to do is say the word. You’re the one in control here. Understand?”
I jerk my head in response as he rains down kisses that are as light as a butterfly wing against the corners of my mouth before descending to my jawline, where he nips at me with sharp teeth. Not a heartbeat later, his tongue darts out to soothe the tender flesh. A whimper escapes from me as I bare the column of my throat for him to feast upon.
His hand drifts from the back of my skull to my shoulder, sweeping down my ribcage before snaking around my body and tugging me against him until we’re perfectly aligned, and I can feel the thickness of his arousal.
My fingers dip beneath the fabric of his T-shirt, gliding over the grooved ridges that lie beneath. Slowly I gather up the soft cotton in my hands. He bites down on the delicate skin just hard enough to leave me gasping before breaking contact and retreating a step until my arms have no other choice but to fall away. In one swift movement, he grabs hold of the material and whips it over his head before discarding it on the floor.
As soon as the shirt disappears, I pause, drinking in the sight of him. Everything about Carson is hard and chiseled perfection. From the broad set of his shoulders to the bulging muscles of his biceps, it’s evident that he spends hours lifting in the gym. His chest is sculpted—looking as if it’s been carved from marble—before tapering to a trim waist. There’s a smattering of hair that arrows down his six pack before disappearing beneath the waistband of his denim.
