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What!?
I don’t want to do that. That’s ridiculous.
Ahh, maybe this is a dream.
That could be true. Since I got back from Elena’s, sex-filled nightmares where Carter and I turn that fake sex very real are disturbing my sleep. This is probably one of those. I must’ve fallen asleep while working, and voila . . . Carter appears. I wonder if this’ll be the one where he holds my jaw while feeding me. And I don’t mean food.
“Feeling better?” I ask.
He swallows once more and then licks his lips. Wiping the slight sheen from his mouth with the back of his hand, he looks at me with eyes filled with torture. “All day, all night, I’ve played out every scenario possible, every variation. I’ve been over it a million ways, maybe more. I want you to know that. You have to understand. There’s no other way.”
He’s ranting wildly as though I have any idea what he’s talking about.
“What? I’ve never seen you like this. You’re scaring me.” I take a slow step back as tingles of fear dance over the nape of my neck. He looks crazed and desperate—his normally neat hair mussed, his tie gone, his dress shirt untucked and unbuttoned at the neck—but it’s his eyes that bore into mine that look the most different. Carter always seems confident and in control, even when unexpected things are thrown at him. But right now, he’s looking at me as though . . .
I’m his salvation?
I’m no such thing. I couldn’t save someone else from a fly. I can’t even save myself from myself.
He covers the space between us while I’m still frozen in place, too stupid to run and too intrigued to speak. He drops his beer bottle to the counter and firmly grabs around my upper arms with both hands.
I feel the pressure and realize that this is no dream. I’m wide awake and completely confused. “Carter—”
“You have to help me, Luna,” he says, his voice low and rough and desperate . . . and sexy as fuck. “Please.”
The plea in his voice strikes directly into my heart. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”
I don’t know what I’m agreeing to, but it can’t be worse than what I’ve already done. Right? And I’m pretty sure there’s a rule about disagreeing with crazy people when they have ahold of you. As in, don’t do it.
“Really?” He shakes me a little bit, lifting me to my toes. My hands find their way to his stomach, pressing for balance as I look up at him. There’s a spark of electricity in the space between us.
“Of course?” The questions are bubbling up, but I don’t have a chance to ask.
“Yes . . .” The word of relief becomes a breath as his lips meet mine. It’s so much like my dreams that I fall into it at first.
He tastes like beer and bad decisions. Especially when his mouth moves against mine and his hands move from their squeezing grip on my arms to a gentle caress of my jaw, keeping my face tilted up to him as he moves me the way he wants to.
But this is real.
I should stop him. Deep down, I know that this is a bad idea for so many reasons.
But Carter Harrington is a good kisser. I was definitely right about that, and that’s enough to make any reasonable thought fade away given how pent up I am and how, despite my stubborn avoidance and denial, this has been coming since that first night of tutoring.
So I kiss him back, hoping I’m half as talented as he is. Hell, I’d settle for a quarter as good, considering the difference in experience between the two of us.
But I don’t need practice to know that the heat building in my core is fierier than any I’ve ever felt. I take the opportunity to answer my own earlier question and lick along his jawline, the blonde stubble prickling my tongue, and then place an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck when he lets his head fall to the side. I feel the pulsing of his heartbeat in his throat and I answer with a moan of my own.
It’s the last bit of control Carter lets me have. He lifts me in a swoop that makes my stomach flip and sets me on the counter, pressing my legs open to accommodate him between my knees. Before I can say a word, he returns to kissing the stuffing out of me.
I whimper when his hand encircles my neck, not squeezing but just letting me know he’s there and in charge. “Do you like that?” he groans against my mouth. “My good girl, Luna?”
A sound of needy hunger is all the agreement I can make, but it’s not enough for him.
“Tell me.” He kisses my cheek, a soft press of his lips that contrasts with the squeeze of his hand. “Tell me,” he repeats, his breath hot on my ear, and then he nips my lobe with his teeth.
