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After the way Nate had used her, seducing her only to advance his own ends, Carrie hadn’t been able to think of sex without her stomach churning with nausea. His lies had made it seem tawdry and base. But there was nothing sordid about what was unfolding between her and Damon. Their intimacy felt beautiful. And vital. Nerves fluttered beneath her skin, but they were nothing compared to the feeling of rightness that came from lying beneath him as he grazed his lips down the side of her neck, trailed a hot path between her breasts, down her ribs and over her stomach, seeking lower still.
But just as he was about to guide her legs apart he stopped, glancing up at her, and with a stutter of her heart Carrie realised he was asking her permission to carry on. Moisture sprang into her eyes and she nodded, suddenly aching to feel him touching herthere, and then, nudging her legs apart, he buried his face in her and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her delicate feminine folds.
Carrie was already balancing on a knife-edge, and the moment he pressed his tongue and connected it with her hidden core delight screamed through her body. She bucked and twisted beneath him, surrendering control of her own body to the feeling coursing through her, but Damon’s firm hand on her stomach held her steady as he worshipped her, kissing and stroking and delving with his tongue, until the shocks shooting through her body became too powerful to resist and she shattered beneath their catastrophic force into a million sparkling pieces.
‘Oh, my God... Damon,’ she breathed, as the aftershocks zig-zagged up her body with alarming force and he began to kiss his way back up.
He covered her, his erection teasing her wetness. She was still quaking with the ripples of that first orgasm, but the moment she felt him slide against her she was hungering for another, her limbs tensing with anticipation, and she arched against him, unable to help herself, wanting to feel more of what he could do to her.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he whispered against her ear.
‘I want more,’ she panted, the words torn from her by a greediness that had his lips curling in a way that told her he had her exactly the way he wanted her. Wet and starving and begging. ‘I want all of you.’
He responded with a devastating smile as he reached for a condom from the nightstand. He sheathed himself before positioning himself at her slick entrance, and then he was gently pushing into her, and her muscles were gripping his thick length in ecstatic welcome. A keening cry broke from her lips as with a final thrust he fitted himself fully inside her. He was so hard, his penetration so deep, and the feel of him so overawing, that Carrie struggled to catch her breath. She wanted to savour the moment, but the need for him to take her even further made her impatient.
‘Damon...’ she ground out, lifting her hips to intensify the feeling building in her.
He sank even deeper. By the strain in his face she knew it cost him to hold himself still as she wriggled beneath him, but then she saw the moment her impatience became his. And then he was moving, retreating from her before driving back inside, his steady tempo intensifying as her hips met and matched his eager thrusts and they raced towards a peak.
She was on the very edge of coming but still holding back when Damon seized her mouth with a bruising kiss and sucked on her lower lip, and Carrie splintered apart in his arms before, with a shout of her name, he surrendered to his own shuddering climax.
Breathless and drained, he fell on top of her, breathing heavily, and Carrie ran a gentle hand up and down his spine whilst his racing heart evened out and the stars behind her eyes faded away. Raising his head with a languid smile, his dark hair messy from all the times she had dragged her fingers through it, he pressed a kiss to her lips, rolling onto his side and pulling her with him.
Just as he was enfolding her in his arms, a knock at the door had him pulling away. ‘That will be the food I ordered,’ he said, and laughed, sliding out of the bed and grabbing his trousers from the floor. ‘Good thing we’ve worked up an appetite.’
He returned with two bags of food and several plates. They ate out on the terrace, devouring the dishes he had selected, him gloriously bare-chested whilst she wore only his shirt. His lips quirked every time he looked at her, as if he was appreciating the bare legs and the visibility of her breasts beneath the material.
When they were finished, he turned to her. ‘Are you tired? Do you want to sleep?’
Under his beautiful gaze, her heart raced, and Carrie felt breathless just looking at him. She wanted to soak up every moment she had with him—wanted to know each and every part of him. If one night was all she could have, then she wanted every single second.
She leaned in, pressing a hand to his chest and bestowing upon him a lingering kiss. ‘Let’s not waste time sleeping.’
His answering smile told her she had read his mind.
Dawn arrived too soon.
The sharp early-morning light forced Carrie’s eyes open and thrust her into painful reality.
Her one night was Damon was over.
An ache spread across her chest and for a small second Carrie considered an alternative scenario—one in which she didn’t slink away, but stayed and told him everything. He would be annoyed, of course, but perhaps not as annoyed as she feared. After a moment of absorbing it he would draw her close for a drugging kiss and tell her he didn’t care, that she meant more than anything.
But then she remembered his rawness when he had spoken of his father and knew she was withdrawing to one of her fairy-tale fantasies. Allowing herself to believe in it, even for a second, was dangerous. She would only end up hurting even more.
Because the truth was that staying was impossible.
A future between them was impossible.
Beside her, Damon was in a steady sleep, lying on his back with one arm flung behind his head and the sheet riding low over his chiselled stomach. Carrie could feel the heat rising from his body, and the longing to curl up against him, slide her leg across his and rest her head against his strong chest, as she had during the night, reared up within her.
She had to draw on every last drop of her willpower to slip out from beneath the covers and collect her discarded clothes. Once she was back in her dress, carrying her shoes in her hand, she tiptoed to the threshold of the bedroom, unable to resist a last look at him.
He was still sound asleep, his chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. Her eyes throbbed and her throat burned with a new kind of agony. But it was her heart that ached most dreadfully.
She wished it didn’t have to be this way...wished so many things were different. But she was a Randolph and he was a Meyer. That simply could not be.
‘Goodbye, Damon,’ she whispered, turning and leaving before the first tears could fall.
