Crash - Part Three

by Dawson, Miranda

  Chapter Nine

  The receptionist in Carter's building had my name down as a “permitted visitor,” so she didn't need to call Carter and announce my arrival. But it didn't feel right to just walk into Carter's building. I wasn't his girlfriend—not anymore—so I shouldn't act like one. The receptionist looked a little confused, but she called Carter to get his permission before I went up to his apartment.

  "You can come straight in, you know,” he said as he took my coat. "I don't have anything to hide."

  I just shrugged. I wasn't about to apologize for being suspicious of him.

  I looked over to the kitchen and was pleased to see that Carter had turned it down a little bit in the romance department. There were no flowers or candles on the table this time, although two glasses of red wine had been poured and a bowl of pasta sat steaming on the table. The smell of fresh pesto drifted over to my nose and my stomach reminded me with a gentle growl that I hadn't eaten in over six hours.

  "I've been thinking about how to tell you the whole story," Carter said. "I feel like I should have a speech prepared or something, but the more I try to plan my words, the harder it becomes."

  I shoved a few bits of pasta into my mouth to give me some time to consider what to say. I knew how he felt. I had been doing the same thing, trying to think of questions I would ask him and answers I would demand. But it really wasn't that simple, and I knew my emotions would end up dictating the conversation. The same thing seemed to be happening to Carter.

  "How did you get married?" I asked. "I get that you were in love with her, and I can believe that she was someone different before the drinking and drug problems, but that doesn't explain how you ended up married to her."

  Carter took a sip of wine, probably buying time like I had just done.

  "I suppose in some ways that's easy to explain," Carter said, carefully placing his glass down. "We got married about four years into my prison sentence. Needless to say, it was a small ceremony."

  "Family and friends?" I asked with a sly smile.

  "Something like that. But without the friends. It wasn't my idea—not exactly. Bella had mentioned marriage on a couple of her previous visits. She would always profess her love for me and thank me for what I did. I always just said I would think about it, but I had no real intention of marrying her."

  "What changed?"

  "Her sister, actually. Bella has a sister, Julia, but she is older and far more sensible, and she came to visit me while I was in prison. Bella hadn't told her family that she was driving that night, but her sister had figured it out. She pleaded with me to marry Bella. She thought marriage would set Bella straight. She even promised me money, lots of it, but of course I didn't want it. As Bella got worse, I finally agreed to marry her. There didn't seem to be any other choice at that point."

  "So you were just trying to save her again?" I asked. "All this, everything from the car crash that killed my brother to you marrying her, was just you trying to help Bella and stop her from destroying herself?"

  "It didn't work."

  "It’s not your fault. She had every chance to improve her life, but she chose drinking and drugs. You did everything you could for her, but I think you can let her go now."

  "I have," Carter said. "Honestly, I have. She's been in a coma for a while now, and every week they find something else wrong with her. It's only a matter of time, and I have come to terms with that. The woman I first fell in love with died many years ago. I've moved on, Emily."

  Another battle raged in my brain, or perhaps it was a battle between my brain and my heart. I knew I couldn't blame Carter for previously having loved someone else. Lots of people fell in love when they were young, but that didn't mean you couldn't fall in love with someone else later. I knew that, but my inexperience made this a lot harder to deal with.

  I had accepted one thing, though: I wasn't going to blame Carter for keeping his marriage a secret. He did lie to me, but we had only known each other for a few weeks, and if he had told me the whole story I might have dashed out on him. At least this way there was still hope for us.

  "Is that where you got your money from?" I asked.

  Carter frowned. "How do you know I wasn't always rich?"

  "My dad mentioned that you had a public defender in your trial," I replied. "I'm guessing that after you married Bella, you got access to money and connections."

  Carter smiled. "Sometimes I forget how clever you are. Yes, I got some money from her family and this job. As you mentioned once before, it's not easy to get a good job when you have a criminal record. Her family helped me and paid for a very expensive lawyer, who was able to secure my green card. They don't exactly like giving them out to criminals, but he was a hot-shot who used to work for the US immigration department."

  "So her family is really rich, then?"

  Carson nodded. "I tried to turn it down the first—the money, that is—but they insisted. Julia told her parents about what I did, and they were grateful. They don't blame me for the drinking and the drugs. In fact I think they blame themselves. I don't think they were there for her that much when she was a child."

  "What happens now?" I asked. "You're still married to her. Is there any chance you two will get divorced? Or does that mean you will lose your job?"

  "I don't have to worry about the job or the money. Julia is very supportive and made sure that the money is mine with no strings attached. I never need to work again, to be honest, although I do anyway. I’d be bored otherwise."

  "So why not get divorced?"

  "She's in a coma. It doesn't feel right to divorce someone who can’t consent to it, and before you came, along it wasn’t a big deal whether or not I was married. I never intended to fall in love again."

  Carter had told me he loved me before, but the words still carried just as much impact. I hoped they always would.

  "I'm not going to make you get a divorce,” I said. "It's too early for that. Do I know everything now? About your marriage to Bella? And how you feel about her?"

  "Completely. I loved her and I married her because I thought that might save her. I don't love her anymore. I love you. I'm going to speak to my lawyer in the morning about getting a divorce, because I don't want to put you through anything like that again. I know it's too early for us, but I want Bella out of the picture so that we have a chance. Do we have a chance? Can you forgive me?"

  I didn't need him to divorce Bella—not right away. Marriage was just a piece of paper, at the end of the day. What I needed to know was how he felt for her right now and I believed him when he said he was no longer in love with her. More importantly, I believed him when he said he was in love with me.

  "I'm out of wine," I said.

  "I'll go open another bottle," Carter replied, standing up and walking into the kitchen.

  “Good," I said. "I'll be waiting for you in the bedroom."

  Chapter Ten

  I could still count all my sexual experiences on my fingers. But when I entered Carter's bedroom that night, I was not nervous. I was still inexperienced, and no doubt I had a lot to learn, but that didn't seem to bother me anymore—Carter would teach me.

  He walked into the bedroom with a fresh bottle of red wine and a large grin on his face.

  "You look stunning," he said, setting his glass down by the bed.

  "I'm still dressed," I said. "I'm wearing exactly the same thing I've been wearing all night."

  "Yes, but now you’re lying on my bed. Before you were gorgeous; now you're irresistible." He poured me a fresh glass of wine and laid down next to me on the bed.

  I took a sip and then kissed him gently on the mouth, a few drops of wine parsing from my lips to his. Carter put a hand on the side of my face and moved his lips from my mouth to my neck. I let out a soft groan and placed my hand on his firm chest. I squirmed and fidgeted as I felt a pressure build between my thighs. I wanted to spread my legs and pull Carter against me, but he was controlling the pace and seemed to want to t
ake things slowly this time.

  I opened the buttons on his shirt—not shaking for once—and felt the firm flesh underneath. Carter hooked his fingers under the straps of my blouse and pulled them down, exposing the tops of my breasts. His lips moved down to my chest as he pulled the top down, freeing my nipples. Tiny goosebumps erupted on my pert breasts as his lips covered them in warmth.

  I ran my fingers through Carter’s hair, holding him close as I wrapped my legs around his. I pushed my sex against his body, desperate to feel him inside me. He took his mouth away from my now stiff and erect nipples, pulling my top off as I fumbled to remove his shirt.

  He pulled off my skirt and panties in one swift movement, throwing them to the side of the bed before unbuckling his jeans, pulling them down to the floor, and standing naked in front of me. Now I was nervous again, but it was a good kind of nervous, a nervous that would help send me to the edge once Carter was inside me.

  He picked up his glass of wine and took a long sip before lying next to me on the bed, naked and still holding the wine. He leaned in to kiss me again, but as he did, he drizzled some of the wine over my chest. Dark red droplets weaved their way down the valley between my breasts before trickling down my belly, leaving a crimson trail behind them.

  Carter placed the glass back down before letting his tongue chase the wine that he had spilled over my body. He lapped up what had pooled in my navel and then moved down between my legs. The red wine had left a warm sweetness in his mouth that I felt as he began to lick my wetness.

  I reached out for my glass and took a long sip of the wine, letting the rush of alcohol go to my head combined with the rush of ecstasy that had taken hold of my pussy. With my newfound confidence, I poured more wine down my chest and watched it trickle down until it reached Carter's mouth as he licked at my swollen bud.

  I quickly put the glass back down by the side of the bed, unable to keep it still as my orgasm approached, and then grabbed hold of the posts making up the headboard. As Carter's fingers slipped inside me, I tightened my grip on the wooden posts and shook them as I exploded into his face.

  We shared more wine while I took Carter’s manhood in my hand and felt him stiffen in response to my gentle strokes. When he moved to climb between my legs, I put a finger on his chest and pushed him onto his back. I straddled him and looked deep into his eyes as my hips moved down and let his shaft plunge deep inside me.

  "I want all of you inside me today," I said. "Everything."

  Carter gave a gentle nod, but didn't let his eyes leave mine as my hips rocked slowly back and forth until he erupted inside me.

  ---

  My lack of experience meant that I didn't really know the difference between sex and making love, but I was certain that whatever we did that night was making love. We stayed up talking, drinking, and trading orgasms for hours until I finally fell asleep with my head on his chest, rising and falling with his slow, steady breath.

  Despite drinking more than an entire bottle of wine, I still woke up in the morning in relatively good spirits and with little to show in regards to a hangover. Our night of passion, however, had left us with quite an appetite.

  Carter took me to a small café near his apartment where I polished off a chocolate croissant in less than two minutes.

  "I'm going to have to start leaving clothes at your place," I said. "I'm wearing the same ones from last night, and it's quite clear I will be doing the walk of shame when I go home later."

  "I'm sure I can find some space in the closet. Hell, I'll buy some more closets if it means you'll be staying over more often. In fact, I'm going to grab a few essentials, like a toothbrush for you. That way, you have no excuse not to stay over more often."

  "Thank God for that. I chewed through an entire packet of mints this morning trying to disguise my breath. Although I must say, I actually quite like feeling a little dirty the morning after. I wasn't one of those girls who did that kind of thing in college, so it's nice to make up for lost time."

  Carter grinned. "Don't worry. You didn't miss anything. Sex in college is nothing like that; it's nowhere near as special. I guess I'm going to need some new clothes as well, although I can't imagine I will stay at yours as much. Not unless you improve your cooking. I can't quite believe I'm going to say this, but how about we go shopping sometime soon?"

  “You really are the perfect man, aren't you?"

  Chapter Eleven

  Despite wearing crumpled clothes that screamed “walk of shame” from a mile away, I decided to walk home after my breakfast with Carter. I caught a few grins from passersby but did my best to ignore them. I was in far too good a mood to let a few judgmental idiots spoil my day.

  By the time I got home, I had resolved to tell John that Carter and I were an item again. He would know something was up just by how good a mood I was in—my body language the morning after three orgasms was hard to miss—and I saw no reason to keep it a secret. In fact, I wanted to tell people about it. What was the point in having a man like Carter if you couldn’t shout it from the rooftops?

  As I entered my apartment, I almost tripped over a pair of sneakers that had been left in front of the door. John must have been here again and obviously he had no qualms about letting himself in unannounced.

  “Good morning,” John said, walking into the hall and wearing a grin from ear-to-ear. “Or should I say, good afternoon? I trust you had a nice evening.”

  “Yes, thank you, it was very pleasant. You should feel free to let yourself into my apartment whenever you want, by the way.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject, missy. I know you didn’t spend the night here. That means you either hooked up with some random guy or you and Carter are suddenly back on. Since you seem positively terrified by the concept of one-night stands, I’m going to go ahead and assume Carter had a damn good explanation for the whole being-married thing.”

  “Can I at least make myself a cup of tea first?” I asked, kicking off my shoes and filling the kettle. “I’m kind of tired.”

  “Tea?” John said, practically spitting out the word. “Christ, Emily, what happened to coffee? Is Carter turning you British?”

  “Oh, calm down, I’ve had a coffee already today, that’s all.”

  I resisted the urge to add milk to my tea—that really would have John worried—and then sat down to recite Carter’s story. I hadn’t realized just how much I needed to tell it. A part of me still thought I was being stupid to trust Carter again and that I was being taken in by his lies. John was a good friend, but more importantly, he was brutally honest. If I was being stupid here, he would tell me and wouldn’t mince his words in the slightest.

  “Wow, that’s one messed up series of events,” John said once I had finished. “You might be able to make a movie out of this one day.”

  “It would have to be R-rated if it depicted some of the things we did last night,” I said, turning a little red on the cheeks.

  “I’m so proud of you,” John said. “My boring virgin is become a fun sex freak. I’ve lived for this moment, I really have.”

  “So you don’t think I’m being stupid, then? Getting back together with him?”

  John shook his head. “You can’t punish the guy for being in love with someone else before he met you. And the marriage thing explains his money and green card. I don’t even disagree with him lying to you about this. Sometimes, white lies are for the best.”

  “Being married is hardly a white lie,” I said.

  “In this case, I think it is. He doesn’t love her, and she is in a coma. You would have never spoken to him if you’d have known he was married. What’s one small lie in the grand scheme of things?”

  "All right, you’ve convinced me," I said, holding up my hands in defeat as a buzz from John's phone distracted him. "I'm in too good a mood to argue."

  "Not for much longer you won't be," John said, throwing his phone at me. "What the hell is all that about?"

  I scanned the email John
had opened on his phone. It was from the Army officer who had emailed us yesterday about potentially entering into a new contract. This time, it was bad news.

  "Is he canceling the contract offer?" I asked.

  "Certainly looks that way," John said. "He says something about us using overseas labor. Apparently, we don't qualify for the small business program if we use overseas labor instead of American workers."

  "But we don't use overseas labor. You and I are the only employees. We have an American accountant, and all of our beta testers are American. This doesn't make any sense."

  "We should call Marissa. She got pretty excited when I told her about the contract. What the hell is going on, Emily? Could this be PharmaTech again?”

  "I don't know, but I admit to being worried. I'll call Marissa now."

  The phone rang and rang with no answer. I was actually hoping she wouldn't pick up; even though this didn't seem to be our fault, I felt like she would be pissed. She had been supportive so far and the investor had never put us under any pressure, but I felt that at some point he or she would want to see us generate some revenue, or at least get some good contracts in place.

  Finally, after at least ten rings, Marissa picked up the phone.

  "There is one possibility that springs to mind," she said after we told her what happened. "How confident are you in your security? Is there any chance you have been hacked?"

  John sighed. "It's always possible. No company can completely protect against that kind of thing, but I like to think we have peace and security in place.”

  “Take a closer look,” Marissa said. “That’s the only thing I can think of right now. It’s one thing for PharmaTech to one-up you on the wearable tech thing, but this Army contract should have been secure. They sure as hell didn’t hack into the Army email server.”

  “So, you do think it’s PharmaTech?” I asked. “It could just be a coincidence.”