by Shandi Boyes
My mouth gapes when Carey says, “Only because I let you win.”
I try to refute his claim. My mouth moves, but my words stay entombed in my throat. I can’t deny his statement as his eyes are relaying that it was nothing but gospel. My excitement swells. That means he wanted to spend time with me months ago, that he purposely lost so our night didn’t have to end. I knew I wasn’t the only one feeling our undeniable connection that night.
Laughing at my shocked expression, Carey reverses out of the parking lot.
“We will see who is laughing when I whip your butt. I’ve been practicing.” That’s not a lie. During my month-long stint in my apartment, I became addicted to online NASCAR games.
The heat on my cheeks from Carey’s beautiful laugh flames more when he says, “Spanking ass is Hugo’s thing. I prefer to issue my punishments in slow and tortuous licks.”
My entire body shudders.
Chapter 30
Many, many hours later. . .
Carey and I stumble into his apartment, bumping into the entranceway table and knocking a picture off the wall. Our movements aren’t because we spent our afternoon acting like teens playing arcade games and racing around a go-kart track. It is because neither of us are willing to detach our lips from one another to gather our bearings. Our entire afternoon was like prolonged foreplay. Gentle little touches, a few sneaky kisses, and creating memories that will last longer than a lifetime. It has been a wonderful day that has only tethered my heart to Carey more.
With his fingers weaved through my hair and his tongue dueling mine, Carey kicks his front door shut and steps backward. Not willing to relinquish his delicious mouth from mine, I tighten my grip around his shoulders and curl my legs around his hips. A grin crimps my lips when we fall like a heap onto his lumpy couch with a thud. The thickness of Carey’s cock in his shorts is barely contained, brushing against my aching core and wiping the laughter off my face.
His mouth captures my breathy moan when I rock my hips forward, dragging my soaked sex along the length of his wide rod. Excitement tingles my nerve-endings as a rush of lust scorches my veins. By the time Carey’s fingers have made quick work of the buttons on my shirt, I'm panting, wet, and on the verge of combusting. My breathing turns greedy when he cups one of my breasts in his large hand and squeezes it gently. His index finger and thumb roll my nipple into a firm and hard peak.
No longer able to leash my excitement, I pull my lips away from Carey’s sinful mouth with the intention of wrangling his thickened shaft from its tight restraints. My almost frantic movements stop when for the briefest moment my eyes connect with Carey. The shift between us is fast and resolute. Just as quick as our fire-sparking union commenced, it ends. The rapidly forming cloud of guilt building in Carey’s eyes makes quick work of the wooziness hindering my astute mind.
I place my hands on the curve of his sweaty jaw and peer into his eyes. “Don’t.” My one word expresses everything I want to say. Please don’t feel guilty. Something as magical as this should never have guilt attached to it. Don’t let your past guide your future.
When Carey remains quiet, I say, “If you want me to go, I’ll go. I understand.”
Little nicks hit my heart when he faintly murmurs, “I don’t see Jorgie when I'm with you.” He locks his remorse-filled eyes with me, his gaze both shocked and aroused. “Why don’t I see her when I’m with you?”
My right shoulder lifts into a shrug. “I don’t know,” I respond truthfully, my low voice displaying my heartache at the pain in his eyes.
I want to kiss away his pain before promising he will never experience that type of hurt again. I want to never leave his side so his haunted memories will be forever lost. But I can’t do either of those things. All I can promise is that I’ll help him work through his grief until he reaches a stage where he feels comfortable being around me. It won’t take away his pain or make him forget his past, but it will give him the opportunity to live without guilt.
“Do you want me to go?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
Relief engulfs me when he briefly shakes his head. It’s short-lived when he murmurs, “But maybe you should.”
“Then I’ll go,” I whisper, attempting to climb off his lap.
A breathless moan escapes my lips when he strengthens his grip on my backside, successfully pulling me back into his lap. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Then I won’t.”
He flexes his fingers on the globes of my ass. “If you tell me you want to go, I’ll let you go,” he informs me, sheepishly peering at me through a set of thick lashes.
“I’m not going to say that,” I reply with a soft shake of my head. “I’m never going to say that.”
He slowly rocks his hips forward, his movements so agile, they are almost imperceptible. “I’m broken,” he whispers.
I lean forward, flattening my breasts against his sweat-slicked chest so I can’t see the remorse in his eyes when I reply, “So am I.”
His lips brush the shell of my ear when he mutters, “I may never recover.”
“I know. Me either.”
I want to kiss him, but I won’t. I’m not going to do anything that will risk ending this conversation. Our sentences may be brief, but they are jam-packed with emotions not even the world’s best poet could replicate.
Carey slowly drags his hips forward again, allowing me to feel it isn’t just his emotions swelling. “This isn’t going to be easy,” he warns.
My lips tug into a small grin. “Nothing worth having is.”
“Hugo said one more crack could completely break you. I don’t want to break you.” The promise in his words alone ensures that will never happen.
“Hugo doesn’t know how strong I’ve become. I’m not the same Gemma I used to be.”
Excitement heats my blood when his hand creeps under my skirt and he snaps my panties off my body. “Why me?”
“Why not?” I reply, my two words long and breathless.
He slides his hand between our bodies and releases his cock from its tight restraints as my teeth graze my bottom lip. “Why me?” he asks again before bracing the tip of his cock at the entrance of my pussy.
My hot pants of breath hit his neck as I mutter, “Because you make me feel whole. I want to do the same for you.”
A wave of euphoria overwhelms me when he sinks the first inch of his cock into me. He takes his time, gently delivering every inch in a painstakingly slow thrust.
“Why now?” he asks once every inch of me has been filled to the brim. Not just my pussy, but my heart as well.
I draw away from his chest and glance into his eyes. They aren’t as tormented as they were before. “Because we’ve suffered long enough. It’s time for the pain to stop.”
He withdraws his cock at the same tortuously slow speed before sliding it back in. “The pain will never stop.”
“No, I guess it won’t.” My lungs saw in and out with every breath I take. “But it will never ease if we don’t try.”
My head lolls to the side when his thrusts quicken. He works me into a frenzy using a slow and controlled pace, like a man who knows my body in intimate detail. “Will you try as well? Will you do it with me?”
Lost in the race to climax, I nod my head. “Yes. I’ll be right by your side every day if that is what you want. I’ll never leave your side.”
“Promise,” he demands as he drags his cock all the way to the tip before guiding it back in in a mouthwatering thrust. “Promise you’ll never leave. I can’t go through that again.” He said his last sentence so quietly, I can’t even be certain he said it.
Oh, god— Carey.
The pain in his voice cuts me raw. I can’t take this. I can’t handle so many emotions at once. I flutter open my eyes, preparing to tell him that isn’t something I can give him. I can’t promise him that any more than I can promise his grief will end. Grief never ends. It may ease over time, or become less painful, but just like love, it lasts a lif
etime.
Tightness spreads across my chest when I see the pain in his eyes. He needs this promise more than anything. Even more than his next breath. How can I pledge to ease his pain, then the next minute break his heart by denying the one thing he needs more than anything?
“I promise,” I mutter, deciding that breaking a promise to a broken man is better than shattering his heart beyond repair. “You’ll never go through that again.”
Chapter 31
The following Saturday afternoon. . .
“You dawg,” Wesley says with a chuckle. “Using your daddy to ensure your sexual rut doesn’t return.”
I snap my eyes to the small living room of our cabin to ensure my dad and Carey didn’t hear Wesley’s statement. Although what he is saying is one hundred percent accurate, I don’t want either my dad or Carey knowing it.
Happy we’ve failed to gain their attention, I return my eyes to Wesley. He finishes scooping the avocado dip I made earlier into a white ceramic bowl before locking his eyes with mine. “What happened to the ‘dating exclusively for six-months before you meet my daddy rule?’”
I pull the fried tortilla chips out of the oven while replying, “The math is simple. Even a layman like you won’t have any trouble following it.”
Squealing, I leap out of Wesley’s reach when the crack of a tea towel sounds through the kitchen. “Who needs math when you look like this?” He runs his hand down the front of his body while waggling his brows.
I slant my head to the side and quirk my lips. “True.”
There is no use denying the truth. Wesley is gorgeous, and I’m beyond obsessed with Carey. The past week has shown a side to Carey I knew was hiding beneath his grief. He is a caring and gentle man who was handed a horrible life sentence. I won’t pretend I understand what Carey is going through, but I do understand nothing I could say or do will ease his pain. The best I can do is accept that there are going to be ups and downs, days filled with sadness, and times when his grief will take him away from me. If I can control my selfishness as well as my understanding, I can work through these troubles.
Snapping his fingers in front of my face to break me out of my trance, Wesley says, “But just for us laymen you better give me the details.”
Smiling, I say, “Everything with Carey happens at a rate 90 times my set limit. So, we only needed to have two dates before he could meet my dad. Although our first night together wasn’t technically a date, I’m counting it as one.”
Wesley’s brow arches into his hairline. “So a one-night stand and a nookie on a couch equals a parental meet and greet? I’m so fucking glad we sorted our shit out before my cock got anywhere near your pussy.”
“Please. If we ended up twisted in the sheets, you’d not only be begging to meet my dad, you’d be pleading for round two.”
This time Wesley’s crack of the tea towel hits me right on the backside. Even nursing a stinging butt, I grin like an idiot when he doesn’t attempt to refute my claim. Although my confidence is already at an all-time high from numerous fire-sparking exchanges with Carey the past seven days, no girl in their right mind would knock back a compliment from a man as handsome as Wesley and not get giddy about it.
Wesley leans his shoulder on the doorjamb of the kitchen. “For two strangers, they seem to know each other well.”
“They’ve met before, although I don’t think my dad remembers,” I explain, grabbing a six pack of beer out of the fridge. “Carey did two of my dad’s advance driver training courses.”
Wesley’s lips extend to the tip of his nose. He appears shocked by my admission.
“You should see Carey on the track, Wes. My god, I swear my panties nearly combusted.”
Wesley twists his neck to the side and eyes me with an impish gleam. “Those sexy, if you survive these, you’ll get to meet my daddy after two dates contouring panties you were telling me about?”
I cringe. “Don’t remind me.”
Wesley pushes off the doorframe and ambles deeper into the kitchen. “It must be love, as I can sure-as-hell tell you, if a chick I took home was wearing those hideous fuckers I begged you not to buy, I would have called Miramax Films and told them Bridget Jones had escaped the mental hospital she should be locked up in. I don’t give a shit if it turns sausages into steak, no one should wear panties like that.”
“It isn’t the panties that make a woman. It’s what they’re covering,” I retort, my voice doused in laughter to hide my embarrassment. Part of me wears contouring panties as I want to ensure all my body parts stay where they belong, but the major reason is the little niggle in the back of my head wondering if it was my clothing selection that caused the shake to my core six years ago.
Not noticing the quick switch in my demeanor, Wesley grins while asking, “It’s the treasure behind the material that is the ultimate prize?” His voice is low and tempting.
I nod my head.
“Then why are you wearing a racy little red thong today?”
My eyes rocket to his. My mouth is gaped, my eyes bulging. I’ve always said Wesley knows me well, but I didn’t realize he knew me that well.
Bending down so his six-foot frame can meet me eye to eye, he says, “Just a suggestion: unless you want your daddy to lock you up in a nunnery, don’t bend over in front of him.”
After yanking up the waist of my low-riding jeans, I follow a snickering Wesley into the cozy living room. Although my dad has spent the last three hours ensuring he is always positioned between Carey and me, I wouldn’t change a single thing. Carey’s face alone when he walked into the cabin and spotted my dad rearranging the living room is worth putting up with my dad’s overbearing protectiveness. Carey didn’t act as flabbergasted as Wesley did when we met the members of Rise Up, but his eyes were the brightest I’ve ever seen, and the smile he issued me when I greeted him on the patio with a daring kiss is still stretched across his face.
My dad’s eyes lift from the TV when I place the dip and fried tortilla chips on the coffee table. I’m not lying when I say my dad is a handsome man. Even being in his fifties doesn’t dampen his appeal the slightest. He has inky black hair that falls around his chiseled face. His eyes are a few shades darker than Carey’s, and his skin more tanned, but that is where their comparisons end. Actually, come to think of it, they have a lot more similarities than I’d care to admit.
Any concerns that I’ve fallen into the trap of dating a younger version of my dad flies out the window when Carey’s hand skims past my thigh as he reaches for the tortillas. His touch wasn’t on purpose, and I’m standing next to my dad, but it doesn’t stop an upwelling of desire to create havoc with my libido.
The fiery rage in my core nearly combusts when Wesley hooks his thumb into the loop of my jeans and yanks me backward. “Your ass is blocking the TV, Poppet.”
His yank has me toppling into the small space left between my dad and Carey on the three-seater couch, leaving them no option but to scoot to the side so I can sit between them. Although my dad’s jaw gains a tick it didn’t have earlier, he admirably holds in his annoyance at me practically sitting on Carey’s lap.
I’m not surprised. That is just like my dad. Carey has been nothing but respectful to him the past three hours, so my dad will do the same. My dad has always believed that respect is not hard to gain, only easy to lose.
When Carey adjusts his position so his splayed thigh presses against mine, I turn my eyes to Wesley. “I love you so much,” I silently mouth.
I nearly giggle like a school girl when he mouths back, “I want every explicit detail.”
My efforts to act my age become impossible when Wesley uses his tongue to push out the side of his cheek, mimicking a gesture only a teenage boy should make. Overcome with dizziness from sitting so close to Carey, and the three bottles of beer I’ve had, I decide to play along with Wesley’s childish game.
After making a circle with one hand, I push my index finger on my opposite hand in and out of my clenched fist.
Adding to my immaturity, I screw my face up to replicate expressions only the world’s worst porn stars should make. Wesley sinks deeper into his chair, his chest thrusting up and down as he battles to hold in his laughter.
“Hmm,” I say when my dad calls my name.
His big, worldly eyes take in my inclined cheeks and heavily dilated gaze. “Are you okay? You look a little flustered.”
Tearing my hands apart like they are opposing magnets, I strangle out, “I’m fine.”
My words are husky, choked by the mortified lump sitting in the back of my throat. Wesley and I have been known to have moments of silliness, but with my brain busy categorizing every movement Carey makes, I’ve gone into full-on moronic mode.
The faint chuckle seeping from Wesley’s mouth vanishes into thin air when my dad swings his eyes to Wesley. “You’re not corrupting my daughter again, are you?” my dad asks him. I can’t tell from his low tone if he is being serious or witty.
“No, Sir, not at all,” Wesley replies, his face whitening with every syllable.
My dad loves Wesley as if he is his own son. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to put him in his place if he believes he is being disrespectful. Several heartbeats of uncomfortable silence later, four sets of eyes turn back to the television.
The heat on my cheeks doubles when Carey inconspicuously leans to my side and whispers, “Is that your prediction for post-race entertainment?”
He may have only said one little sentence, but my god, it was strong enough that the remaining hours of the race were nothing but a blur to me. I was too busy fighting to control my unbridled desire to pay attention to a group of cars charging around a race track.
Chapter 32
“Are you sure I can’t offer you a ride?” my dad offers Carey, gesturing to his black SUV parked next to Carey’s Camaro. “My driver can arrange for someone to collect your Camaro tomorrow morning.”
