“Say it. Tell me the truth. I want your truth,” he grits out.
I couldn’t deny him even if I wanted to. Much like before, the words I’ve been fighting down spill out. “I love you.”
He grunts approvingly as one last spurt leaks over his hand, and then he climbs on the bed with me. “Turn over,” he orders.
I don’t hesitate. I rip my shirt the rest of the way off as I lie on my belly, my glasses thrown aside as I press my cheek into the pillow I cried into last night. Carter has quickly stripped his clothes too, and I feel him kneeling behind me. He lifts my hips into the air and then slaps my ass hard enough to leave a handprint.
“Fuck, this ass looks pretty all flushed pink like this.”
I wiggle slightly, and he chuckles darkly as he does it again. I’m expecting a third strike, but instead, he thrusts into me. I’m surprised he’s still hard, or hard again when he just came, but there’s no doubt that he is thick and solid. Despite being a mess of cum, I clench at the invasion. Not because I don’t want Carter, but because I want to keep him inside me . . . always. Carter grips my ass, pulling my cheeks apart, and I feel vulnerably exposed. “You should see how well your pussy grips me. Pretty lips clinging to my glistening cock, sucking me back in every time I try to pull out.”
He’s thrusting in and out of me slowly, as if he has all the time in the world to study what I look like impaled on him. I moan, arching my back to encourage him to go deeper. Take me, mark me, fuck me . . . claim me.
He doesn’t take the hint but rather runs his thumb through my juices and spreads them up to my ass. He circles the tiny knot of nerves there, exploring my reaction. “Talk to me. Tell me what you want, what you don’t want. I know you know.”
I do, but saying it is hard. Embarrassing, even, though it shouldn’t be. I haven’t tried anal play on my own, but right now . . . “Finger me . . . there.” It’s all I can manage, but it’s enough for Carter.
“Breathe, baby. Relax and let me in.” He dips his thumb in gently, and I cry out. There’s pain mixed in this time, but it’s a good pain? It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t care. Carter keeps his steady pace of deep strokes in my pussy and shallow dips into my ass, and intuitively, I move my fingers to my clit again.
It soothes the pain, turning it into a deep, pulsing pleasure, and in minutes, I’ve relaxed enough that we’re able to go harder, though I sense Carter is being careful with me, watching for signs that it’s too much. But not with his words . . .
“Shit, Luna. We’ve got forever together, and one day, I’m gonna be the lucky man who fucks your sexy ass. I want to fill you every way you’ll let me.”
It’s too much, and I scream in ecstasy. The neighbor bangs on the wall again, and I think they yell, but I’m too far gone to be sure.
Carter puts two fingers in my mouth to keep me quiet, and I reflexively suck at them. It’s like he’s already filling me—in my pussy, in my ass, and in my mouth.
And your heart.
That’s what truly makes me come harder than I ever have before.
Carter comes a moment later, and I moan around his fingers encouragingly as I feel the pulses deep inside me. He collapses, his chest pressed to my back as he pants heavily. I try to catch my breath too, but it’s hard with his weight partially holding me down.
“Carter?”
“Now can we talk about us?” he says. I can hear the smile in his voice.
“There’s more to talk about?” I tease.
He slips out, and I roll over so I can see him. Carter stretches out beside me, his head propped on one hand as his other fingers dance gently over my skin. “So much more to talk about, wife.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
CARTER
I’m sure about this. In some ways, I’m actually surprised at how sure I feel about this. I’m a planner, someone who plots out points of success and tackles life until I reach each benchmark. But here I am, throwing it all in on what amounts to an underdog bet.
And underdog is not a position I’m accustomed to.
Approaching the door, I hold Luna’s hand a little tighter, glad she’s here with me because there are going to be questions for us both.
I ring the bell and clear my throat, ready to plead for my life. Or at least my professional one.
“Sir?” Stanley’s greeting as he opens the door is less than friendly. In fact, with his expression, I’m ready for him to declare in a booming voice, UNLEASH THE HOUNDS!
“Hi, Stanley, good to see you again. How are you?” I’m going all-in with the charm, but he’s giving me nothing, staying blank-faced and stone-still. “I was hoping Elena might be available to talk for a few minutes?”
I smile graciously, assuming he’ll either say yes or at the least, go check with Elena.
“Sorry, Mr. Harrington. I’ve been instructed that you are not to see Mrs. Cartwright under any circumstances.” His tone is flat, but there’s something in it that tells me he’s not sorry at all and really wishes I’d vanish from his employer’s doorstep.
“Instructed? Who’d do that?” Luna asks, saying what I’m thinking.
He cuts his eyes to Luna, vacantly acknowledging her for the first time, and shrugs nonchalantly.
“Who told you that?” I repeat. But I already know. She told me as much when she came to see Dad and me. “Claire, right?”
He sighs in exasperation, seeming annoyed that we’re asking. “Yes, Mrs. Reynolds. She’s ‘taking over some things here’， apparently. Seems to think Elena’s judgment is no longer fit.”
“What? Elena’s sharp as a tack,” Luna argues.
“You didn’t hear anything from me,” he says, pulling a zipper across his lip and throwing away the key. “You’d best be going. I’d hate for Mrs. Reynolds to hear about your visit.”
It sounds like a threat, as if he’s the one who would do any tattle-tale telling to Claire, and then he shuts the door in our faces.
“What the fuck?” I say quietly.
Luna’s eyes are big and round behind her glasses. “Do you think Elena is okay? I mean, Claire’s a bit entitled, but this sounds more like . . .”
“A money grab?” I suggest worriedly. If it is, I’m almost tempted to kick in the door and the consequences be damned. Funnily enough, this old lady means something to me.
Luna presses her lips into a flat line, not liking the sound of that any more than I do.
We step off the porch, looking around at the quiet property. Off to the right, I see another familiar face. “Come on, let’s ask Bernard.”
“Hi, Bernard, how’re your roses doing?” I ask. He doesn’t even turn around, ignoring us completely. “Bernard? This is ridiculous. We just wanted to talk, see if you knew what’s up with Elena and Claire. You don’t have to be rude.”
Completing trimming the bush he’s on, he turns and screeches, jumping a foot into the air when he sees us. “Oh, my good gravy!” he shouts, pulling earbuds from his ears. “You two liketa scared the tar outta me. Why’re you skulking about?”
He’s angry and scolding us, but I chuckle at his word choice. “Sorry for the scare, didn’t realize you had on earbuds. And we’re not skulking. We’re looking for Elena.” I specifically don’t mention that Stanley said we weren’t welcome here. If Bernard doesn’t know, I won’t be the one to tell him.