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My mouth’s not fully functioning yet. My eyes, however, do. They flutter open, eager to obey Carter.
His familiar gray gaze is the first thing I see. Piercing, intense eyes try to burrow inside my brain.
“There you are,” he whispers, though it sounds a lot like a growl.
Is he mad at me for leaving the door open? Or does he get off on my swollen area where the motherfucker hit me? He likes spanking me. He likes the marks his palm leaves on my ass. So maybe…?
But the pounding in my head doesn’t feel like a night with Carter.
And I’m not feeling very playful.
I’m in pain. My left temple throbs.
My ego is bruised. My sense of safety in my own apartment is nonexistent.
This isn’t my first time getting beaten up. Keeping my mouth shut has never been my thing. Meaning I never fit in any of the private schools my parents sent me to. Who could’ve guessed that the punishment for being a weirdo is getting bullied?
So, yeah. I had my hair tugged. The mean girls kicked my ribs sometimes. I stumbled over accidentally extended legs in the hall more times than I’d like to admit.
I’m no stranger to pain. I embrace it.
Thing is, if Carter were here, none of this would’ve happened. If Carter wouldn’t have made being late a habit, the freaking stalker wouldn’t have dared to break in here.
Worst thing, though? Our night is ruined.
Instead of fucking like rabbits, I’m lying on my couch. My head is in Carter’s lap, and he’s not pinching my nipples.
Annoying.
Sensing my peaking anger, Carter flips his palm, soothing the wounded area one stroke after the other. A strand of his short, straight hair falls on his creased forehead as he gazes down at me.
He doesn’t smooth it back, the tiny imperfection in his otherwise immaculately styled hair.
“I’m sorry, A.” There’s no mesmerizing grin splayed on his face. No sweet-talking his way back in my good graces.
I don’t want to be mad at him. I’m not mad at him. I wish I could taunt him—our banter is everything—but I have nothing.
Ugh. Great, now I’m annoyed from being annoyed.
“What am I going to do with you, muffin?”
On the outside, Carter is edgy and dark. On the inside, he’s my cutie pie. It’s one of the many reasons I could never stay mad at him. And he loves the nickname.
Less so today.
His expression turns sterner than before. His frown is deep, and he scowls at me.
“That bad?” I ask. Carter’s never mad at me. It has to be the bruises. Right?
“Pet, I apologized for being late. I’ll apologize a million times more. Just say the word and I’ll do it. Whatever will make you feel better, anything at all. I fucking lo—Fuck, just tell me.” His voice is hoarse, his determination as thick as his cock and endless as the ocean. He means business. “I’ll do anything, anything other than walk away. You and me, we’re forever. Breaking up is not an option for you. Fucking never. You’re mine, have I made myself clear?”
I blink a few times. Then my lips curve up.
He misunderstood me. I wanted to play, and my possessive, obsessed guy heard something else entirely.
What a sexy red flag he is. All my life I’ve been warned against men like Carter, and yet here I am, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
“As if I’d ever leave you.” The words scratch my throat.
