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Fuck, being knocked out for who knows how long really did a number on me.
I cough, causing Carter to jump into action. He straightens me into a sitting position, pressing me to his side while reaching for my coffee table, getting me water.
Where’s the other dude?
After I take a sip, I ask, “You slept here?”
“Sleep? Why would I sleep here?” His resolute expression morphs into that of confusion. I can see the second he understands my question. “No, baby. It’s only been an hour since the…”
Since the attack.
Storm clouds gather over Carter’s face. A low growl emanates from his chest.
Without a single warning, he grabs the glass from my hand and returns it to the table. The water sloshes with the force of Carter’s rage. A couple of drops splash on the worn-out wooden top.
“That cocksucker.” He doesn’t let me get up to wipe the table. Carter grips my hips, manhandling me until my thighs straddle him.
A declaration of war brews behind his gray eyes. His erection beneath me is as powerful a weapon as his strong, demanding hands are.
“Did you punch him?” The pain in my temple is all but gone. My love for the violence in him takes over. “For me?”
He tilts his head, his fingers bruising my hips. My fingers lace around his neck, my hips grind, desperate for friction. I want him so bad every part of me hurts. I don’t care what happened to that other man anymore.
“Pet, fuck.” Carter burrows his fingers deeper into my flesh, hurting me in a delicious way. My jeans are no obstacle for my man. What Carter wants, Carter gets.
And right now, he’s obsessed with delivering pain. Pain that’ll make me cry out his name.
Of course, I let him have it.
“Carter,” I moan.
He replies by curling his fingers around the side of my neck, using his other hand to grind me on his cock.
My gaze travels down to one of my favorite parts of his body. His arms. The sleeves of his black shirt are rolled up, his veins bulging on his muscular forearms.
“Look at me,” he orders, his groan too hot for words.
I don’t obey anyone other than Carter. And the bank. Gotta do what they say.
But mostly, in my world, Carter is my king. The only ruler.
On his command, my eyes slide up his chest, the scruff on his chin and strong nose, and land on his fierce stare. As our gazes collide, I feel his dick throbbing beneath me.
All it’ll take is a snap of my wrist, and I’ll have his cock out. Carter will do the rest by himself.
His brow furrows, head shaking slowly. “No.”
I hate and love that he can tell what I’m about to do before I do. My bottom lip juts out in a pout.
“Not until you explain what the hell what am I supposed to do with you means.” He jerks his hips up as an incentive.
Bastard.
“You weren’t here.” Here are some truths for him. While I still pout. “He knew you wouldn’t be here. I missed you, but it’s not it. I almost…almost…”
Shivers wrack through my body. My sass and my confidence are nowhere to be found.
The man who knocked me out could’ve done any number of things to me. We both get that, moreover since Carter gets off on me being a heavy sleeper. On my unconscious consenting. Yeah, it’s a thing. Our thing.
