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“Not enough,” he says. He lifts the glass dangling from his hand and tips it upside down. “Never enough,” he mumbles.
I wonder how long he’s been like this. Brady doesn’t talk about his personal life much, doesn’t share any family drama. He’s dropped hints over the years about the trouble Carter has had staying sober. I’m also sure that Brady knows nothing about my history with Carter. I’ve never told him and Carter sure as hell hasn’t fessed up to it either.
But here we are. Carter is right about one thing. We need to settle this. We need to move on. We need to stop dwelling on the past. If I stop dwelling on the past, then I won’t be thinking about Luke anymore.
But is it what happened with Luke that I’m trying to forget, or what happened with Carter?
Funerals. Carter and I should not be at funerals together.
A much more submissive Carter Hughes dropped to his knees before me after Luke’s funeral. And I let him. And I hated myself then for letting him. I hate myself now for not being able to forget how it felt. How it felt to have his mouth wrapped around my cock. How it felt to see those warm pale brown eyes staring up at me… I shake my head to erase that vision and take in the eyes squared on me now. They aren’t warm. They’re scorching.
I head to my car and Carter follows. He hops in without hesitation, sliding the seat back allowing his long legs to fill the space in front of him. I can’t keep my eyes from traveling up those legs. Drinking in the soft fabric of his suit caressing those thighs.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
The question breaks my trance and keeps my eyes from seeking what lays in between those thighs. I flick my eyes back up and look ahead.
I don’t answer. I don’t have an answer. I just need to get us out of there. Away from curious ears and watchful eyes. Even with far more important things going on, it would be hard for others to miss the tension between us.
Settle this. What does that even mean?
Before I even know it, I’m parked in the garage of my downtown apartment. I drove here on autopilot. Carter pops out of the car before I’ve even removed the key from the ignition.
I have no idea what we are going to do. How exactly we intend to settle this. What I do know is that Carter Hughes is fucking gorgeous. Even drunk, leaning against the back of the elevator. His long legs crossed. He removed his tie in the car and unbuttoned his shirt one button too far. One damn button, too damn far. And I can’t stop staring at that tiny sliver of exposed chest. I want to lick it. I want to feel that smooth skin under my tongue. Taste him.
I lift my eyes to his, and he smirks at me. There is no way to hide where my head is. My cock isn’t far from betraying me, either. Do I need to get laid that badly? So much so that Carter fucking Hughes looks appealing to me?
Chapter five
SEVEN YEARS AGO
I sweep my eyes across the expansive apartment with the view of downtown. The sun has begun its descent, and the lights of the buildings are flickering in the waning golden light. An enormous couch faces that view with its back to us.
I hear the clink of keys hitting a metal bowl. I return my attention to him, where he has stalled by the door. He clearly has no plan. And the war waging inside of him is almost comical to behold.
“Are we going to fight or fuck? Your choice. I’m good with either.”
“You’re drunk.” He steps fully into the room, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before he moves them away. But it was too late. I saw what he didn’t want me to see.
“I’ve been drunk for over twenty years,” I lean close to him. “Trust me, it won’t affect my performance… because that look in your eyes… that tells me we’re fucking.”
“Get on your knees, Carter.”
I chuckle at him. Shaking my head, I step back. “Un-uh. That’s not the way this is going to go, Davis. Not this time. I’m not that stupid kid seeking your approval anymore.
I run my eyes up and down his long, lean body. I have an idea of what is hiding under that tailor made dark suit and my mouth is salivating at the thought of Davis Franklin George naked in front of me.
“Take it off. Take it all off. I want to see that hot hockey player body I suspect you still have.”
He doesn’t make a move to meet my demand, so I get started without him. Damn, I wish he wasn’t still so good looking. But being good looking doesn’t make him any less of an ass.
His eyes follow my hands as I unbutton my shirt and shrug it off my shoulders. They follow as I undo my belt too, letting it slide slowly out and dropping it to the floor, the loud clink of the metal buckle hitting the wood floors filling the room. He lifts his gaze to meet mine when I reach for the button of my pants. He can’t look away and I fucking love it. I see the tent forming in his dress pants and I make no move to disguise the large and, growing painful, erection I’m about to free from my briefs.
I pull them over my ass and down to the floor and stand before him, naked. He caresses me with his eyes, up and down, as I take hold of my cock and give myself a long, slow stroke. I groan. And wait.
It doesn’t take long. I can’t control the smile that hits my lips. He dispenses with his shirt quickly and I was right about what was underneath. Oh man, was I right. At least the top half. Chiseled pecs and abs are begging for my fingers. Those round, strong shoulders lead my eyes to his biceps and ropey forearm muscles that twitch and flow with every move he makes.
Fuck me. This is going to be more fun than I even imagined. And I have imagined. I have gotten myself off to thoughts of Davis in a wide array of positions for me for years now.
