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“Not really,” I say honestly. “I feel too tired to talk much.”
“That makes sense,” Carter says. “What else do you do when you can’t sleep?”
An image flashes through my mind, of me touching myself under my covers, of the person I would be fantasizing about: him.
My core clenches and desire drips through me again.
“Um,” I say.
“Angel, you can tell me anything. What is it?”
“It’s embarrassing,” I manage to say. It’s not, but I don’t know how else to explain it. Carter doesn’t say anything so I add, “Sometimes I just need to tire myself out, you know?”
He’s silent, and I hear him sit up on the couch.
“Are you telling me,” he starts to say, and then pauses for a moment. “Are you telling me that you touch yourself?” The last part comes out in a rush, like he can’t believe he’s asking me.
I swallow hard and sit up in bed. I take a drink from the glass of water on the nightstand and say, “Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, not at all,” Carter says. “I can picture it perfectly, in fact.”
I can only see the outline of his face in the dim light, but I can tell that he’s giving me that shit-eating grin of his.
“No you can’t!” I chastise.
“Yes I can,” he says. And then he stands up, the blankets falling away from him and onto the floor. Chest heaving, he says, “Is it so hard to believe that I’ve thought about you like that before? Is it so hard to believe that I still want you?” His voice sounds raw, almost hungry as it scrapes across the words.
“No,” I say honestly. And maybe it’s because it’s dark, and he can’t see my face clearly, but I decide I like that we’re being candid with one another for once. So I say, “I remember back then.” I pause and let those words linger in the air. And then I continue, “I remember when I touched myself for you.”
That’s it Angel, fuck yourself for me.
The words flash through my mind and I stifle a groan.
“I remember that too, Angel.” He comes over to the bed and sits beside me on the edge of it. The mattress dips with the weight of him. “I’ve thought about that moment a lot over the last seven years,” he admits.
“Have you been lusting after me, Steel?” I mean this as a joke, as a way to diffuse the situation.
But all he says is, “You have no idea.”
His words send a lightning bolt of lust straight to my core. “Tell me how,” I demand, unable to stop myself.
Desire is pounding through me now. Hearing him say he has been fantasizing about me unlocks something inside of me, turning off the part of me that feels vulnerable around him, and ratcheting up the heady lust I feel for him instead.
He goes quiet again, this time for longer. I feel myself start to blush—maybe I took it too far.
“Carter, you don’t have to,” I say.
But at the same exact time he says, “Let me show you instead.”
“Let me show you,” he repeats. “You need to come so that you can fall asleep. And I need—I want to help you.”
This time, I’m the one who goes quiet as I digest his words.
“You can say no, of course,” he says hastily. “Obviously. I don’t need to tell you that, I know. But I just thought—I want to help, and I,” he trails off, soundingnervousfor once.
And that’s what does it for me. Carter Steel, propositioning me and sounding more nervous about it than I’ve heard him sound about anything else, is what convinces me.
The alarm bells in my head are quiet. There’s no warning sign flashing, telling me to slow down, to stop, to protect myself. There’s just waves and waves of liquid lust and desire pouring through me, and for once I’m not interested in denying it. In denying him.
