Page 32 of Unleashed By Eden

But then I remember, it’s Carter, and I’m . . . me.

Just as my foot hits the first step, he moans again, louder this time, no mistaking it.

“Violet . . . mmm.”

My heart misfires, and the glass slips in my grip, cold water sloshing over my fingers. Holy shit. He’s dreaming about me.

I hold my breath and wait. For what, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem real.

The sound of my name in that low, rough voice . . . I can’t believe it. He’s actually dreaming about me. Not just dreaming but . . . moaning my name.

I’m resisting the urge to jump up and down and laugh like a lunatic.

After all these years of orbiting him, the silent crush and helpless watching, surely this means he feels something too.

He wants me.

Without really thinking I set the glass on the coffee table, the base thudding softly on the wood. My feet carry me closer. I sink to my knees beside the couch, close enough to see the puffed edge of the swelling around his eye, the shadow along his jaw, the small freckles scattered over his nose and cheeks.

He’s outright beautiful; staring straight at him almost hurts.

His lips part on another soft sound.

This is it. This is my moment. My chance to prove I’m more than just Liam’s kid sister.

My body moves before my brain has fully caught up. I lean in, my mouth a breath away from his. The warmth of him, the faint smell of smoke, and the ghost of beer from earlier wrap around me.

I press my lips to his, featherlight at first, testing.

He responds. His mouth moves under mine, a small shift that makes my heart swell and flutter. His lips mold to mine, firmer. I pull back to breathe, then dip my mouth lower, following the line of his throat, across his collarbone, down the planes of his chest.

He makes another deep sound, his breaths turning heavier, his body reacting, even if his mind is still somewhere inside the dream that has my name in it.

I kiss over his ribs, down the lines of his stomach, every inch of bare skin a new rush. By the time I reach the waistband of his jeans, there’s no denying the solid length pressing against the denim, the tip just visible above it.

I hesitate, hand hovering.

He’s hard. For me. He said my name. He’s enjoying this. That has to mean something. That has to mean I’m not completely insane, that this moment, this attraction, isn’t one-sided.

I hook my fingers into the top of his jeans and unfasten the button. The sight of his head drives a small sound out of me. I bend and take the very tip in my mouth, tongue circling, drawing him in slowly, my eyes fluttering closed at the taste of him. My panties are soaked through, sticking to the outline of my lips.

I open my eyes and look up.

His blink open, too.

Everything stops.

His lashes flicker, and his brows pull tight, his gaze still unfocused, dragging itself out of sleep.

Then his eyes finally land on me.

His whole expression changes, horror rushing in and erasing everything else. The whites of his eyes widen.

He jerks away fast, hands pushing at my shoulders, at my head, anything to get me off him, and I land on my ass on the rug, stunned. He scrambles upright, one hand shoving himself back into his jeans, the other braced on the couch. His breathing is harsh and uneven.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he spits, pure panic in his eyes.

My skin goes ice cold.