Finally Ours (Harborview #2)

16. Carter

16

CARTER

The first thing I do when I step under the hot shower is grab my aching, hard cock.

I’ve basically been semi-hard since Angela licked the whiskey off my throat yesterday and I’m in desperate need of release. Otherwise I worry I’ll do something crazy like try to kiss her again.

I remind myself that slow and steady is the key with Angela.

But in my mind, I imagine things going hard and fast.

I pump my cock and think about all the ways I want to pleasure her.

“Carter, please,” she moans in my fantasy, as I stroke her upper thighs.

“Please what, Angel?”

“Please touch me,” she says softly. In my fantasy, her hair is unbound and spread around her head on a pillow, and her face is flushed.

“Touch you where?”

“Touch my pussy,” she says. “Make me come.”

“Beg me for it,” I command.

I pump my cock harder, grunting in satisfaction as I imagine making her beg me to touch her.

“Please, Carter, please. I want your fingers inside me, my pussy is aching for you.”

If Angela ever asked me this in reality, I’d probably pass out from shock and then from joy. I’d also probably blow a load on the spot. But in my fantasy, I do exactly as she wants: I fill her with one finger, and then two, and fuck her slowly as she writhes on the bed.

“Carter,” she whimpers.

I imagine rubbing her clit gently with my thumb and watching as she rocks her hips into my hand.

“Do you like me fucking you with my fingers, Angel?”

“Yes,” she moans.

“Tell me how much you like it.”

“It’s so good, I love it so much. Carter, I’m going to come,” she says. Fantasy Angela starts playing with her nipples, and massaging her heavy, perfect breasts.

God, I miss those fucking tits.

“You’re such a good girl,” I imagine telling her. “Such a good, perfect girl, with a perfect pussy, coming like that for me.”

And then she’s coming, and I am as well. I let out a groan, and hope Angela doesn’t hear me in the other room.

Fuck.

After I come down, I feel just as horny as I did before I jerked off, and I want her just as much. I want her perfect tits in my hands, and her pussy on my mouth. I want to taste her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I want to wake up with her, and for her, and I want all her good and bad moments, her triumphs and her failures and her joy.

I want her. I’ve always wanted her. But this trip has only shown me how fucking badly I need her.

Because I’ll never want another woman like I want her.

After I finish showering and then jerk off again, I find Angela sitting on the bed scrolling on her phone. Margery really thought of everything, and Angela has her phone plugged into the charger that the suite came with.

The reality of her hits me square in the chest, and it’s so much better than any fantasy. Her hair is drying in soft curls around her face, and when she looks up from her phone at me, I notice that the dark blue on her shirt has turned her turquoise eyes a deep, ocean blue. She has one denim clad leg primly crossed over the other, and the stare she levels at me would stop a weaker man in his tracks. She’s a fucking queen.

“Have a good shower?” she asks, cocking a brow at me.

“I did. It feels good to be clean.”

“It sure sounded like you were very busy in there getting clean.” She says this with a small grin, and her cheeks start to flush.

So, she heard me after all. Probably because the second time I jerked off I had the water off and I moaned as I came. Luckily, I didn’t say her name as I did. I think.

“Listening in, Angel?” I walk towards the bed. “Next time I won’t try to be quiet for you. I’ll ask you to join me.”

“In your dreams, Steel,” she says.

“Oh, you’d be shocked by the content of my dreams.”

“I’m not that easy to shock.”

“That’s what I like so much about you, Ange. Always cool.” If only she knew how much she surprised me on a daily basis. How I felt my axis tipping closer and closer to her the more time we spend together.

That mask slips over her face though, and I kick myself for saying she was always cool.

“But I know,” I start to say, scrambling to fix it. “I know how much effort being that composed takes. And you don’t have to be like that around me if you don’t want to. You can scream. And cry. Vent to me like you did earlier.”

“Thanks.” She doesn’t meet my eyes as she says it, but what I’m realizing about Angela is that she’s not good at accepting softness, or kindness. Not from me, not anymore. But if she says thanks, then she means it. And her eyes are crinkling around the edges like she’s keeping a smile in.

“Food?” I ask, holding my hand out to her.

“You read my mind.”

She gets off the bed without taking my hand, but as we walk towards the door, I feel her reach out and brush my fingers with her own. Once, twice, and then her touch is gone.

But it keeps a lightness in my step all the way down the stairs, out the front door of the general store, and across the street to Shaky Jane’s.