Finally Ours (Harborview #2)

24. Angela

24

ANGELA

When Carter and I get back to the apartment, we spend the rest of the night watching TV and relaxing in our pajamas. I take a long, scorching shower to decompress, and we’re both pretty wiped from the day on the water. But I’m absolutely positive that won’t matter when my head hits the pillow. Even though I only slept for four hours last night, and am exhausted emotionally and physically from the last few days, I know that I’m going to be kept up.

By thoughts of him .

We brush our teeth, again while standing next to one another in the bathroom, and then we climb into bed. Me, on the kingsize bed surrounded by pillows, and Carter on the couch. I feel a twinge of guilt over the fact that he’s taking the couch again, but I’m too tired to really care. The meager hours of sleep I’ll manage to get will dwindle to nothing if I’m on the couch. I need a bed, lots of blankets, and multiple pillows. My moms always joke that I’m basically goldilocks when it comes to sleep—everything needs to be just right. My hair also helps with that image.

I lay down and switch the light off.

“Night,” I tell Carter.

“Goodnight,” he responds, his voice rough and tired, and my breath hitches a bit.

It’s so strange. Being here with him—alone in an apartment together, no one else around us. It’s not like being around him in Harborview at all. At home, we’re always surrounded by our friends and family, and the town and its prying eyes. That’s part of why I never even told Cat about our history. Word spreads in small towns and since moving home I’ve managed to avoid the gossip mill. I’d like to keep it that way.

I roll over onto my back and try to get comfortable.

I also try to ignore the ache that has sprung to life in my core.

It must be due to the fact that I haven’t spent this much time alone with a man in a while. Carter is the only man I’ve ever been serious with, despite all my other failed relationships. I wanted some of the other guys I dated to be serious, and I put my whole heart into making things work, but at the end of the day, none of the men I ever chose wanted me back. Not in any meaningful way, anyway.

So I’ve built up walls, partially because of them, and partially to keep Carter out. But those walls are all crumbling now, brick by brick, surely and swiftly as the waves meet the shore.

Instead of falling asleep, I think about Carter’s hands. How strong they looked hauling the lobster pots earlier. How gently they held my face in the moment before his lips found mine when he kissed me. The brush of his fingers as he passed me in the apartment.

I resist groaning out loud and flip over in bed again to try and get comfy.

“Restless?” Carter asks from the couch.

“A bit. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“I hadn’t drifted off yet. I want to make sure you can sleep first.”

Fuck.

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? How was I supposed to react normally to Carter being so damn considerate?

Apparently my clit knows exactly how to react, though, because it pulses and aches at his words, and a wave of desire washes through me.

“Oh,” I say. Wow, so brilliant Angela. “That’s nice.”

“Do you want to talk until you fall asleep again? Like last night?” He sounds so kind when he says this, like he doesn’t even care that he’s offering to sacrifice his sleep for me.

“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, sounding nervous for 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.

“Yes,” I say simply.

“Fuck,” is all he says in response.

And then he turns the lamp on beside us, and I can see his face: eyes wild and bright, hair mussed.

“If I’m gonna make you come, Angel, I want to watch the entire thing.”

I just nod, because in truth, I want to see him as well. I want to see all of it.

“Can I undress you?” he asks.

“Please,” I whisper, feeling myself sitting on desire’s edge, my core pounding with lust.

He pushes back the blankets from my lap, and I lean towards him. One brush of his hands against my thighs as he picks up the sleep shirt I’m wearing and lifts it over my head, and I ignite, a moan leaving my lips. He leans back a bit and looks at me, his eyes sweeping from the curve of my hip, across my soft stomach, down my thighs, and back up again.

“Fuck, Angel, you’re so beautiful. Can I touch you?”

I nod, and he pulls me in closer. He leans in and kisses my neck, and my heart swoops in my chest. He trails kisses down my sternum, leaning me back onto the pillows as he goes.

“I think about these perfect fucking tits all the time,” he says, kissing a line across my breasts, pulling each of my nipples into his mouth. “And I think about your cunt, dripping wet for me, ready to take my fingers, or my cock.”

I feel a blush rise in my cheeks at his words, but I also relish hearing them—hearing that Carter feels the chemistry that is still between us. That he wants me, even now.

“Do you want it like it was before?” he asks, and I know exactly what he means.

Him, in control yet praising me endlessly. Me, at his mercy, blushing and shaking under his hands, the praise making the pleasure all the more delicious.

“Yes,” I say.

“Yes, what?” His voice is like gravel now, rough and low.

“Yes, please.”

“Good girl,” he says, and my lust drips through my core. “Are you already wet for me? Are you dripping just thinking about what it will be like when my fingers are finally inside you?”

I let out a noise that sounds like a whine and he just chuckles. “I won’t make you beg this time, Angel. Because I can tell how much you need this. But next time, remember that if you want me to make you come, you need to tell me how badly you want it.”

“I forgot how damn controlling you could be,” I say, even though I didn’t. I remembered it perfectly and have thought about it a thousand times since.

“And you love it.” He reaches down and tugs my panties aside, and grazes one knuckle against me. “See, soaked already, pretty girl.”

I buck my hips, seeking friction after the loss of his hand touching me.

“I like seeing how badly you want me, Angel. How much you need to come.”

“Carter,” I moan.

“Yes?”

I know the magic words. I know exactly what he wants to hear, even if he claims he doesn’t.

“Please,” I say. “Please make me come. Please.”

“You’re such a good girl, begging me even though you didn’t have to.”

And then he reaches down and slides my panties down my legs.

“Spread your legs,” he orders. I do as he says, the command ratcheting my desire up even more. “Wider. I want to see all of you.”

He sits up and stares at me, his eyes finding mine, and then traveling lower and lower. “I forgot how pretty your pussy is, Angel. How pink and perfect it is.” He reaches down and slides one finger through my folds, and then he licks it. “And you taste better than I remember. You’re such a good girl, with your pussy wet and ready for me like this.”

The praise makes my mind go numb, and all I can do is moan in response and buck my hips again. I’ve always loved it—being praised by him.

“You like being told you’re a good girl, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I say shakily.

“Can you be a good girl again for me? Because I’m not going to let you come for a while. And you’re not going to until I let you, okay?”

I nod, and Carter strokes one hand down my face tenderly. He’s looking right at me and for a moment, I see a glimmer of something other than lust in his eyes. Something I’m sure he’d find in mine, if he looked hard enough.

Carter moves lower down my body, and presses his fingers to my core. He swipes across my clit with his thumb, moving it in lazy circles.

I moan, and try to raise my hips, to encourage him to go harder.

“None of that,” he says, and pushes me back down. “I’m taking my time with you.”

He continues to work my clit, and a string of moans and curses leaves my mouth. “God, Carter, I—fuck.”

“You look so beautiful like this, with my fingers on your cunt.” His fingers leave my clit, and he strokes them lower, darting into my pussy, just once. “I know you want me to fuck you, Angel. But I want to play with you a bit longer.”

He circles around my clit, but never really touches it. Just around and around, grazing lightly, again and again, until a sob leaves my throat.

“Carter, please, please,” I moan.

“You’re such a good girl when you beg me,” he says. “Your pussy drenched, practically begging me to fuck it with my fingers. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” I manage to get out. “Please. I’ll be such a good girl for you.”

He slips one finger inside me, and then another. “Fuck, Angel, you feel so fucking good. Hot and wet and perfect. I love the feel of you.” He starts to fuck me gently with his hand. “You look so good taking my fingers like this.”

I blush under the praise again, and feel myself sink deeper into pleasure.

He leans down and flicks his tongue across my clit, just once, while his fingers remain inside me. He’s still going slow, but he curls his fingers inside me, and I cry out.

“Carter,” I whine.

“Hold on just a bit longer, perfect girl. I’m not done yet.” He rises up onto one arm above me, and catches my eyes. “If this is how good you look with just my fingers filling you, imagine how you’d look taking my cock. Your pussy was made for my cock, Angel.”

I let about another sob as he starts to fuck me with his hand even harder.

“You know why I call you Angel?” he asks.

“Because of my glowing personality?” I manage to say.

“Because of how perfect you look when you come. Because of how fucking perfect you look all the time. You practically glow.”

He pulls his fingers out of my pussy and starts to rub my clit again. This time, when I buck my hips, he lets me, and lets me grind into his hand.

“You’re such a good girl, taking exactly what you need when I give it to you,” he says. “Now stop.”

I don’t, not immediately, and Carter removes his hands from my pussy, leaving me breathless.

“Good girls do as they’re told, Angel,” he says. “Can you be good, my perfect girl?”

“Yes,” I say. “I just—Carter, I need to come. I need your hands on me. I need your cock.”

He goes still above me at that. The look in his eyes is feral, and I know that if he pressed his weight into me, he cock would be hard and long and perfect against me.

“This is about you, Angela. Not me,” he says shakily. “You’ll get my cock when you’re ready for it.”

He kneels between my legs again, and leans down, and starts licking my clit, gently at first, and then faster. He thrusts his fingers into my pussy once more, and works me in tandem.

“You’re going to come for me now, Angel. With my tongue on your clit, and my fingers in your wet, perfect cunt. Can you do that for me, gorgeous girl?”

“Yes,” I whimper. My legs on either side of his head start to shake, and I feel the orgasm building inside me.

“Come for me. Take what you need, Angel,” he says, and then his mouth is on me again.

Carter’s mouth and fingers feel so good, I can’t help but press my hands into his hair, and grind upwards into his mouth. He grunts in satisfaction, and picks up the pace. I start to come apart, the orgasm tearing through me, and then another, this one deeper and higher. Carter withdraws his fingers from my pussy and starts to strum my clit with his thumb, drawing another orgasm from me.

“You’re such a good girl,” he says, and continues to praise me as I come and come, telling me how perfect and beautiful I am. “You’re so pretty when you come, Angel. And your perfect pussy feels so good clenching around me.” He pumps his fingers into me again. “I could fuck you like this forever, watch my perfect girl come on my hand forever.”

“Carter,” I choke out. “Please, I?—

“Can you come one more time for me, Angel?”

“Yes,” I say, because I’m not crazy, and if this man wants to give me another orgasm, who am I to deny him? And in truth, I can tell my body isn’t sated yet, that I could come another ten times on his hands and mouth. “But I want to see you come, too. Please.”

He goes still again.

“I miss your cock,” I whisper.

“Fuck.”

Carter rises onto his knees, and pulls his boxer briefs down. His cock is hard and thick, and I whimper at the sight of it. He fists it, and starts to stroke it, groaning as he does. He reaches his other hand down between my legs once more, and starts to rub my clit, sending spirals of pleasure through me.

“Fuck, Angel, I want to be buried in your pussy right now,” Carter groans. “You’re so wet and tight. So fucking perfect. I could come just from looking at you like this.” He pumps his cock harder, and all I can do is stare up at him. His strong thighs, corded with muscle. The planes of his taut stomach. His breaths coming heavier and harder.

I start to come, the orgasm rising and swelling and then breaking around me. I shudder and gasp as it tears through me, and above me, Carter starts to come as well. He jerks his cock hard, and his cum spurts across me, painting my stomach.

Carter collapses at my side and pulls me to him, tucking me in against his chest. “Such a good fucking girl,” he says gently. “Coming so many times for me. And you look good with my cum on you. So perfect.” He grabs a tissue from the bedside table and starts to clean me up, his hands gentle.

Fear spikes through me, sharp and sudden. I flail a bit, and Carter lets go of me. “Carter, what does this mean?” I ask.

“Shh, Angel. We will figure it out. Don’t worry.” He draws me back against him once more, and I let him, settling into his warmth and telling myself to breathe deeply and relax. “I’m not going anywhere. Not again,” he promises.

I’m not sure how much I believe him, but miraculously, it’s enough that I’m able to fall asleep, warm and content in his arms.

The morning dawns clear and bright, and Carter and I wake up nestled in bed right next to one another. I can’t sleep well with someone holding me, so at some point I rolled away from him in the night, but we’re still close enough that I could reach out and touch him easily, and our calves are touching. Normally sleeping in bed with someone else makes me anxious and uneasy. But this is the second time I’ve fallen asleep next to Carter in as many days. I turn over so that I’m facing him, my pillow right next to his, and I study his face in the morning light.

Eyes closed, breath slow and even—I haven’t had the chance to watch him sleep like this in years. His face is so much different now than it was back then. At twenty, he still had boyish charm, his face slim and soft. Now, his jaw is chiseled from stone, his cheekbones sharp, and his face is covered in a short beard.

I don’t know what to make of what we did last night. I don’t know if I should have let him get that close to me. He coaxed pleasure from my body like the past seven years of silence between us never even happened. But chemistry—sex—has never been the problem between us.

Sure, he called me a good girl last night, but is he going to stick around? Was last night just about sex?

My gut tells me it wasn’t, especially because Carter was so focused on my pleasure. I came a few times before he ever did, and I could tell he genuinely enjoyed pleasing me.

But my gut is also confused and twisted and unsure. I don’t know how to trust myself, because what I want is so muddled with fear and hope I can’t see things clearly. My gut always tells me to run, fast, before a man can break my heart. But my heart tells me to hold out for hope. My heart wants me to give them—to give him —endless chances.

It’s why I kept trying to find a good man to date up until two years ago, around the time I moved back to Harborview. I’d push myself to work past the fear every time I’d meet someone new, and I’d hope and hope that it would work out. When it didn’t, I’d be left crushed, and kicking myself for not listening to my gut when it told me to run.

So it’s nearly impossible to keep myself from bolting out of bed, from packing my things and running to the docks and begging Archie to take me back early.

Instead, I get out of bed as quietly as I can and settle for making some coffee. We went to bed early last night and even though Carter spent like, an hour edging me and then making me come, we still got plenty of sleep. So for the first time in days, I feel rested, which goes a long way towards making me capable of handling things. Once you go days only getting a few hours of sleep, you realize how much of an armor being well rested truly is. How much a good night’s sleep protects us, steadies us, makes us confident and capable.

I make myself some coffee, and when I hear Carter stir in bed, I make him a mug of tea. Margery gave us a few more muffins, though these are lemon poppyseed, and I set them out on the table. It’s about as domestic as I’m going to get.

“Come back to bed, Angel,” Carter calls in a sleepy voice.

“I needed coffee,” I say by way of explanation. No need to tell him I got out of bed mostly due to fear. “I made you some tea.”

I bring it over to him, and as I set it down, he grabs me and tumbles me back into bed on top of him. He kicked the covers off in the night, so I’m straddling him, with just my underwear separating us.

And I can feel him underneath me, thick and hard, pressing up against my ass.

He grabs my face and drags me towards him, and kisses me. I melt into him, hypnotized by the press of his lips against me and the stroke of his tongue into my mouth. He jerks his hips upwards against me, grinding his cock against my pussy.

“Some day soon I’m going to fuck this perfect mouth, Angel,” he whispers roughly in my ear. “I remember how well you used to choke on my cock.”

“Carter,” I manage to say, and try to hide my burning face from him.

“Look at me Angela,” he says softly, though his voice is commanding.

I do, the tone of his voice sending sparks of pleasure through me. I might be afraid of loving Carter Steel, but I find I’m more than happy to do whatever he wants in bed.

He tugs my panties aside, and strokes his hand through my folds.

“Already soaked for me,” he says. “Was last night not enough? Do you need me to make you come again?”

“Yes please,” I say, and shudder as he eases two fingers inside of me.

“Look at me while I make you come, Angel,” he orders.

I meet his gaze, and what I find there shocks me. His eyes are brimming with care. Tenderness. Love, if I’m being honest.

“I’ll go gentle on you because I know your cunt is sore from last night,” he whispers, and starts to rub my clit lightly. “And I remember that you like it sweet and tender sometimes.”

I choke back a sob of pleasure and emotion. He remembers. Of course he remembers.

“Can I fuck your hand?” I ask, because I can hardly stop my hips from moving in time with his hand.

“Such a good girl, asking me for permission. Go ahead, Angel.”

I rock against him, and slowly but surely, he draws the orgasm from me, letting it build and build until I can hardly take it.

“Come for me,” he says, not because he’s arrogant, but because he can tell I’m close. Carter knows my body so damn well, even after all these years.

Pleasure washes through me in waves and waves, dragging me under and tossing me ashore, until I collapse on top of him. I lay there for a moment, and then roll over next to him, our bodies still pressed together.

“Okay, I did not intend for that to happen when I brought you a mug of tea,” I say honestly.

We both burst out laughing, shaking with it, the tremors from our bodies running together.

“It can’t be helped,” he says. “I see you, I want you. Simple as that. Look how hard you make me.”

“I could,” I start to say, unsure how to ask for this. “Fuck my mouth. Let me make you come.”

He groans, but shakes his head. “We don’t have time,” he says, pointing to the alarm clock that reads 9:15 a.m. We need to meet Archie in under an hour. But I can tell it’s something else, though I don’t push. Carter has always been a generous lover, and even when we were twenty, my pleasure always came first. It bothers me a bit, because I want to make him feel good, too, but he’s right—we need to get going.