Finally Ours (Harborview #2)

28. Carter

28

CARTER

On Monday, I spend all day at home working on my dissertation, and I nearly finish drafting the last chapter. Still, the day hasn’t been as productive as I’d like, which is mostly due to the fact that I refresh my email every ten minutes to check if I have any job news in my inbox.

I submitted the application for the teaching job at the University of Maine this morning, so I don’t expect to hear from them for a while. But it’s been nearly two weeks since I interviewed for the postdoctoral position in Iceland and I’m anxious to hear back, even though I’m fairly certain I’d turn it down. Since getting back to Harborview, I’ve been trying to show Angela that I’m around for good. And leaving for Iceland for months isn’t exactly going to reinforce that I’m serious about our future. In fact, it will just demonstrate the opposite—especially since the job would start before the end of June, which is next month.

As much as I’m excited about the project, which will investigate the impact of climate change on seabirds and propose possible mitigations, my path forward is clear: I need to focus on getting a job in Maine, close to Harborview. And I need to do more to make sure Angela knows how committed I am to this. From the way she’s responded to my texts, I think she’s open to more from me.

I close my laptop and check the time, and see that it's 6:30 p.m. The perfect time to pick up some take out, and surprise Angela with it. From our texts this morning, I know that she has the day off, and was planning to spend it at home. I call Luigi’s, the local Italian deli, and order a few pasta dishes and sides, including the clam pasta. Angela ate clams both times we went to Shaky Jane’s, so I’m assuming they’re a favorite of hers.

I drive into town to pick up the food, and on the way, I stop at the wine and liquor store and grab us a bottle of chilled Italian white. From there, I sprint over to Beth’s Bakery and Café, and manage to catch Beth herself as she’s closing up and bringing the chalkboard sign back inside for the day.

“We’re closed,” she says.

“Beth,” I say, panting, “take pity on a man.”

“Last I checked, you were still a twelve year old who was only this tall,” she says, and motions with her hand. “I see no men here to take pity on.”

“Man or not, I desperately need some of your plum pie, if there’s any left. And I’ll pay double for it.”

Beth shakes her head and narrows her eyes. She’s plenty nice, but known to get snappy by the end of the day, and being a baker requires a certain inflexibility of personality. When she says she’s closed for the day, she means it.

“Please,” I try again. “It’s for a woman I’m trying to woo.”

She sniffs, and then heads inside, slamming the door shut in my face. But a few moments later, she’s returning, a white box in her hands.

“There’s only one piece of plum pie left. And it’s not for you. It’s for whoever this woman is. If you eat it, I’ll know, and I’ll never sell you another pie again,” she says sternly, looking me straight in the eye despite being about half a foot shorter than I am.

“Yes ma’am,” I tell her. “I won’t touch it. It’ll all be for Ang—for the woman I’m wooing,” I say, catching myself.

Beth gives me a knowing look, and then takes the twenty-dollar bill I hand her. She doesn’t give me any change, but the look on Angela’s face when she sees the feast I’ve procured for her is going to make it all worth it.

I head to her house, and get lost on a few back roads before I remember the way. The car ride with Jamie the other day was the only time I’ve ever been. I pull into Angela’s driveway, load my arms up with the food, and walk up to her house, where I find her sitting on the porch. She’s facing the woods, and doesn’t notice me for a moment.

“Hey, Angel,” I say.

She jumps up and whirls to face me, her blonde hair flying in all directions. “Oh my god, Carter, you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?”

I hold out the paper bags that have Luigi’s Deli stamped on the side. “I brought dinner.”Angela just stares at me, her gaze unwavering, and I scramble. “It’s for both of us, but if you want me to leave it with you so you can eat alone, that’s fine. Or you don’t even have to eat it at all and?—”

“Thank you,” she says, leaning back against the chair. “I appreciate it.” Then she swoops past me and into her house, the screen door banging shut behind her. “Are you coming in or not, Steel?”

I hurry after her, somehow managing to open the door despite both hands being full. The house is small, but has Angela’s touches all over it. Her yoga mat laid out on the floor. Her sweater draped across the couch. There’s a painting above the mantle of the ocean, and I bet it’s one Angela did. For a moment I marvel at the fact that she invited me into her space.

I make my way to the kitchen, where I find Angela setting out plates and bowls. She’s dressed in loose fitting white pants and a light pink tank top that keeps slipping off one of her shoulders. Her nipples are showing slightly through the thin material, hard and round, and my mouth goes dry at the sight.

“You look nice,” I tell her.

“In my pajamas? Please be serious,” she says, rolling her eyes. She looks down at her outfit as if to assess it and must notice that her nipples are showing because a blush flashes across her cheeks. “Um, sorry for being so casual. I would have gotten changed if I’d known you were coming over.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” I say, shrugging. “And your pajamas are cute. You look beautiful no matter what you wear.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who would say that, but thank you.”

“I’m going to tell you that you’re beautiful every damn day of my life,” I say to her.

She blushes again, and busies herself getting glasses and napkins out. Warmth settles into me, because it seems like Angela is finally starting to realize how serious I am about her.

I open the bottle of wine I brought and place it on the table, and then unpack the food. Within minutes we’re digging into pasta, focaccia bread, and eggplant parmesan. Angela immediately goes for the pasta with clams, and I suppress a smile.

“This is so good,” she says. “And the wine is nice, too.”

“As good as Shaky Jane’s?”

“Shaky Jane’s doesn’t serve pasta, which is one of the most important food groups.”

“Noted,” I say. “I’ll cook it for you some time. I have a pasta machine.”

“You make fresh pasta?”

“Why the shock? I told you I can cook,” I say.

“I know, it’s just that fresh pasta contrasts with the whole, you know.” She waves her empty fork up and down at me. “Mountain man vibe you’ve got going on.”

“What?”

“You know. Flannels. Hiking. Man buns. Biceps. Carrying extra rations with you. All of that.” She laughs as she says this, her turquoise eyes twinkling, and the strap on her top slips down again, revealing the top of her breast. I quickly avert my eyes and hope she doesn’t notice.

“Carrying extra rations is what saved us,” I say, but on the inside I’m panicking. Maybe Angela is more into clean cut guys. I’ve honestly never given my style much thought aside from thinking that flannels, boots, and jeans are just comfortable. And I really haven’t thought about it in terms of whether it’s appealing to women, because if they’re not Angela, then I don’t really care.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” she says, smiling slowly, and looking me up and down again. “Mountain man is definitely your vibe, but it looks good on you.”

Okay, crisis averted. Angela is definitely appreciative of my mountain man look. I mentally throw out all of the plans I was making to get rid of my flannels, get a haircut, and buy an entirely new wardrobe.

As soon as we’re done eating, she eyes the white box I left unopened on the table.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“That is a single piece of plum pie with crumb topping from Beth’s,” I tell her, and watch her eyes widen. Beth’s plum pie is legendary.

“Oh my god,” she says. “Let’s split it, right now.”

“Nope, I’m not testing my luck,” I say. “That’s all for you.”

Angela gives me a slightly confused look, but digs into the pie nonetheless.

“This is so fucking good,” she says. “I forgot how good. I haven’t had Beth’s in months.” Her tongue darts out and licks a piece of plum from her lip, and all I can think about is that same tongue swirling around the head of my cock.

“Have you had the chance to do any painting since getting back?” I ask.

She sets her fork down and crosses her arms. “Not really, no. I need to get new supplies because my old paint is kind of gross and dried up now, and I ran out of canvases. But I have a few days off now, so maybe I’ll do a sketch or something.”

“Has work been okay?”

“Sort of,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I found out that one of the other nurses also doesn’t really like Tony, so at least I know it’s not just me. But I’m just happy to be back working with patients, and it’s not too busy at the moment. It will be in the summer, though, as soon as the tourists arrive.”

I let out a groan. “Don’t remind me. I’m so sick of them.”

Harborview is by no means as much of a destination as Bar Harbor, but we still get our fair share of tourists. And the local economy is changing to accommodate them more and more. New hotels are being built and prices in restaurants are steadily going up.

“You’re such a grump sometimes, Steel.”

“I just like my peace and quiet.”

“See? Mountain man,” she says, laughing.

“What is it about the mountain man aesthetic that you like so much?” I ask.

“Fishing for compliments much?” She quirks a brow at me. “As if I’d ever tell you.” But her gaze lands on the patch of skin showing above my flannel, and then swoops down to my forearms, making what she likes extremely clear.

“Carter,” she says quietly. “What are we doing? What is all of this?” She gestures at the food.

“I’m making sure you eat.”

“No, don’t be evasive. I mean the texts, too. I said I wasn’t sure I forgave you on the boat, and now all of this is happening, and I’m confused.”

“I’m trying to make you sure,” I say, telling it to her straight. “I’m here, for good.”

“Okay.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I want to. I’m working on it,” she says, and hearing that, from Angela, makes me feel like I just scored a winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. I’m actually getting somewhere with this.

She stands up, and comes around to my side of the table. She places her hands on my shoulders, leans in, and kisses me. Her lips are soft and warm, and I urge her mouth open, swooping my tongue across her lips and tasting her. I grab the back of her head, my fingers cradling her soft curls, and drag her even closer. She ends up perched on my lap, her tank top dragged halfway down, the tops of her breasts showing.

“Fuck, Angel, I’ve been staring at these all night,” I say. “May I?”

She nods, and I cup her breasts through the fabric of her shirt. I start to roll her nipples in between my fingers, moving from one to the other and back again, and watch as her eyes flutter closed and a moan leaves her lips.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” she stutters, and I pull at her nipples even harder, making her whimper.

Her hips roll against mine, and she moans again as she grinds against me.

“I can’t wait to touch that sweet pussy again,” I growl. “Can’t wait to feel how wet my girl is for me. You look so fucking good on top of me.”

She pulls away, and I see that her face is flushed. “What is it? We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to and?—”

“Carter,” she says. “I want to, believe me, I want to. But I want to taste you first. Before you make me come.”

“What?” I ask, my mind going completely blank at the thought of Angela tasting me.

“I want to give you pleasure. You’ve already made me come so many times, and I love it. But nothing is going to turn me on more than making you feel good.”

“I can’t argue with that,” I say. “And I’ve been thinking about your pretty lips around my cock for a while.”

“Carter Steel, the mouth on you, I swear to god,” she mutters.

“You like it though, don’t you? You like being my good girl.”

She nods, and I stand up, taking her with me as I do, and she wraps her legs around my waist.

“You’re going to take my cock on your knees,” I tell her. I walk us over to the wall in the kitchen, and set her down. “Do you want that? Do you want to suck my cock, sweetheart?”

She nods, and her eyes fill with lust. My cock twitches, and I have to steady myself, restrain myself from hauling her against me once again, and pounding into her pink, wet cunt.

“On your knees,” I tell her.

Angela sinks to her knees immediately and looks up at me. Her lips are reddened and glistening from the kiss we shared, and her hair is loose around her face. She starts to put it up, but I stop her, stilling her hands.

“I’ll hold it back for you,” I tell her. “Now take off that top for me, I want to see your pretty tits bouncing while my cock is down your throat,” I say roughly.

Angela does as I ask, stripping down to just her panties. She palms her breasts and pinches her nipples, moaning a bit and spreading her knees. I know her pussy must already be dripping, and she can’t bear to have her thighs touching.

“Good girl,” I tell her. “You look so gorgeous in this lighting.” She flushes under the praise. “Have you been waiting to suck my cock?”

“Yes,” she says. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“Undo my belt,” I order.

She leans forward and works the belt and button on my pants open, and I caress her face gently as she does it, luxuriating in the feel of her soft skin. She tugs my pants down a bit and frees my cock.

“Look how hard you make me,” I tell her. I pump my cock with my hand a few times, mere inches from her wet lips. “Now be a good girl and open up.”

She parts her lips, and I press my cock against them. She opens wider and takes me into her mouth, her slick heat wrapping around me.

“Fuck Angel, you feel so fucking good.”

Angela adds her hand to the base of my cock and pumps me as she continues to suck. I feel my cock grow impossibly harder and start to throb.

“You know only good girls like cocks down their throats this much. And no one could suck my cock as beautifully as you do,” I grind out, knowing she needs to hear how much I love this, knowing that the praise is what makes her feel loved. Powerful. “And you look so fucking gorgeous with my cock in your mouth, better than I remember.” I brace one hand against the wall and begin to move my hips, slowly at first, letting her adjust to the feel of me down her throat. “Do you like that Angel? Do you like me down your throat?”

She whimpers, and nods, and when I catch her gaze I can tell she’s gone to that place where lust has taken over and she can’t see anything else.

“I bet your pussy is soaked just having me in your mouth like this. I bet you wish you could touch yourself. But good girls wait until they're told,” I tell her. “I can’t wait to see how wet you are after I come in your throat. I can’t wait to have my tongue in that perfect pussy. You’re such a good fucking girl, Angela.”

She presses her hand against the one I have against her head, encouraging me to go deeper, and I do, grinding into her mouth, pressing my entire length into her throat, and fucking her in slow strokes. “You look so fucking sexy, Angel. I love watching you take my cock like this.” I grab her hair in my fist and start guiding her head onto my cock, making sure I’m going easy on her for a bit. She starts using her hands as well, tugging on me hard, as the tip of my cock presses into the soft wetness of her throat, over and over.

She moans around my cock as I pull on her hair, and that’s what sends me over the edge—Angela spluttering and moaning around my shaft, as turned on by this as I am.

“You’re gonna take my cum like a good girl, Angel. All of it,” I manage to say.

And then I’m pumping her throat full of my cum and she’s moaning even more as I do it, taking every last drop.

I ease my cock from her throat, and she looks up at me, her eyes still dark with lust. And I’m far from finished with her.

“Stand up,” I tell her.

She does as I ask, and I grab my belt off of the floor. “Turn around.”

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Good girls get rewarded,” I say. I lace my belt around her wrists and pull it tight. It won’t hold forever, but it will work for what I have planned. I push her back against the wall. “I want to taste your pussy, Angel. I need to.”

All she does is whimper in response.

I kneel in front of her, and drag her panties to one side. “Is your pussy wet for me?”

“Yes,” she says. “All for you.”

I pull her panties all the way down, and drag one finger through her center. She soaked, wetter than I’ve ever seen her, her desire nearly dripping off of her. “You must love getting your face fucked, because you’re dripping.”

“I only like it when it’s you,” she says. “Only your cock, Carter.”

“Damn right. You’re never gonna have another cock in your mouth but mine.”

She lets out a high pitched whine at that, and I can tell she likes my rough words. “You like that, Angela? You like hearing about how you own my cock?”

“Yes,” she mumbles.

I rub her clit gently, just once, as a reward. I pause and push her legs open further.

“Carter,” she moans, head thrown back against the wall, hips thrust towards me. “Touch me,” she demands, her voice strained, the words halfway in between an order and a plea.

But I find I like Angela ordering me around.

“Now be a good girl, and tell me what to do.”