Beg For Me: Chapter 10

He holds my hand the entire drive home, gripping it in a possessive way I like but shouldn’t. I keep the window rolled down and let the sweet summer air tangle my hair and blow away the nagging worry of how much I enjoy his company.

The last time I enjoyed a man’s company this much, I married him.

When we pull into my driveway and he shuts off the engine, he turns to me, lifting my hand to brush his lips across my knuckles.

He murmurs, “I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

“You’re quiet.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot you want a play-by-play of my inner monologue.”

“I’m sorry I’m so needy.”

We gaze at each other with only the ticking of the cooling engine and the crickets chirping in the grass disturbing the silence. In the shadows of the car’s interior, his eyes glint like a cat’s.

Because touching him feels imperative, I reach up and caress his cheek. “Don’t apologize for how you feel. You never have to apologize for being honest.”

“I’m just…” He struggles to find words for a moment, then starts over. “I want you to think only good things about me.”

“I know. Which is why it’s so perfect when you’re vulnerable.”

He thinks about that, his brows pulled together. “Vulnerable is good?”

“Vulnerable is very good.”

“I’m not good at vulnerable.”

“You’re a lot better than you think.”

He whispers, “Okay,” and stares at me.

I know what he needs. I know exactly what he needs from me because I was him once. The one who needed reassurance and direction, the one looking to someone stronger for support.

The wave of tenderness that overtakes me is powerful.

“Sweet boy,” I murmur, cupping his face in my hands. “Don’t be scared.”

“I normally wouldn’t, but you’re a little terrifying.”

“You know what I meant. You’re safe with me. I’ll always tell you the truth.”

“I know, but I don’t want the truth to be anything bad.”

“I’m not thinking anything bad. I promise. I’m just surprised by you.”

He exhales, nodding. “Okay.”

“Would you like to come inside and give me a kiss goodnight?”

He answers with a straight face and an air of dead seriousness. “I’d kill for it.”

Smiling, I kiss his cheek. “You’re a lunatic, but I appreciate the enthusiasm. Now, let’s go inside before my elderly neighbor next door gets more of an eyeful than she already has.”

A gleam of mischievousness comes into his eyes. “Oh, we could really give her something to remember. How about if I spread you out on the hood and eat you for dessert?”

That sounds incredibly tempting, but I keep my expression passive and crack open the door. With a yelp of dismay, he bounds out of the car and runs over to my side.

“Queens don’t open their own doors,” he admonishes, swinging it wider so I can step out.

I like the sound of that, but don’t comment on it. I’m too focused on getting inside and getting his mouth on mine.

He’s right behind me as I head up the walkway, right there as I unlock the door. As soon as I’ve got it open, he brushes past me, closes it, grabs my purse and drops it onto the console, then turns back to me and takes me in his arms.

We kiss, making identical soft moans of relief when our lips meet.

When we come up for air, he says raggedly, “I love making out with you in the dark. The only thing better is if we were naked. And all the lights were on.”

“You’re criminally charming. Kiss me again. I wasn’t finished with you.”

His groan is soft. “Fuck, I love it when you’re bossy.”

For such an infamous playboy, the man is a hopeless romantic. Under all that macho swagger, he’s impossibly sweet. And, like I told him, that makes him dangerous.

Macho I can handle. Macho makes the bog witch snort and hiss. Sweet stuns her into confusion, and confused is when the real trouble starts.

We kiss greedily, devouring each other, my hands in his hair and his arms around my body. I appreciate how big and solid he is and tell him so.

He drops his head and presses his cheek to my neck. It’s burning. In a husky voice, he says, “You make me feel good.”

“You make me feel good.”

“I feel like I just won the lottery.”

I laugh at that. “I suppose that would be more of a compliment if you didn’t already have all that money.”

“Fuck. You’re right. How about this: I feel like I had terminal cancer and a doctor just told me it’s cured.”

“Oh. My.”

He lifts his head and looks at me. “That was weird.”

“A little. What kind of cancer?”

“Testicular?”

Now we’re both laughing, entangled in the dark in each other’s arms, our bodies pressed together. He smells delicious. He tastes even better. I’d like to lick him up and down his naked body, trace my tongue over every inch of his golden skin.

He presses me back against the door and grinds his pelvis into mine, rubbing his erection against me. I can’t help the small groan of need that escapes me. It’s been forever since I’ve felt this way.

No, before last night it had been forever. I’m on day two of his strange little high. By week’s end, I might be levitating.

He breaks away from my mouth and rasps, “I need to taste you. I want to run my tongue over every curve of your body.”

“That’s so strange. I was just thinking the exact same thing about you.”

“Really? Oh fuck. This is better than Christmas!”

We grin at each other like two people getting away with something dangerous and illegal. We’re bank robbers who made off with the loot. I’m dimly aware that my rational mind is leaving me, but I honestly could not care less.

He makes me feel so alive.

I’ve been sleepwalking until now, going through the daily grind of work and the small and big heartaches of motherhood, doing my best to pay the bills and raise a good human that I forgot about fun. There’s been no time for fun except on the occasional weeknight in sixty-second spurts with my vibrator.

This is so much better than that, and we haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.

Wait—what the hell am I saying? Yet? Is sex already a foregone conclusion?

“Uh-oh,” he says. “Your smile just died.”

Exhaling, I close my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m overthinking again.”

“Do you…do you want me to leave?”

Groaning, I drop my head to his chest. “God, drive a stake through my heart, why don’t you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You sounded devastated.”

“I am devastated.”

“You’re not making this easy for me, you know.”

“I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

I lift my head and gaze at him, so handsome and confused, so eager to please me, and think I’ll have to build an underground, steel-enforced bomb shelter for the bog witch. There’s no way she can survive this devastating level of attraction.

Winding my arms tighter around his shoulders, I look up into his eyes. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m rusty is all. I’m not sure what the rules are anymore.”

“There aren’t any rules. We can do anything. This can be however you want it to be.”

“It just seems like we’re moving at supersonic speed.”

“Nonsense. We’ve had two dates now, and I haven’t been inside you yet. We’re moving slooow.”

I laugh at his shamelessness as he bends his head and nuzzles my throat. “Okay, handsome. I’m flattered, and I’m very tempted, but I’m afraid I’m old school. I don’t bed hop.”

He lifts his head and considers me, his grin roguish. “How tempted?”

I slap him lightly on the back. “You have selective hearing, my friend.”

“No, I heard you. You don’t bed hop. But there won’t be any hopping. Once we get into bed, we’ll never get out.”

He takes my mouth again, kissing me so passionately, I’m breathless. His hands rove over my body, gripping my waist and hips, cupping my ass. His fingers dig into my flesh as if he’s trying to memorize me.

I’d make a quip about his manners, but I’m enjoying myself too much to bother.

When he breaks away next, he’s breathing hard. He takes my face in his hands and gazes deep into my eyes.

“Let me make you come.”

Heart thumping, I bite my lip and stare at him.

“Don’t overthink it. Do you want me to?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Probably? God, that’s a loaded question.”

“You don’t have to reciprocate. I just need to taste you, and I want to make you come. I’ll get on my knees right here, right now.”

My pulse is flying. I can’t catch my breath. I don’t know that I’ve ever been made such a tempting offer. By such a snack, no less.

When I don’t respond, Carter puts his mouth next to my ear and says roughly, “I want to eat your pussy, Sophia. I want you to come in my mouth. I want to go to bed tonight with your taste on my lips. After I make you come, I’ll leave, so you don’t have to worry about me trying to take it further. Yes or no?”

I think I hear the faint roar of all my female ancestors collectively screaming YES! but as it turns out, I don’t need their encouragement.

He bought me dinner. He sent me roses. He told me he thinks I’m perfect and beautiful, which I suspect he honestly means. And he wants to pleasure me with no strings attached.

As far as wooing goes, I doubt it gets much better.

What the hell. I’m bored with that vibrator, anyway.

Decided, I rest my hands on his shoulders, look him in the eye, and press down.

He instantly sinks to his knees in front of me, buries his face between my legs, and digs those long, strong fingers of his into my ass. He inhales against my skirt, exhales with a soft groan, and whispers, “Thank you.”

I should be the one thanking him, but he’s sliding his hands up my thighs, pushing my skirt up, and I’m no longer interested in conversation.

He stares at my panties. I’m so glad I wore a cute pair. They’re black with a little lace, nothing too sexy or expensive, but you wouldn’t know it by his expression of desire.

He shoves my skirt up to my hips and rubs his cheek against my panties, then drags them down my legs with one hand and stuffs them in his pocket. Then he buries his face between my legs and inhales again, this time directly against my skin.

When his hot wet tongue flicks over my clit, I jump and gasp. The sensation is intense. Decadent. Dizzying. He strokes his tongue up and down using only the tip in small, expert motions that send waves of pleasure throughout my lower body and harden my nipples to aching points.

I dig my fingers into his hair, drop my head back against the door, and close my eyes, enjoying every flick and lick, knowing instinctively what he needs to hear to make him keep going.

“So good,” I whisper breathlessly. “You’re such a good boy, Carter.”

He groans into me.

It reverberates through my core, fantastic vibrations made even better because it’s so dirty. I rock my hips in time to the strokes of his tongue, losing what might have been left of any inhibitions when he suddenly shoves his tongue deep inside me.

I arch and groan, pulling at his hair. My thighs shake. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to remain standing.

He lashes his tongue back and forth over my engorged clit, sucking on it intermittently, holding my pussy open with two fingers of one hand and finger fucking me with the other. I pant and moan, jerking my hips, my nipples throbbing and my pulse flying and wetness slipping down my thighs.

I call out his name. He grunts in pleasure and shoves his fingers deeper inside me, thrusting them in and out.

When I orgasm, the world goes white behind my closed eyelids. My cries of ecstasy echo through the dark house. He laps and laps at me, drinking me in, grinding his face into me as I pull his hair and empty my lungs and praise him over and over again, lost to sensation.

What a good boy, indeed.