Crazy for Your Love (The Boys of Jackson Harbor #5)(7)

When he plunges a finger inside me, I’m already wound so tight that I think I might come immediately. All my focus, my energy, my need narrows to that one spot, and my body clenches.

“Hold on,” he murmurs between licks up my neck. “I’ve got you.”

He’s slow, torturously slow, pumping in and out of me in deliberate strokes that are the antithesis to the frenzy in my blood. His thumb scrapes over my clit as his finger gradually drives deeper and deeper.

Some modest part of my mind worries I should slow the thrust of my hips against his hand or quiet the wanton pleas slipping from my lips. I ignore it and beg him to move faster. I tell him how good it feels, how close I am to coming on his hand, and oh God please, yes, like that, please.

Carter.

When I can’t hold back anymore, he presses his thumb to my clit with the perfect pressure and slides a second finger in. Deep. Stretching me. Pushing me over the edge the moment his mouth opens over mine.

And I fall apart.





Carter


I can’t stop tasting her. Touching her. I trail more kisses up the side of her neck as she comes down from her orgasm. She shudders in my arms, and I want to make her come again and again. I want to drink her desperate moans, let them fill my head until they block out the rest of the world.

Her hands are up my shirt, one on my back, the other on my stomach, stroking lazily, her fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of my dress pants with each pass. It’s all I can do not to thrust into her touch, to guide her hand to my aching cock and feel her there.

But I don’t want this to be a quickie in a vacant office. I’ve wanted her for too long to settle for that. “Come home with me.”

“What?” Her eyes are unfocused, heavy—from the alcohol or the pleasure? Maybe both.

“Come home with me. Spend the night with me.”

I see the fog clear, and she stiffens in my arms. She pulls her hands out from under my shirt and shakes her head. “I shouldn’t. I mean, we . . . shouldn’t. I’m sorry, I . . .” She searches my face. “Carter, we’re friends, and if I go home with you . . .”

I wait, giving her time to finish that thought and willing myself to see it as a bad idea. But I can’t. Right now, that’s all I want. Teagan in my bed, in my shower, under me, over me, in front of me. I squeeze my eyes shut as the images roll through my mind, as thrilling as they are tormenting. “It’s your call,” I say, but I want to beg. I need her in a way I can’t explain.

Her eyes search my face. “I’m scared of what happens if I do.”

And I’m scared of what happens if you don’t. But I nod. Even if I want her more than I can remember ever wanting anything, I won’t push. “I’ll get a cab. Let me see you to your door, at least.”

“You don’t need to do that. Molly is driving me home.” She presses her palms to my chest, gently urging me back, then steps out from between me and the wall. “She’s probably wondering where I am.”

Tell Molly your plans have changed. Fuck the consequences, and go home with me.

I swallow the words. I recognize regret when I see it, and right now, it’s all over her face. That’s not what I want to be to her—a regret or a mistake. This isn’t about her plans, and I’m not the guy who gets pushy when the end of a night doesn’t go his way.

“I’m sorry.” Even her voice sounds shaky. “The booze and that dancing . . . I got carried away.”

I should let her go, but I cup her face in my hand and stroke my thumb along her jaw. “Promise me you won’t go home and freak out about this?”

She nods, but we both know she already is.

I force a smile, for her benefit or mine, I’m not sure. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she says, the word as broken as I fear our friendship just became.





Carter


Something’s not right. It’s too hot. I thought this was contained.

There’s static on my portable, then Gordak’s voice. “New activity in the southwest quadrant. Pull out, boys.”

I gesture to Max and wave toward the door. He’s on the line only a couple of feet in front of me, but the smoke is so damn thick that I can barely make out his silhouette. “Come on!”

In together. Out together.

“There are kids on the second floor,” Max says.

“I said, pull the fuck out,” Gordak growls. “You can’t see what I can see, boys.”

I tug on Max’s arm. We’re all guilty of pushing the rules of engagement when kids are involved, but if Gordak says to pull out, we’ve gotta do it.

“Fine,” Max mutters, turning. He nudges me forward, urging me to lead the way, and I follow the rope line we’ve strung up and follow it to the exit. When I glance behind me to make sure he’s close, Max isn’t there. The heat is suffocating. I take a step back into the depths of the warehouse, but the rafters groan in protest. A warning.

“Mayday!” I shout into my portable.

I know what comes next. I lift my eyes to the ceiling and watch as it comes down on me. Suddenly, I’m in the navy-blue suit I wore to my father’s funeral, and my mother is clinging to my arm.

“He was so proud of you, Carter,” she says, right before the ceiling collapses and everything around me goes up in smoke.