Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,61

reached for the towel. He dropped it, and I giggled despite myself, his face scowling as he stepped into his underwear. “Never laugh,” he muttered, kneeling on the bed and crawling toward me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered behind my coffee mug. “It’s a nervous reaction.”

“So is this.” He grinned, taking my coffee cup away and pushing me back, his mouth nuzzling under the sheet and nipping at my neck.

“She must have been a good friend,” I mumbled, my eyes falling back on the giant canvas original above his bed. He pulled the sheet lower and I grabbed at it, giggling again when his mouth found its way to my newly exposed breasts. My parents’ friends were all stuffy investment types, not Presa Little—a beautiful older woman who People once called the Most Interesting Woman Alive. She had homes in Australia, South Africa, and Paris. How could she know Carter’s parents? “What do your parents do?” I suddenly realized how little I knew about the man on top of me.

“God, your mind jumps. You really want to talk about my parents right now?”

“I have tickets to the show too,” I explained. “From Nichole. I was thinking about inviting you. You know, since you know her.”

“I’ll go to the show with you.” His mouth moved lower, on my stomach, and I felt his hand slide under the sheet and up my bare thigh.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He pulled the sheet lower and my legs apart, settling between them. I giggled at the scrape of his stubble against my thigh./p>

“One final stipulation.”

“What?” I gasped out the word, his mouth brushing across me, his tongue taking a teasingly slow path over my clit.

“Right now, I get to make you scream so hard the McMullins on the fifth floor will hear you.”

“Why them?” I shuddered beneath his mouth, and his hands held me down.

“They’re deaf,” he whispered, and the hot pass of his words was another sensation I loved.

“Deal,” I groaned, and my hands twisted in the sheets as he lowered his mouth.

When I came it was loud. It was long. It was amazing.

And our date was set.

God Bless Presa Little.

I eyed the truck skeptically. “This is yours?”

Carter leaned over the bed’s side and grinned at me. “Yep. There a problem?”

“It’s a truck.” I said carefully. An old truck. Rusty, with paint peeling from its trim, it had to be from the nineties. I glanced in the window and saw a rip in the bench seat, tan padding pushing through.

“Yes.” He tilted his head. “You can back out. Won’t hurt my feelings.”

I gripped the door’s handle, a thick silver piece with a button on it. Pushing the button, I yanked open the heavy door and looked inside. At least it was clean. I glanced down at my pale blue pants. I shut the door. “Just … let me change. Two minutes,” I promised, backing up from the truck, careful not to touch my clothes.

He chuckled. “Okay.”

I took the stairs, leaving the garage and heading up to my apartment, washing my hands the minute I got inside. I wouldn’t make the two-minute promise, but I tried my best, digging through my closet until I found a ripped up pair of jeans and a Yankee T-shirt. I grabbed a baseball cap, tossed my sandals for tennis shoes, and grabbed some bottled waters from the fridge. By the time I got back downstairs, he’d turned on the truck and I pushed aside any hesitation, opening the door and climbing in.

“Better?” he asked.

“Better.” I smiled. “I think I was a little overdressed.”

The edge of his mouth turned up, a dimple showing. “Nah.”

He shifted into reverse and I buckled my seatbelt, holding on to its strap as the truck jerked into motion. No airbags in sight. I braced my feet against the floor and prayed he was a good driver.

“Turn here,” I argued, looking down at my phone.

“I can’t get around to the loading dock if I go that way.”

“Well the next road is a one-way.” I let out an irritated breath and he laughed. “What?” I growled.

“I’m just curious if you have ever, in your life, been to Long Island.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been to Long Island.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. Really.” Granted, my trips had been a long way from the industrial area we were lost in.

“Let me guess…” He took a left, in a direction that went against everything that Google Maps suggested. “To the beach.” He glanced my way. “And the theatre?”

“There’s also a vineyard,” I pointed out, pursing my lips to stop