Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,92

the floor. “I’ll send Clarke back.”

Her head lifted off the pillow. “Where are you going? What is more important than this?”

“I’m sorry. An appointment,” I lied, moving for the door quickly, before she had a chance to retort.

Her last words were shouted at me, the demand slipping through the door right before it shut. “Don’t send Clarke back here!”

I considered the order, and then, in one of my final acts as Assistant to Nicole, discarded it.

I saw Carter the minute I stepped from the taxi. He stood on the front steps of our building, his hands in his back pockets, the pose accenting the tight fit of his shirt on his shoulders, the muscles of his arms, a slight peek of abs visible above the low hang of his jeans.

I stopped before him and looked up into his face. “Hey.”

“I love you.” The best response in the whole world. I smiled bigger.

“I love you too.”

“I can’t decide if I want to carry you to my bedroom or to lunch.”

“Bed,” I said immediately, and he laughed, dropping his arms and stepping down a few steps, pulling me against his chest and looking down at me for a moment—one heart-stopping moment where he stared at me as if I were everything in his world. I lifted my chin, and he kissed me softly.

When the kiss ended, he kept me there, his face serious. “Do you know how scared I was last night? When he proposed?”

Last night. How could so much have happened in just twenty-four hours? I wet my lips, and his hands tightened a little on my hips. “You shouldn’t have been. I was yours the entire time.”

He swallowed and his eyes moved to my mouth, then he kissed me again, this kiss hard and dominant, his tongue diving in and claiming me, his fingers hard as they pulled me close. “Bed,” he whispered, and I nodded.

“Now.”

My bag fell in his hall, my clothes got lost along the way, and I lay back on his bed and watched him yank at his shirt, his abs stretching and popping as he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. He kicked off his shoes as he undid his jeans, shoving them over his hips, taking his boxer briefs along with them, and then he was naked—fully naked—the sun coming in the window and showcasing the utter perfection of the man. Already hard, he took his time walking over to the bed, his hand gripping his cock, moving in slow and delicious strokes. I hated to glance away from the scene, but then he spoke, and I looked up to his face and there … I was a goner. Intense heat in those eyes, he looked at me with such need that I was instantly addicted, never wanting to look away from his face again.

“Spread your legs, baby. Let me see you.” He stroked himself, his voice hoarse and I slid my feet along the bed, my knees parting, nothing hidden from his eyes.

He stopped at the foot of the bed and stood, his legs slightly spread, and stared. “Touch yourself, baby. Put your fingers everywhere that you want my mouth.”

If I was wet before, I was soaked by the time I ran my tentative fingers in between my legs. And with him there, his chest flexing, arm moving, breath hard, I showed him exactly what I wanted him to do.

And then, he did it better.

I knew I’d said it before, but I loved this man.

88. Chanel No. WTF

If I ran fast enough through life, I couldn’t see its cracks.

Nicole’s drama.

My looming unemployment.

Carter’s parents.

Vic.

In the moments since that horrible night when Vic proposed—I’d run fast, and love had blurred my vision. Carter and I fit so perfectly together, in this new relationship of I love yous and orgasms and God you’re beautifuls that I managed, for almost a week, to ignore everything else.

Then real life came calling.

Cammie was coming over, and late. I eyed the clock and sipped my wine, turning up my playlist. The buzzer sounded and I skipped the speaker, letting her in without complaint, my hand swinging open the door at the first sign of a knock, my buzz kicking, pajama pants imperfectly paired with a Current-Elliot top. We were going to make cupcakes, drink wine, and watch a movie. Plans that stalled when I saw the couple at my door.

“Mom?” I almost checked my wine glass, to see if I had chugged it all, had slipped in pills,