Dark black-out curtains cover his windows, one left aside inches, allowing the early evening sun to bathe the room in soft shades of yellow. His unmade bed has dark bedding, the spread hanging low and pooling on the floor. I chew at the inside of my cheek. My curiosity piqued. Did he kick his blankets off in the middle of the night, or is he a messy person? The stack of folded clothes on his dresser—beautiful in design with simple lines and brushed gold handles—hints to a speck of cleanliness in his bones. At the same time, a makeshift nightstand, baring stacks of magazines, empty water bottles, and medicine bottles contradict it.
“What?” I ask, realizing I zoned out.
“Remove your shirt,” Carter says, toeing off his shoes.
Sweeping my shirt over my head, I drop it on the wood flooring. Next, I kick off my shoes and peel my socks off. He watches as I scoot them to the side with my toes and stand tall.
Eager to study his space, I walk further into the room than he does. He eliminates the ten feet of charged air between us in three steps, his finger drawing an invisible line across my belly as he circles me. “You’re so damn sexy,” he says, stopping a foot from me.
Compliments tend to have me ducking my head in embarrassment, but for Carter, I smile. His words don’t come off as another platitude a guy recites before sex. When coming from Carter, they sound sincere and painful, like, maybe admitting his thoughts is difficult?
I poke at his ribs, my fingertips meeting nothing but warm skin and hard muscles. “I could say the same about you, David.”
That draws his confusion. I arch a brow and wait.
He tips his head, thoughtful. “Beckham?” He guesses.
Sucking my teeth, I shake my head and apply a proper pout to my face. “Ohhh, sorry, Hasselhoff.”
“Is that right?” he asks, straight-faced, and my attempt to suppress a smile fails.
Pulling my hand from his ribs, he lifts it. “You’re not funny, gorgeous,” he says, brushing my knuckles over his mouth.
Words stall in my chest at the action, and Carter smirks.
“What’s the issue? He’s sexy,” I say when I find my breath.
“Mm-hmm, right.” He smacks my ass and crosses the room, heading for a cracked open door on the left.
“I could have said Spade,” I call after his back as he disappears through the door, into the master bathroom I surmise when I spy a flash of white tiles.
“And I could have escorted you out of this house.”
I laugh.
A sink runs from within the bathroom, the opening and closing of a cabinet follow. I track the sounds of his rummaging and slip out of my shorts. Hurrying, I position myself on the edge of his bed. There’s a clatter, and I recline on my elbows, then sit up and cross my right leg over my left, then lean to rest on my palms.
“I don’t know why I feel like I should tell you that I…” he falls silent when he steps out of the bathroom and finds me acting at home, a strip—yes, strip—of condoms dangling from his hand.
My gaze falls on the blue packets and meets his eyes in time to witness the lascivious glint. “Optimistic, are we?”
“Confident.” He tosses the pack over my head where they land on a pillow.
Done playing, I draw a calming breath and crawl backward up his bed, my eyes staying on Carter’s the entire time. “What were you saying before?”
“Nothing important.” He shoves his shorts over his hips, kicking them off as he moves to the end of the bed. His thumbs return to his hips, edging beneath the dark band of his boxers. The spandex leaves nothing to my imagination.
“I can leave them on or remove them. Your choice, but they’re like a wetsuit to remove, tight as shit, not a sexy moment.”
I rub my thighs against each other. “Off.”
Carter is wrong. This is a sexy moment. Observing as he shimmies side-to-side and works the dark gray material over his ass before his cock springs free, full salute. I fist his sheets.
Naked, he drops a knee on the bed. “And now we’re uneven.” His other leg lands on the soft mattress. He’s a lion on all fours, his eyes locked on his prey, body primed for the hunt.
I surrender without a fight. Sitting up, I draw my knees to my chest and lean forward, grasping at the air like I can wave him over. “By all means, remedy