Grabbing his ass, I jerk his hips closer and rise, my mouth meeting his. He grunts, his tongue tangling with mine. My fingers play along his taut stomach while he kneads my breasts, evoking a lusty sigh from my lips. I’m hooked on the way his hands touch me. The way he captures the weight of my chest in his palms. The sinful and delicious scratch of his calloused skin over my nipples. He’s harsh, yet tame. Rough, yet gentle. His hips grind against mine, helping guide his cock between my folds until he’s teasing his full length over every nerve ending from top to bottom. I raise my leg, hooking my foot around his calf, in a silent appeal to steer him where I need him. The ache pulsing between my thighs is unbearable, and my head drops back against the tile when he cups behind my knee and lifts my leg to hip height. His cock probes my opening.
"Condom?" I hiss, against his wet hair as he sucks water droplets from my neck
"Bed," he hisses back, dropping my leg and reaching for the shower controls.
I catch his wrist. "No. Right here." I look up, my tongue playing over my bottom lip in the way that drives him wild, and he nods. I fight to keep from touching myself as Carter steps dripping wet from the shower and crosses to his vanity.
How can I want him so badly after having him thirty minutes ago? Will this attraction ever diminish? He turns, his unwavering gaze punching a hole in my chest and ripping out my heart as he walks back, and I have my answer. He tears the packet open and sheathes himself without losing the connection of our gaze. Yeah, he owns me. He's right, we have little time and as much as he wants from me—I want the same from him.
He strokes his length from base to head while stepping into the water's path and lowering his head to the hollow of my breasts. His lips touch my skin, directly over my heart, and hold.
"I'll stay," I say, my fingers weaving into the hair at his nape.
Carter's body dips, his hands gripping my thighs, before he jerks upward, lifting me with him. My legs encircle his waist as he pushes inside with one thrust, and everything ceases to matter but this man.
"Tell me about the garage?" I ask when we're back in bed after he coaxes two more orgasms from my body and thoroughly washes me in his scent. Bedtime has long past, considering we both work in the morning, but I'm energized and desperate for the information I've been too chicken to ask for.
He spoons me, his chest curved around my spine and his fingers drawing circles on my naked belly, but when I ask my question, his fingers still. His chest inflates with his deep inhale and releases. Brushing a kiss to the back of my neck, he says, "Owen and I dreamt it up back when we were kids. Obviously, the dream has evolved. When I planned on going pro, the deal was I'd be the backer, and we'd hire a kick-ass crew to help him do the work."
"And now?" I ask. I'd rather ask about his injury or his decision to leave Oregon—according to his mom—and not return for senior year. I understand he can't play the game he loves, but he could obtain his degree.
"Now, we do it together. We rebuild classics and customize race cars. We hit up the ballers I went to school with when they get their million-dollar deals at the next level, and we build a name for ourselves tricking out their rides." He resumes his mindless touching of my stomach. "We want to be the guys people call when they’re looking to have their dream car realized. The dream is that simple.
"And you?" he asks, while my mind still works to figure out how a little auto shop owned by two twenty-somethings in Rossview, Texas could ever get to the level they want. "What's your major? What's your plan?"
I laugh through my nose. "My major is Business Management. My plan is undecided. I suppose I'll go wherever the opportunities are. Dallas or Houston, maybe?"
"You don't have a dream? Something you've always wanted to do?"
I cover his hand with mine. "Not really. From my point of view, my parents’ marriage began crumbling after I graduated." In reality, they collapsed way before that,