Carter tosses me down onto the bed and climbs on all fours on top of me. Staring down at me, he grins.


    “You didn’t even try to win.”


    “I did!”


    “I’ve never seen someone move that slowly who wasn’t ny years old.”


    “Maybe I have bad knees, you ever think of that?”


    His grin grows wider. “You don’t have bad knees, beautiful woman, but you are a bad liar.”


    Reaching up to slide my fingers into his hair, I whisper, “I don’t surrender. You should kiss me now.”


    “You say that like you actually think you’re the one in charge.”


    “And you say that like we both don’t already know you’d do anything I asked you to.”


    His grin slowly fades. He stares down at me in unwavering intensity, swallowing hard. “I would. So please be careful with me.”


    My heart swells with tenderness. He’s so sweet like this, when he’s not being king of Earth. His vulnerability never fails to move me.


    “I’ll be careful with you, sweet boy. I promise. Will you promise me something too?”


    “Yes. Anything. You know I will.”


    I cradle his face for a moment, burning his earnest expression into my mind’s eye, then slide my hands down to his chest. “Honesty. I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth between us, no matter what.”


    “That almost sounded like you’re thinking about our future. Like maybe you want to have a future with me.”


    His voice is tentative. Unsure. I dodge the intrusive memory of Val telling me about her hairdresser, how Carter broke it off with her when she said she wanted to be exclusive, and let my smile be my answer instead.


    Then I push him onto his back and straddle him.


    His eyes re with excitement. He grips my hips in his big hands and gazes up at me with parted lips, his breathing shallow.


    Something about his ardent expression makes me feel liberated. Confident in my body and my femininity. He’s looking at me as if I’m his favorite gift. Meanwhile, I’m barefaced in ratty sweats and a ponytail. Nick would’ve turned his nose up at me if he could see me now.


    Leisurely moving my hands down his chest, I tease, “Mr. McCord, is that your wallet poking me again? You really should find a better spot to store it.”


    His chuckle is throaty. “Oh, I know of a much better spot to store it.”


    “I bet you do.”


    I pull my sweatshirt over my head and drop it on the bed next to us. I’m not wearing anything underneath. He sucks in a breath, then slowly exhales, devouring me with his eyes.


    “When you told me to put on these sweats, you neglected to mention anything about underwear, so I assumed you meant you’d like me to not wear any.”


    “That was a good assumption. Jesus. Your breasts are perfect.”


    “Thank you. Why aren’t you touching them?”


    “You didn’t give me permission yet.”


    I take his hands and guide them up my hips to my waist, then up my ribcage to my bare breasts. He cups them, engulfing them in his hands, feeling their weight, then rubs his thumbs back and forth over my hardening nipples.


    Between us, his erection is trapped and throbbing. I flex my hips, and he emits a soft moan.


    When I lean down, he takes my mouth in a rough, possessive kiss, then flips me onto my back again.


    I wrap my legs around his waist. “Do you want to be in charge? Or would you like to see what I had in mind instead?”


    “Yes. Both. All of it.”


    “Choose.”


    Braced on either side of my head, his arms tremble. His breath has grown ragged. His eyes are wild.


    He swallows, then whispers, “You choose for me.”


    “Good answer. Roll over.”


    He flops onto his back. I brace myself up on one elbow, looking down at him and smiling. Resting my hand over the center of his chest, I take a moment to feel his pounding heartbeat, then I slowly trail my hand down his belly.


    Belly is the wrong word. It suggests softness, but there isn’t any. His abs are hard as a rock, as is his dick, which I gently squeeze through his jeans.


    “Wait.” He grabs my wrist. “Wait, I—I have to tell you something.”


    For some reason, he’s suddenly tense. Confused, I furrow my brow. “Now?”


    “Yes.”


    He sits up and stares at his legs. I sit up, too, wondering what’s happening.


    “Are you okay?”


    “You said you wanted honesty. The truth.”


    His voice is low. I wait, watching him struggle to find words.


    “I don’t want to do this without being truthful about something that you might…you might be angry about.”


    He’s still gazing down at his legs, avoiding my eyes. Meanwhile, I’m starting to feel ridiculous sitting here with my breasts exposed.


    I reach for my sweatshirt, but he grasps my wrist and stops me. He blurts, “I moved into this neighborhood so I could be closer to you. So I could meet you identally, only it wouldn’t be an ident.”


    Surprised, I sit with that for a moment.


    Am I horrified by his admission? No. Am I afraid he’s an obsessed crazy person who’ll eventually murder me? Also no. I’m not turned off or disgusted either. But I am aware that it’s deeply strange.


    “I’m not sure how to respond to that.”


    Miserable, he turns and looks at me. “It’s fucked up. I know. I’m sorry. I told my brother I was dying to meet you, and he said I should stop being such a pussy and buy the house next door.”


    That makes meugh. “Nobody in your family believes in making a simple phone call, do they?”


    “Callum always gets what he wants. He just takes it. So I thought maybe I’d try to take the initiative. I thought if we met organically, like at the coffee shop like we did, it would be better than if I randomly knocked on your front door one day and asked you out.”


    “Yes, I agree it would have been better, except for the part about how you orchestrated it.”


    He covers his face with his hands and groans. “I’m so sorry. It sounds so bad out loud. I’m an asshole.”


    I watch him for a moment, taking an inventory of my emotions. When I discover I’m more intrigued than disturbed, I lie back and say, “Hey.”


    He turns and looks down at me. I hold out my arms.


    “Come here.”


    He falls on top of me, wraps me in his arms, and presses his cheek against my breasts.


    Threading my fingers through his hair, I murmur, “Are you hiding?”


    “Yes.”


    “We need to talk about this.”


    “I know. Can we do it while I’m hiding?”


    “Do you promise to tell me the truth?”


    “Absolutely. I swear on my mother’s life.”


    “Then we can do it while you’re hiding.”


    He snuggles closer to me and heaves out a breath. Gazing up at the ceiling, I gently stroke his hair and his back until some of the tension leaves his body.


    “First, thank you for telling me. I know it would have been easier not to.”


    “Do you hate me now?”


    “Would you have your face pressed on my naked boobs if I did?”


    “I don’t know. Maybe this is the calm before the storm. Or maybe you’re nning on torturing me by giving me this amazing memory, then throwing me out on my ass.”


    “Interesting idea, but I’m not that vindictive.”


    He exhales slowly, squeezing me tight. “I’m sorry.”


    “I believe you. But I’d like to hear all the ugly details, please. How long ago did you move to Santa Monica?”


    “Last month.”


    That aligns with what he told me at the coffee shop. “From?”


    “Malibu.”


    “Do you still have a home there?”


    “No. I hated it there. Everybody lives behind gates. Rich people are so fucking paranoid.” His voice hardens. “It’s not like a gate can keep someone determined enough out, anyway.”


    There’s an obvious history in thatment. I wonder who or what got inside his gates, but leave that for another time.


    “So you bought a house north of Montana. That’s not exactly right next door.”


    “I didn’t want it to be creepy.”


    I stifle augh at his indignant tone. “And then what? You just randomly started visiting grocery stores and coffee shops, hoping you’d bump into me one day?”


    “Basically, yeah. And gyms.”


    I recall the day I met him on the treadmill and freeze. “Was that boy in the wheelchair a setup? Did you do that to impress me?”


    “No!” He lifts his head and stares at me, his expression fraught. “I swear, that just happened. I was trying to charm the pants off you, but I felt bad for the kid, so I went over. You left before I coulde back.”


    I close my eyes and sigh. “Okay.”


    He rests his head on my chest again. After a short pause, he says quietly, “How are you so calm about this? I mean, I’m d, but I wouldn’t me you if you never wanted to see me again.”


    “I don’t really know. What made you confess?”


    “You said you wanted honesty, no matter what.”


    “I guess I’m lucky I said it early on. Isn’t that a given?”


    “I’ve never had a woman ask me for that before.”


    “What kind of women are you dating that don’t value honesty?”


    “The kind that only value money.”


    The sadness in his voice stirs a protective instinct in me. I quash it when I remember Val’s hairdresser. It sounded like she wanted a rtionship, not his wallet.


    I’m getting that second hand, however. There’s no way to know what really goes on between two people, even when one of them is telling their side.


    “What else do I need to know about this? And think about it before you answer, because if I find outter on that you’ve been secretly recording me going to the toilet, I’ll kill you.”


    He sounds indignant again. “I’m not a pervert.”


    “No, you’re just a stalker.”


    “It’s not technically stalking, though, is it?”


    When I don’t reply, he says sheepishly, “Okay, it probably is.”


    “I don’t know what to call it, but don’t do it again.”


    “I won’t. I swear.” After a short pause, he adds, “Would it make you feel better if I cut off my pinkie finger to show loyalty and make amends like they do in the mafia?”


    “No. And I don’t even want to know how you know that.”


    “I love mafia movies.”


    “I love Jane Austen movies.”


    He thinks for a moment. “Somebody should do a movie where Mr. Darcy is like secretly the head of the Irish mob and Elizabeth is a spy for the British crown and all that house visiting and ball dancing they do is just a cover for their covert operations.”


    “I just read a book like that. But it had vampires.”


    “I love vampires. They’re so elegant. Wouldn’t it be cool to be immortal? Except for the drinking blood part. I’d go crazy not having anything crunchy to eat. What do you think would happen if a vampire was allergic to blood? Would he get rashes and terrible diarrhea?”


    I can’t help myself. I startughing. After I’veposed myself, I tell him to take off his shoes.


    “Does this mean I’m staying?”


    “It means I don’t like shoes on my nice duvet.”


    Without releasing me, he kicks off his shoes and sweeps them off the bed with his feet. We lie there for a while, our breathing falling into sync, until he rolls onto his back, bringing me with him. He arranges me on top of him until I’mfortable, then pushes my hair off my face.


    Gazing deep into my eyes, he whispers, “Thank you. For being you. For being so amazing. I’ll do whatever you want to make amends for my fuckup.”


    I press a soft kiss to his lips. “Well, there are a few things I can think of right off the top of my head…”


    He gazes at me for a beat, then rolls us over so I’m on my back again. Then he sits up, pulls my sweats down my legs, and tosses them to the floor. Staring between my legs, he licks his lips.


    Then he growls, “Permission to eat your cunt.”


    “Granted. And for the record, that’s a standing permission from now on.”


    He rises, pulls off his shirt, and tosses it aside. I take a moment to admire his beautiful body. One of his pecs is inked, and so are both of his muscr arms. I know that he’ll be magnificent fully naked. Those strong thighs. That hard ass. That big bulge he’s grown for me, straining at the confines of his zipper.


    He grabs my ankles and drags me over so my bottom is on the edge of the bed and my feet are touching the floor.


    Kneeling between my spread legs, he slides his hands slowly up the inside of my thighs, caressing my flesh as he stares with avid eyes straight at my exposed pussy.


    He leans forward and licks it.


    When I feel his tongue on me, so warm and soft, I moan in pleasure. He swirls the tip of his tongue around my clitoris, teasing it, then sucks with gentle pressure.


    “Yes. Perfect. Just like that.”


    He puts his hands under my thighs and hooks my knees over his shoulders, continuing to lick and suck my clit, then slides his hands up my body and squeezes my breasts.


    It feels amazing.


    His mouth, his hands, his thumbs stroking back and forth over my rigid nipples…the incredible sensations make me shudder. I moan again, arching into his hands. My eyes drift shut. I sink both hands into his hair and rock my hips against his face as the pleasure builds, spreading outward from my pussy to my entire lower body.


    He takes one hand away from my breast and sinks his thumb inside me. When he starts ying with that sensitive knot between my ass cheeks, stroking it gently as he finger fucks me andvishes my clit with his tongue, I shiver helplessly. The feeling is so intense, it’s almost overwhelming. My skin is hot and my hard nipples are aching for attention. I wish I could have his mouth everywhere at once.


    I lift my head and whisper, “Show me your cock. I want to watch you y with it while you eat me.”


    Eyes closed, he groans into my pussy.


    Without taking his mouth off me, he fumbles with his belt, tugging at it desperately, until the sp releases. He whips it through his beltloops and throws it aside, yanks down his zipper, and shoves his hand inside his pants.


    He grasps his erection, makes a fist around it, and starts to stroke the length of it as he licks me.


    “That’s a very nice dick, Carter.”


    He strokes it faster. It juts from his fist, thick and veined, the crown glistening. Just looking at it excites me. I want it inside me. I want him to make mee with his mouth, then fuck me deep and hard with that beautiful dick.


    I want that, but it’s too soon. And he’s right. I might feel differently tomorrow about his confession than I do right now.


    So tonight, we’ll let him repent a little.


    I sit up and gently pull his head back by his hair, forcing him to look up at me. Kneeling between my thighs, he’s panting, his cock still squeezed in his fist, his eyes hazy and half-lidded.


    “Do you like how I taste?”


    He rasps, “Yes.”


    “Would you like to make mee?”


    “Yes.”


    “Yes what?”


    He shudders and licks his lips. “Yes, please.”


    When I say softly, “Good boy,” he makes the smallest whine in the back of his throat, then shoves his face back between my thighs andtches onto my swollen clit like it’s a nipple he needs to draw milk through.


    “Not too hard,” I admonish, tugging his hair.


    He gentles his suction, his fist frantically pumping his dick.


    It’s so exciting to watch him like this. On his knees, desperate to please me, obeying my everymand. He’s young, gorgeous, andpletely at my mercy.


    I feel powerful, like a sorceress. Like a warlord taking her victory spoils. It’s a heady sensation, being in charge. No wonder my ex liked it so much.


    I take his face in my hands, lean over, and kiss him. He kisses me back desperately, shoving his tongue deep into my mouth and moaning. I taste myself on him, the musky tang of my womanhood, and it thrills me.


    “Open your eyes, sweet boy.”


    His lids drift open. Flushed and panting, his pupils dted and his lips swollen and wet, he almost looks drugged.


    Our faces inches apart, I gaze into his eyes and whisper, “You’re doing so good. I love how you make me feel. Now, I want to watch you make yourselfe while you eat me, okay? Will you be a good boy and do that for me?”


    He’s so excited, he can’t even answer. He simply licks his lips and nods, all the cords in his neck standing out and sweat beading his hairline.


    “All right. Stay on your knees there. Spread your legs wider so I can see all of you.”


    He obeys me instantly, spreading his legs apart and cupping his hand around his balls, disying himself for me. Staring up into my eyes, he rests a hot, trembling hand on my thigh and squeezes it.


    “Stroke yourself. Let me see you.”


    He swallows, exhales a shaky breath, then runs his palm along the underside of his straining cock. At the crown, he curls his fingers, then strokes his hand back down the length until he reaches his balls again, which he fondles.


    I gently kiss his cheek. “You’re so handsome, Carter. So perfect.”


    He sways slightly, swallowing again, then inhales a ragged breath.


    “Do you like it when I praise you?”


    “Yes. I love it. I love it.”


    His voice is thick. His breathing is shallow. His eyes have a glossy, unfocused shine.


    There’s a split second of perfect rity where I understand exactly how much responsibility I have to be careful with him like this, to make sure this heady feeling of control doesn’t overpower what we’re both actually after. The intimacy and connection is what’s most meaningful, not who’s telling who what to do.


    It’s all about trust.


    My chest tightens with emotion. Gazing into his eyes, I murmur, “You’re safe with me. I promise. Now give me your mouth and make us bothe.”


    We share a hot, passionate kiss. Then Carter positions himself back between my legs and, with a grateful groan, buries his face in my pussy.


    I cradle his head and watch him lick and suck, his cheeks hollowed, his eyes closed, his hands working between his legs, one squeezing his balls and the other stroking his shaft, until we’re both moaning.


    My pulse is flying. I’m breathing hard, and my thighs are trembling. The pleasure is sweet, so sweet, a pulsing coil of heat that winds tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue.


    He opens his eyes and stares up at me with a pleading look.


    “Yes, sweetheart,” I whisper breathlessly. “Yes.”


    He squeezes his eyes shut, moans deeply into me, and shudders. A thick stream of semen shoots out of the crown of his cock, then another and another in short, rapid pulses, spurting onto the bedspread, sliding down his hand.


    My pussy convulses. The contractions hit hard and fast in exquisite, rhythmic bursts that overwhelm my senses. Crying out, I fall back onto the bed and writhe against his face. My nipples ache for his teeth. The hollowness inside me aches to be filled with the long, hard length of him.


    I orgasm with abandon, thrashing around and groaning. I’m beyond all caring of anything but the way he makes me feel. The pleasure he’s selflessly giving me.


    When my orgasm fades and I’m lying there panting at the ceiling, Carter rests his cheek on my thigh. I reach down, ruffle his hair, andugh softly, blissfully contented.


    I could really get used to this.