Love, Chloe (27 page)

He stripped me in the bedroom, taking his time, his fingers skimming off my dress, then my bra. I covered myself with my hands, and he smirked, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. Then he dropped to his knees, pulling my thong over my hips and down to the floor, my hands holding his shoulders as he pulled off one of my heels, then the other. “Get in the shower.” He turned me toward his bathroom and grabbed my ass, then growled and smacked it. It was just hard enough to make me jump, just hard enough to make me wet. I glanced over my shoulder as I headed to the bathroom, his eyes on me as he loosened his tie, his belt already undone, dress shoes being kicked off.

I came to a stop at the entrance to his bathroom. My last visit, I had found the bathroom half asleep in the middle of the night with an urgent need to pee. Now, I saw everything I had missed. The shower, big enough for two, a bench on one side, a rain head and a wide window that looked out on the city. Much fancier than mine.

He stepped behind me, reaching past and twisting the shower nozzles, his mouth nipping at my neck as the water came on in a rush. “Wait.” He stopped me from stepping in, his hand testing it, his other hand taking delicious liberties between my legs. I was panting by the time he nudged me forward, under the spray.

It wasn’t fair to compare two men, but Vic and Carter were there, in my mind, almost constantly. And Vic never made love to me like this. Carter
worshiped
me in that shower. He took his time, his fingers gentle, running over every bit of me, his mouth constantly on mine, or on my skin. He sat me down on the bench and knelt before me, his hot mouth settling in between my legs, his total attention on me.

I was close to coming when he stood up, and HARD was not enough of a description for his cock. Good Lord. Talk about absolute beauty. It stuck straight out and I reached for it, missing. “Wait,” he breathed, his hand yanking the handheld attachment off the wall and rolling the control left, adjusting the spray until it gently pulsed and then he knelt, holding it in between my legs, adjusting the angle and the setting until I gasped. “Right there?” he asked, his eyes on mine, concentration lining his face.

“Yes.” The word hiccupped out of me, the water pulsing on my clit, a drumming patter of liquid that already had my thighs tightening. My eyes followed Carter as he stood back up and put his hands on the back of my head, his cock at a perfect level for what was next.

“Please,” he asked and, really, it was a waste of a word. I grabbed at his waist, pulling him forward and, for the first time, put him in my mouth.

I saw a video once on giving a grapefruit blowjob. It was mind-blowing. Quite possibly the best thing I had ever seen. I didn’t have a grapefruit in Carter’s shower but if I had, I’d have squeegeed the hell out of his perfect, delicious dick with that grapefruit.

So, I had no grapefruit, and I was a little distracted by the water’s stream, a mind-blowing orgasm lifting me off the bench mid-blowjob. But I don’t think Carter minded. In fact, right after I came, he pulled out of my mouth, his breath hard, a moment of pause between us, before he offered it back. “I don’t want to come,” he swore, “but
fuck
you give amazing head.”

That’s right, bitches. I couldn’t balance my checkbook and didn’t know the capital of Iowa but I apparently gave amazing head. I could die a happy sexpot. I contained my pride and resumed my incredible blowjob skills. And a few minutes later, he knelt back down, pulling me to the edge of the bench, and put that gorgeous cock inside of me. I wrapped my legs around him but he pulled them off. Lifted my feet and put them flat on the bench, so I looked like some squatting catcher but when he pushed back in, I understood the change in position. I also understood that he was a sexual freak of nature, and I should never ever ever ever let him go.

“Can I—?” he gasped out the words and I understood the question.

“Yes.” I grabbed him, held him close, suddenly frantic for him to come inside me. He pushed deeper, groaning when he came, his grip almost painful on my skin. When he finished, he sank against the wall and turned to me, his eyes heavy, his hand reaching out and he pulled me to my feet and against his chest. “Fuck,” he mumbled, pressing his mouth to the top of my wet head. “That was insane.”

I didn’t have enough intelligent thought to form a response, just smiled against his chest, placing a kiss on his skin. We moved out of the shower and he dried me off, then lifted me, carrying me to his bed and dropping me onto the covers. I rolled over, keeping the towel with me, and watched him, studiously avoiding the giant canvas stretched above my head. Now that I knew his connection to Presa Little, his art collection was no longer impressive. Now, it was just a reminder of their relationship.

It wasn’t my place to ask him to take it down. I knew that. Especially not at this stage of whatever we were. Still, the thought of it being the first and last thing he saw every day irked me. “Have you ever thought about selling these?” I waved a hand in the general direction of the masterpiece above the bed.

Carter chuckled, pulling open a dresser drawer and taking out a white T-shirt, tossing it my way. “No.”

Short. Concise. I started to follow up the answer with a follow up question, but right then, at 10:49 PM, his doorbell rang. And any questions I had stalled.

I stayed in place on his bed, still naked, the sheet clutched to my chest, and listened. The one good thing about a New York apartment’s tiny size: ease in eavesdropping. I heard clearly the moment when he opened the door, and I heard the surprise in his voice when he said her name.

“Presa?”

I didn’t know why he was surprised. I saw the way she looked at him. More importantly, I saw the way she looked at
me
. Like I was an annoyance, something to squash just for the fun of it. I stood up and quietly walked to the door, my hand on the doorknob. I peeked through the crack and saw Carter, his boxer briefs and nothing else on. All I could see of Presa was the elaborate skirt of her dress.

“It’s not a good time,” Carter spoke quietly. “Which I’m sure you know.”

“Don’t be silly. I came by for a drink. It was so nice to see you tonight.”

“Chloe is here. My girlfriend? You met her tonight.”

The girlfriend reference again.

“Oh. The little blonde.”

That
irritated me. Even more than the middle-of-the-night booty call. I looked for my dress but it was on the other side of the bedroom, hanging off a chair.

“You should go. It’s inappropriate, you being here.” He moved a little, as if to usher her out.

“I thought you liked a party.” Her voice sounded as if she hadn’t moved an inch. “She doesn’t like to share?”

“
I
don’t want to share. Or
be
shared. I’m not going back into that world with you, Presa.” He sounded tired. Poor guy. Discussing threesomes was probably exhausting. “Please leave.”

Yes Presa, I thought. Please leave before I run out of this room, completely naked, and smack that entitled smirk off your face. They were into threesomes? Any sexual confidence from our shower faded.

“Stop,” Carter spoke, and the word was muffled. I stuck my head out of the door to try and see what was happening, could hear the sounds of feet scuffling across the floor, and as I craned my neck, I could see Carter trying to push her through the door. With a yelp of indignation, Presa finally reached the hall, his hand shutting the door quickly, the latch flapped shut, and when he turned to me, I stared in shock at her lipstick, bright red on his mouth.

As a woman, I didn’t always act rationally, especially when it was a week before my period, my brain was still strung out from orgasms, and I was looking at another woman’s lipstick on my man.

And yes, Carter was my man. That was the first order of business that I was determined, right there in the middle of the night, to set straight.

“You told her I was your girlfriend.” The words came out like an accusation, and I could see the wariness in his eyes when he responded.

“Yes.”

“Am I?”

“Do you
want
to be?”

“Yes!” I snarled the words and he looked confused. I didn’t really blame the man. Most discussions of commitment came after champagne and roses and hot sex. And usually the person asking about the commitment didn’t sound like she was ready to join the WWE. “Do you
want
to be my boyfriend?” I stepped forward, my hands clenched at my side and his eyes dropped, for a minute, from my face. It hadn’t been my plan to have this fight while naked; in fact, it hadn’t been my plan to have a fight at all, but I didn’t bother to cover up. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” I repeated, my words all but a threat.

“Yes?” The answer was a question, a healthy amount of fear in his eyes.

“Good.” I turned and stalked back to the bedroom, and it was around the time that I slammed the door, my bare feet stomping over to the bed, that I realized how mental I was acting. Had I really just gained a relationship? Or had I just beaten a distracted man into submission?

I crawled into his bed and heard the sink come on in the bathroom, some splashing. He was probably washing off her lipstick. I heard the sound of teeth brushing, and I felt relieved and irritated, all at the same time.

I realized, staring up at the ceiling, that my feelings were a little irrational. I couldn’t be pissed at him for Presa Little showing up at midnight. Not when Vic would have done the exact same thing. In fact, Vic
had
done the same thing, in Joey Plazen’s trailer, and I’d let him take it so much further. Granted, Carter couldn’t have had sex with her, not with me watching. I guess the real question was—if he’d been alone, would he have still pushed her out of his door?

I didn’t know the man well enough to know the answer to that question. Hell, I didn’t know
myself
well enough to answer that question. If I opened my door in the middle of the night and Vic was standing there, could I say with one hundred percent certainty that I wouldn’t kiss him? Or worse? Falling for one man didn’t safeguard us from the feelings we might have for another. If anything, the forbidden could just make temptation stronger.