Dear Life(80)

His pace is now relentless and for the first time, I have this deep burning sensation build in the pit of my stomach. My legs feel like noodles, my cheeks flush, my core contracts, and white-hot bliss pours through me, starting from my toes and shooting up my spine without any reservations, hitting every nerve ending on its way up.

I can’t hold back the moan from the feeling taking over my body. I feel light, loose, free—incredible. The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Me? I can barely move from the pulses of pleasure still running through me. His fingers are still inside me and I hope he doesn’t take them away anytime soon. Heavens.

Is this what an orgasm feels like? If so, I want to have one every hour of every day. I want to kiss him, touch him, explore his body. Will he let me though?

“Fucking hell that was hot,” Carter says on a heavy breath. “Jesus, Daisy.”

I’m motionless, as if my bones have melted with one pinch of the nipple. Everything in my body is tingling, set on fire, embers igniting my need for more.

“That was . . . really good,” I say awkwardly.

“That was more than just good, Snowflake. That was fucking magical.” He pushes my shirt down and sits me up so he can reach my pants on the ground and hand them to me. “Get dressed so I can take you home.” Get dressed? Take me home?

He walks over to the entryway, holds on to the door handle, and waits for me to get dressed. That’s kind of abrupt. He can’t even look at me. Insecurity once again floods my heart, making me feel self-conscious. Did I do something wrong? Will I ever get it right? Will I ever be able to read this man?

Quietly and sheepishly, I put on my clothes, feeling more embarrassed than ever now. Only a few seconds ago, Carter had his hands all over me and now he can’t get me out the door fast enough. I don’t get it.

“I can call a cab so you don’t have to drive me,” I suggest, slinging my purse over my shoulder once I’m all dressed.

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” We exchange glances and he looks almost pained. I’m so freaking lost.

Not wanting to end this night on a bad note, I take a deep breath and say, “Carter, I don’t know what happened, but if I did or said something wrong, please let me know.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why—”

“If I don’t take you home now, I’m going to do something I’m going to regret. I’m going to fuck you ten times sideways until I feel a shred of the built-up tension that I’ve felt ever since I met you, ease. It’s dangerous for you to stay here with me. I’m not a good guy, but I’m trying to be one right now. So press those perfect lips against mine for a gentle kiss and then walk with me to my bike. You’re going home.”

A small smile passes my lips. “You can’t control yourself around me?”

He pulls on the strands of his hair and shakes his head. “I’m hanging on by a thread, Snowflake. So come fucking kiss me, and then get your adorable little ass downstairs. You’re going home.”

I saunter over to him where he reaches behind me, presses his hand into my lower back, and pulls me in close, his other hand going to my cheek where he stares at me for a brief second and then kisses me passionately, his tongue wasting no time in meeting up with mine. A small moan escapes the back of his throat, and it’s one of the sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard.

When he gently pulls away, he smiles down at me, his hands holding me in place. “This is a pretty shitty world, but you’re a bright beacon amongst all the dark.”

Does he know he’s my beacon? Because right now, I wouldn’t be able to see past my nose without his guiding light. Even if I told him, I don’t think he’d believe me. Looks like I’ll just have to show him. I just hope I will know how.





CARTER


“Fear is an emotional hindrance on your state of mind. It’s very often as humans we let this emotion prevent us from moving forward, especially in our day-to-day life.” Marleen walks the room as she speaks, her short heels clicking along the concrete floor. “Fear can be debilitating, life altering, so intense and palpable that it paralyzes you. I know. I’ve seen this fear, I’ve faced it head-on.” She pauses, facing the wall and turns toward us. “I’m a recovering heroin addict.”

Prior to her confession, her words were bouncing off the walls, never really sinking in, until she spoke of her past. Recovering heroin addict. Is that even possible? To recover from being an addict of such a destructive drug? In my experience with my parents, there is no recovering, only use after sickening use until you overdose, always chasing that first high, never ever able to obtain it.

The air in the room stills as we all wait for Marleen, perfectly coiffed and pristine Marleen, talk about being a heroin addict. I never would have guessed that.

“There were days that I would lie on my couch, my ex cooking the drug, and not able to move until I got my first hit. I was so dependent, so depressed, so consumed by chasing happiness that I truly never understood what happiness was to me. It got to the point that happiness was the drug for me. That if I didn’t shoot up every few hours, I was convinced I would fall into a deep depression, a depression so cataclysmic that I would want to commit suicide. So I continued to use.”

Sounds about right. She could have been best friends with my parents.