A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(180)

He’d been such a damned fool to think he could ever get away without speaking those three words to her. The three words he’d never uttered to another human being in his entire f*cked-up life. They’d taken his ass by surprise, but the relief that came with them was more freeing than any parole board’s release letter could ever be.

[page]He moved his mouth from her lips to her jaw and down her neck. She bent backward, curving under him so that he could access any place he wanted on her gorgeous body. He began with her chest, yanking the straps of her bra down the tops of her arms so he could pull at the cups, releasing her to his eager hands and demanding mouth. With his eyes closed, Carter began to lick, suck, and tease, tugging her between his lips. He moaned when she scratched his back, pulling him closer while whispering her need for him.

Carter let his lips caress her hip, the soft flesh of her belly, all the way to her panty line peeking temptingly from beneath her shorts. He wanted her on his tongue. He wanted to feel her in his mouth and make her come so hard she’d see stars. He wanted to devour her, bury his entire face in that shit and never come out for days. He wanted her gasping and soaked. He wanted—

“I missed you,” Kat breathed.

Astounded by the pained expression on her face, Carter rested his chin against her hip.

“I missed you while you were gone.”

Carter’s heart fractured. “I missed you.” He brushed away the stray hair lying on her cheek. He shook his head. “God.” He kissed her. “I was a f*cking fool to walk away from you.”

Walking away from her was as close to being burned alive as Carter imagined he would ever get. The pain had crippled him, rendering him immobile.

When the boys had visited him in Kill and tried to explain how Max had fallen apart when Lizzie left, Carter had struggled to understand. Now he knew exactly what pain his friend had been through—was still going through.

Carter never wanted to feel that pain again. He doubted very much that he would even survive it a second time.

“I know why you did it,” Kat whispered. “And if you walking away helped you realize that you love me,” she continued in a hushed tone, “then I’m happy you did.”

Christ, she was right. He’d walked away and cracked into a thousand pieces, bare, with nothing to hide behind. Realistically, Carter couldn’t refute admitting his true feelings had been inevitable. And now that his finely executed punk-ass demeanor had been thoroughly f*cked, Carter at last accepted just how exhausting it had been.

“Carter.” Kat reached for his hand and placed his palm flat against her heart. “Show me,” she whispered. “Show me how much you love me.”

As his eyes scoured her face in question, Carter’s brain flashed back through all the times they’d come together, thinking about the ways in which he’d touched her, kissed her, moved inside of her. Show me.

At the beach house.

On the sofa.

The very first time they were together, soaked from the rain, desperate, on his bed until dawn.

He’d loved her so much even then.

Without even knowing it, he’d shown her what she meant to him by using his body instead of his shitty, inadequate words. When the sensation of having his body inside of hers had been so overwhelming and he’d been unable to find his rhythm through the thick clouds of need, he’d simply breathed her in, kissed her languidly, or touched her in places he knew made her moan his name.

Those had been his favorite moments. Connected together but not moving. No frenzy. Just being. Those were the moments Carter was most at peace.