A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(77)

When Carter had put his mouth to Peaches’, he’d lost himself. She felt so good pressed against him and yet, he could do nothing but handle her as though she would fracture under his fingertips. He’d never kissed a woman that way before. He’d surprised himself at his own tenderness. The hunger for her that resided deep within him was desperate to take her wild and hard against the tree, but the moment they touched he knew there was no way he could do that to her. He beat the hunger back and held her as gently as he could.

Their lips had moved together so slowly and tentatively. But Carter had wanted more.

With her pulse thrumming under his fingertips, he’d kissed her with everything he had. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel more of her. He wanted her to touch him.

He’d f*cked up. He shouldn’t have kissed her. Peaches had even told him not to. But he’d done it regardless. He just didn’t have the fight left in him anymore.

He knew, now that he had experienced the feel of Peaches on his lips, he had to have it again. And he knew that was an impossibility, just as she had told him. Nevertheless, Carter couldn’t help but suspect her determined promise that it wouldn’t or couldn’t happen again was a carefully constructed front that hid her own desires for him. She’d kissed him back, for f*ck’s sake. She wanted it, too. Didn’t she?

He rubbed his brow at the realization that the situation just wasn’t on their side.

Carter wasn’t stupid; he understood she had a lot more to lose than he did and that, should their kiss be found out, she could be in a whole heap of shit. But he didn’t have to like it. His temper and selfish side started to escalate.

He thought back to what he’d said to her. What-the-f*ck-ever. Like I give a shit if it happens again.

He was a lying son of a bitch.

The fact was her words had hurt. He’d been hurt before, by many people in his life, but Peaches seemed to know how to cut him to the quick. He wasn’t so much of a dick that he couldn’t admit it. She’d hurt him and he was pissed.

He glanced at the clock, a bitch of a headache starting in his temples. It was just before five, and he needed something to help him chill out and cut loose. He needed to stop thinking about Miss Lane, with her soft lips and peach-flavored tongue.

He pulled out his cell and found his contacts list. The line rang three times.

“Yo, Carter! How was your date—I mean, session?”

“Eat a dick, Max,” Carter snarled, striding toward his bedroom.

“Whoa, such hostility! It didn’t go well, I take it?”

Carter pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped down onto the corner of his bed. “No. It didn’t,” he snapped. “Look, what have you got planned for tonight?”

“Not much. Why, you thinkin’ of something?”


Carter ran a hand down his face. “I need to get shitfaced, and quick. Where can we go?”

Max laughed. “I know just the place, my man. Come to the body shop in an hour.”

“I’ll be there in thirty.”

*

“Keep moving!” the stranger hissed from under his hood. “We have to get away from them. They’ll kill you! Move!”

“I can’t! My dad!”

The stranger didn’t stop to listen. Gunfire filled the air. Kat screamed. She began running but was wrestled to the ground. He was heavy on top of her back and smelled of cigarettes.

The sidewalk was so cold.

“Stay here,” he breathed into her hair as she wriggled beneath him. “You can’t go back. He told you to run, for Christ’s sake.”