But this. This is a stream of tiny tastes and pecks, little pieces of dialogue. They go from I’m sorry to what are we doing to how do we do this deeper and all night and I don’t even notice when Woody has to place my drink on the bar because Carter has my back pressed to it.
I do notice when Carter pulls away to hand him a twenty.
My hand comes up, pressing to my mouth as if holding the sensation there. “You don’t have to pay for my wine.”
“I’m invested in getting this tab settled so we can leave.”
“I thought we couldn’t leave our party.”
“Fuck this party.”
The giggle that escapes me is high, and girlish, and very excited at the prospect of us leaving, together.
“What did you say?” I ask, mock scandalized.
“You heard me.”
Drunken roars reach us from outside, and are followed by the unmistakable splashing of water.
“Skinny-dipping!” Kylie yells, and in the background rises a chorus of male cheers.
Carter is still looking at my mouth. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
His smile droops. “I have two full-size beds in my room.”
My eyes shine, my smile goes wide. “Well, that’s just fine. Because I have a king.”
? ? ?
We trip through the doorway, laughing and breathless over having raced into the gift shop for condoms and throwing way too much money at the bewildered teenager working the night shift. I feel like I’m full of tiny bubbles or brilliant stars: inside, everything is alive.
Somehow, despite how many months it’s been and all the games we’ve played between us, awkwardness never descends. It’s us alone, smiling into kisses, pulling off clothes with the comfort of a couple long together and the excitement of two virgins. I swear his body is unreal and I can’t stop touching it, memorizing it like my hands are scanning it into some memory database. I give my brain permission to overwrite anything it wants—take away my ability to ride a bike or crochet; the planes and dips of Carter’s abdomen are way more important.
“Is this too fast?” he asks, barely pausing as he flings my bra behind him somewhere.
I laugh. “Hell no.”
He leads us both farther into the room and then I’m lying down, the sheets cool along the back of my body and Carter pressed along the front.
He kisses a path down my neck. “Can we be friends now?”
The feel of his lips against my skin makes it hard to form words, but I swallow and do my best to focus. “Is that what you want?” I ask, a question that might be taken more seriously if his belt weren’t hanging open, the metal buckle clinking in the space between us. “Friends?”
“Yes,” he says, teeth scraping along my collarbone. “And no.” He pulls back to look at me. “Does that make sense?”
“I think so.” I finish unbuttoning his pants and push the fabric down his hips, smiling when the cold air leaves a trail of goose bumps across his skin. He kicks them the rest of the way off and then it’s naked legs against naked legs, bare torso against bare torso.
He says something else, but the shape of his words is lost against my shoulder and then my breast as he moves lower. I arch my back when he takes my nipple into his mouth, and the sound I make surprises me.
Fuck. Why did we waste so much time?
I have the brief thought that we need to be quiet, that eventually Rose will be only two doors down or someone we know might be in the room right next door, but I can’t even hear the shrieks of the skinny-dippers anymore, and the lake is right there.
We’re in a fortress.
Carter’s mouth is everywhere: he worships my breasts, sucking each nipple in turn while rolling the other between his fingers. His eyes are wild as he looks up my body, holding my gaze as he moves lower and lower still, pulling off my panties and finally settling between my legs. He leans forward, tentative at first and then greedy like I’m the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. I feel his breath and his sounds and he presses each into my skin and I want him to push them deeper so that I feel them vibrating up my spine, radiating out along my ribs. I feel empty; I might actually say this out loud because his fingers come alongside his kisses and then deep into me.
The world outside seems to stop. The idea of a retreat going on out there feels almost comically surreal. Everything collapses down to the insistent press of his tongue. Heat curls like ribbons around my spine and I pull his hair, arch my body into his touch, and try to tell him that I’m close, so so close.
“Carter,” I gasp, grabbing at him again and oh God I’m coming . . . coming . . . so loud and fuck, I no longer understand why we ever left this place. No job is worth losing this.
There’s a flash of cool air against my skin and then Carter is there, kissing me like I’m oxygen. His lips taste of me and, impossibly, it makes me want him more.
He reaches for the box on the bedside table, fumbling and opening it blindly while he kisses me with his eyes sweetly closed.
I can’t close my eyes for even a second, though. I’m unwilling to miss the details I know I’ll play over and over inside my head tomorrow. The curve of his shoulder, the way his arm flexes as he reaches between us, rolling the condom on before lining himself up against me.
Relief wipes his face blank for a heartbeat as he presses inside. But then my mind is erased. I can’t think of a single thing except the feel of him moving forward. I would be hard-pressed to remember my own name.
I look up at him, focusing on his neck and his throat, where his head is tipped back, how his Adam’s apple moves when he swallows.
He covers me completely, elbows planted above my shoulders as he looks between us, mouth open and breath escaping in sharp little stabs. He moves and he moves, fingers of one hand sliding down, biting into my hips, torso stretched above me as he pushes himself harder and faster and fuck, it’s so good I wonder if I could keep him right here all weekend.
Our bodies slide together, skin damp with sweat and already flushed from exertion. My muscles tense and release, my leg slipping from his hip, and he reaches for the back of my knee, almost bending me in half with the force he uses to press back inside my body.
I don’t recognize my own voice as it comes out sharp and surprised, bouncing back to us in the quiet room. The sound makes him harder, makes him wilder and frantic, and when I finally melt beneath him—pleasure so strong it takes me by surprise, drawing my legs open, my knees alongside his ribs—he grows fevered: hips and arms working, hands pulling me up onto him, pushing himself deep. I cling to him, panting hot into his shoulder as he says my name and yes and please and then we’re coming both of us together, barely able to catch our breath. I wonder if I’ll ever catch my breath again.
? ? ?
With his face pressed to my neck, Carter groans in his relief, back shaking beneath my hands.
He tries to move and hisses before bringing his mouth to the shell of my ear. “Holy shit.”
I make some garbled sound of agreement, unable to complete the connection between my brain and words.