Total pages in book: 224
Estimated words: 215705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1079(@200wpm)___ 863(@250wpm)___ 719(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1079(@200wpm)___ 863(@250wpm)___ 719(@300wpm)
He doesn’t reply and the doors open behind me. He turns me to the door, walks me out and in a few minutes, we’re in the back of a hired car with our legs melded together and one of his hands pressed between my thighs. I was right. He’s on edge. He’s in one of those fuck me and talk later moods. His hand slides up my skirt and right when his fingers brush my panties, I catch it, giving him a warning look. He answers by cupping my head and kissing me, and in one stroke of his tongue, I lose control. He slips under the silk between my thighs and he’s stroking the now wet seam of my body.
I fight the sounds I want to make. I grab his hand, but his finger slides inside me. I grab his jacket and give him a warning look that earns me another kiss. His tongue and fingers all but undo me when the car stops. “Your destination, sir,” the driver announces.
Reid slides his fingers from inside me, licks them and then says, “Thank you,” though I’m not sure he’s talking to the driver.
He exits the car and pulls me with him, shutting the door behind me. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
He drags me under his arm, and against him. “I can’t believe I didn’t make you come, but I will,” he promises.
“Because you’d rather fuck than talk about whatever that was back there at Cat’s?”
He doesn’t reply which is my answer. He doesn’t want to talk. He’s going to have to talk. For now, though, I let him have what he wants: control. He needs it. He’ll take it to fulfill that need and I get that. I understand him and so I don’t speak. I let him lead me into the elevator and once we’re there, he pulls my back to his chest, the hard wall of his body absorbing mine. The thick ridge of his erection is pressed to my bottom. His fingers stroke my waist, sending waves of heat through my body. My nipples ache. My sex clenches. I’m reminded that this demanding, controlling side of Reid turns me on and more so now that I know I can trust him.
The car halts and we exit as we entered—without words. He leads me to the apartment and once we’re there, he catches me from behind, his lips at my ear as he orders, “Undress right here in front of me and then walk to the bedroom and wait for me on the bed.”
I open my mouth to object, but this is Reid and clearly, something about tonight hit every nerve he owns, and perhaps cut open a wound or two that is now bleeding. He needs his control and if there is one person in his life who’s taken it, it’s me. Right now, he needs me to give it back. “Do you trust me, Carrie?” he asks as if he senses hesitation in me, and the question is telling. This is about trust as much as control. He wants to deserve my trust. He feels like control prevents him from letting me down. That’s how he protects me. With control and trust, he feels he can stop whatever bad might come my way.
“I trust you, Reid,” I say, twisting in his arms to face him. “You know I do.”
“Show me. Show me you trust me, because you always hold back just a little. Almost all of your trust, almost all of you isn’t enough.”
I don’t believe I hold back, but he does and that’s what matters right now. I step back from him and start to undress. He leans on the door, crosses his arms in front of his chest, and I swear he’s trying to intimidate me, but it won’t work. It’s never worked but he’s going to try harder tonight. I feel it. I see it in his eyes. He’s going to push and demand and press me beyond a comfortable limit.
And I’m going to let him.
Chapter eighty-six
Carrie
Reid leans against the front door of our apartment, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest, his piercing blue eyes fixed on my face, demand and a dark, edgy energy radiating from him. The demand is familiar but the energy is not, it’s that part of him he hides beneath the arrogant asshole. That part of him he doesn’t want to exist, but tonight it does. That part of him I think he needs me to accept and even embrace.
I stand a foot in front of him and peel away my jacket, tossing it to the floor. I then pull my silk camisole over my head and do the same with it. “I trust you,” I say.
“Taking your jacket off doesn’t prove trust.”
“You want more,” I say and I’m not talking about my clothes and he knows it.