CHAPTER THREE

"Pet." Carter's voice pulls me out of the void. Out of the darkness.

Muffin.

My mouth's not fully functioning yet. My eyes, however, do. They flutter open, eager to obey Carter.

His familiar gray gaze is the first thing I see. Piercing, intense eyes try to burrow inside my brain.

"There you are," he whispers, though it sounds a lot like a growl.

Is he mad at me for leaving the door open? Or does he get off on my swollen area where the motherfucker hit me? He likes spanking me. He likes the marks his palm leaves on my ass. So maybe…?

But the pounding in my head doesn't feel like a night with Carter.

And I'm not feeling very playful.

I'm in pain. My left temple throbs.

My ego is bruised. My sense of safety in my own apartment is nonexistent.

This isn't my first time getting beaten up. Keeping my mouth shut has never been my thing. Meaning I never fit in any of the private schools my parents sent me to. Who could've guessed that the punishment for being a weirdo is getting bullied?

So, yeah. I had my hair tugged. The mean girls kicked my ribs sometimes. I stumbled over accidentally extended legs in the hall more times than I'd like to admit.

I'm no stranger to pain. I embrace it.

Thing is, if Carter were here, none of this would've happened. If Carter wouldn't have made being late a habit, the freaking stalker wouldn't have dared to break in here.

Worst thing, though? Our night is ruined.

Instead of fucking like rabbits, I'm lying on my couch. My head is in Carter's lap, and he's not pinching my nipples.

Annoying.

Sensing my peaking anger, Carter flips his palm, soothing the wounded area one stroke after the other. A strand of his short, straight hair falls on his creased forehead as he gazes down at me.

He doesn't smooth it back, the tiny imperfection in his otherwise immaculately styled hair.

"I'm sorry, A." There's no mesmerizing grin splayed on his face. No sweet-talking his way back in my good graces.

I don't want to be mad at him. I'm not mad at him. I wish I could taunt him—our banter is everything—but I have nothing.

Ugh. Great, now I'm annoyed from being annoyed.

"What am I going to do with you, muffin?"

On the outside, Carter is edgy and dark. On the inside, he's my cutie pie. It's one of the many reasons I could never stay mad at him. And he loves the nickname.

Less so today.

His expression turns sterner than before. His frown is deep, and he scowls at me.

"That bad?" I ask. Carter's never mad at me. It has to be the bruises. Right?

"Pet, I apologized for being late. I'll apologize a million times more. Just say the word and I'll do it. Whatever will make you feel better, anything at all. I fucking lo—Fuck, just tell me." His voice is hoarse, his determination as thick as his cock and endless as the ocean. He means business. "I'll do anything, anything other than walk away. You and me, we're forever. Breaking up is not an option for you. Fucking never. You're mine, have I made myself clear?"

I blink a few times. Then my lips curve up.

He misunderstood me. I wanted to play, and my possessive, obsessed guy heard something else entirely.

What a sexy red flag he is. All my life I've been warned against men like Carter, and yet here I am, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

"As if I'd ever leave you." The words scratch my throat.

Fuck, being knocked out for who knows how long really did a number on me.

I cough, causing Carter to jump into action. He straightens me into a sitting position, pressing me to his side while reaching for my coffee table, getting me water.

Where's the other dude?

After I take a sip, I ask, "You slept here?"

"Sleep? Why would I sleep here?" His resolute expression morphs into that of confusion. I can see the second he understands my question. "No, baby. It's only been an hour since the…"

Since the attack.

Storm clouds gather over Carter's face. A low growl emanates from his chest.

Without a single warning, he grabs the glass from my hand and returns it to the table. The water sloshes with the force of Carter's rage. A couple of drops splash on the worn-out wooden top.

"That cocksucker." He doesn't let me get up to wipe the table. Carter grips my hips, manhandling me until my thighs straddle him.

A declaration of war brews behind his gray eyes. His erection beneath me is as powerful a weapon as his strong, demanding hands are.

"Did you punch him?" The pain in my temple is all but gone. My love for the violence in him takes over. "For me?"

He tilts his head, his fingers bruising my hips. My fingers lace around his neck, my hips grind, desperate for friction. I want him so bad every part of me hurts. I don't care what happened to that other man anymore.

"Pet, fuck." Carter burrows his fingers deeper into my flesh, hurting me in a delicious way. My jeans are no obstacle for my man. What Carter wants, Carter gets.

And right now, he's obsessed with delivering pain. Pain that'll make me cry out his name.

Of course, I let him have it.

"Carter," I moan.

He replies by curling his fingers around the side of my neck, using his other hand to grind me on his cock.

My gaze travels down to one of my favorite parts of his body. His arms. The sleeves of his black shirt are rolled up, his veins bulging on his muscular forearms.

"Look at me," he orders, his groan too hot for words.

I don't obey anyone other than Carter. And the bank. Gotta do what they say.

But mostly, in my world, Carter is my king. The only ruler.

On his command, my eyes slide up his chest, the scruff on his chin and strong nose, and land on his fierce stare. As our gazes collide, I feel his dick throbbing beneath me.

All it'll take is a snap of my wrist, and I'll have his cock out. Carter will do the rest by himself.

His brow furrows, head shaking slowly. "No."

I hate and love that he can tell what I'm about to do before I do. My bottom lip juts out in a pout.

"Not until you explain what the hell what am I supposed to do with you means." He jerks his hips up as an incentive.

Bastard.

"You weren't here." Here are some truths for him. While I still pout. "He knew you wouldn't be here. I missed you, but it's not it. I almost…almost…"

Shivers wrack through my body. My sass and my confidence are nowhere to be found.

The man who knocked me out could've done any number of things to me. We both get that, moreover since Carter gets off on me being a heavy sleeper. On my unconscious consenting. Yeah, it's a thing. Our thing.

"Hey, hey." He stops dry humping me. His arms slide around my back, dragging me to him, mashing to his chest with one hand on my head. "Don't go there. I'm here. No one touches you, pet. No one. You're mine, you hear?"

Sometimes, like this evening, I wish I was a crier. At least I would've stained his thousand-dollar shirt with snot and tears.

"I could've been raped." I punch him. Try, that is. Carter pins me to him, locking me in place. "And you weren't here."

"I know, and I'm sorry." The surrender in his tone matches the slow, amorous strokes of his hand along the curve of my back. "It won't happen again. No one in this whole fucking world will ever touch you. It's a fucking promise."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You trust me?" He continues to caress me while gluing me to his body. Loving and hurting me all at once.

"Yes."

"Good girl."

Soothed and comforted, I use my nails to graze his shirt. I finally notice that my eyes don't hurt because Carter has been considerate and turned off the lights and left only one lamp on.

What's that? Carter's scent carries into my nose. It's his usual sandalwood cologne. And bleach.

"Carter, why do you—"

"You're moving in with us, Amara," he cuts into my question. "Where you'll be safe. That's how I can be so sure."

My first reaction is that of complete and utter joy.

I've been head over heels crazy in love with this man, a secret I haven't told him yet. I'm not sure he's into the whole traditional feeling declaration idea. So, obviously, I'm the happiest girl ever.

"Eep!" My lips stretch into a gloriously wide smile. "For real?"

"Yes, for real."

I wiggle so hard against him that he releases his hold on me. He lets out a low, rugged laugh when I grip his face, kissing every inch of his gorgeous face from his chin to his forehead.

"We'll be roommates?" I ask, my face and his less than an inch apart.

"More like sexy partners who do—" he starts.

The potent scent of bleach bursts my pretty, pink bubble.

This time, I'm the one who doesn't let him finish. I rear back, my eyebrows knitting. "Where's the man who broke in here?"

Carter doesn't so much as blink. "He's where he should be."

Twisting my head left and right, I scan the small space of my apartment. Nothing looks out of place, nothing suggesting a struggle. I mean, I know Carter is strong as fuck—I've been benefitting from it plenty—but the other guy was huge.

Carter couldn't have just made the guy disappear. I think.

Okay, now I'm officially curious. And a little more turned on. He deserves a kiss for killing this fucker. That is if he's done it.

"Where is that exactly?"

"Out on the street, limping back to the hole he crawled out of."

The flat tone he uses has me half convinced. Carter did have the element of surprise on his side. He could've tackled him, broken a bone. Something dirty and delicious.

Still, though, I need to know. "You didn't call the police?"

"Baby." His eyes gleam, sinister, and luring me to their depths. "I was furious when I saw him hurting you. Had to kick the motherfucker's ass. The cops would've dragged me to the station with him. Away from you."

Jesus, that's hot. He beat a guy up for me.

My only regret is that I wasn't awake to witness it.

"Okay." My cheeks heat. My need is a living thing pushing against my ribs, burning my core.

Carter gauges my expression. He leans into me, his nose trailing along the curve of my neck, his lips stroking my skin.

Then the freaking smell wafts into my nose and ruins everything.

"And the bleach?" I wrinkle my nose. "What's up with that?"

"You're too perceptive for your own good, Amara."

Carter massages my shoulders, going lower. His exploring fingers trace the sides of my breasts, sliding beneath my cardigan. His touch and the evil glint flashing on his face melt me into a puddle.

"I wanted him gone," he continues, even though I'm a little stupid for him already. Carter brushes his lips against mine as he speaks. "I wanted this space wiped clean of his scent, his disgusting boot prints. It doesn't matter that you're moving out. This is your space. No way was I going to leave his filthy scent here."

"Thank you." My grip on his face tightens. The hold should hurt him, but Carter doesn't flinch. "Holy shit. We're actually going to…"

I trail off, suddenly remembering another important detail my brain conveniently forgot.

"No secrets, pet," Carter coaxes.

"My landlords." I nibble on my bottom lip, disentangling from him to look around at the space that's been my home for the last four years. "I'll have to tell them I want out of my lease early. I can't afford both this place and pitching in with the bills and grocery shopping at yours. They'll throw a fucking fit."

"A, fuck pitching in. I'm taking care of you. Killian and I are." Carter forces my face to his. "B, if they give you trouble, I'll have our lawyers speak to them. Worst case, I'll settle the lease with them. Don't worry about it."

"Carter, no." My head shakes so vehemently, my brain hurts. "I wasn't trying to get you to throw money my way. I was sharing my concerns, not asking for anything."

"And I'm sharing my solution." He grins, his pearly white teeth sparkling at me.

His I dare you to defy me face.

Do I want to? Yes? No?

No. We've argued enough for one evening. Maybe if I'm good, I'll get the evening I've been waiting for. I'll get him naked.

"Okay." I chuckle to myself. My parents wouldn't believe how easily I bend for him.

"Good girl." His mesmerizing gray eyes don't leave mine. "There's more, though. Tell me what's bothering you and I'll fix it, pet."

I sigh. No use in hiding my biggest concern. "Killian."

Silence.

Shit, I shouldn't have mentioned it.

My eyes hop across the room. Anything but this type of conversation. Cracks in the white walls. String of Pearls plants in their bronze pots that hang from the ceiling, draping so low they almost reach the floor. I really ought to do something about it before I move out of here, like maybe…

"Pet, baby." Carter's finger under my chin, and his firm voice demands my attention. It happens to me sometimes, and he's never upset. He thinks it's adorable. It's unavoidable, that's what it is. "What about Killian?"

Reflexively, my nose scrunches. I do that when I'm nervous. Highly inconvenient, seeing how this tell gives me away every single time around Carter.

"Talk to me." His probing gaze confirms that yes, he didn't miss it.

Most people fantasize about a partner or partners who understand them. Carter has perfected this ability to a fault.

I say to a fault since some truths are better kept bottled up.

There's no man or woman I've ever loved harder than I love muffin. That is why I hate that I like the way his stepdad's eyes darken when they land on Carter. Or me. I don't understand what that dark, chocolate gaze wants, but I'm always two seconds from asking.

Or maybe it's nothing but a get-out-of-my-personal-space look.

Not like I see him that much. I hang out in their penthouse on the weekends, and they work odd hours, so I hardly ever bump into Killian. When I do, I can't help thinking of the three of us together.

That they'd be together, and with me.

Dream on, Amara. While you're at it, try not to fuck things up with the man you'd cut someone's throat for.

"He won't want me there."

Semi-honesty for the win. Despite the tension I must be imagining, he's hardly ever spoken to me. The rare dinners we share aren't what you'd call awkward, they're just quiet. So quiet.

"Pet, of course, he'll want you to move in with us."

"No." I give my head a rough shake, the strands of my hair covering my eyes.

Carter brushes them back, tucking them behind my ears. "What makes you say that?"

"I feel it."

"Elaborate." Carter, my sweet, vicious, Carter. He doesn't let up. Then again, when has he ever?

"His expressions when I'm around." I bite my bottom lip, and Carter pulls the flesh out to encourage me to go on. "Frowning or glaring. Sometimes, he groans. I don't mind." I do. His approval is important to me. For many reasons. "It's his home; he deserves to have his quiet space. Without me there."

A strong, scary emotion takes over Carter's face. Something dark and sensual. His cock jerks beneath me.

"Killian is Killian."

The irrefutable truth. Meaning there's only one person Killian will show his version of love to. And that's Carter. Preferably when I'm not around to be a witness to his softer-ish side.

How am I supposed to live there? Under the roof of a man who makes me giddy and yet hates me, or at the very least, feels nothing for me?

How am I supposed to be okay with ruining their dynamic?

My bottom lip juts out in a pout, and I twirl a lock of hair around my finger.

"He likes you, A. I swear." The sincerity in his voice has me believing him. Almost.

"His glares tell a different story." Or like he wants to eat me until there's nothing left. "Listen, Carter, thanks for the offer. I'll stay here, install a better lock. You'll have to climb through the fire escape at night instead of breaking in, but maybe you'll learn to like it?"

Carter's warm palms encapsulate my cheeks, dragging me to face him again.

"Amara, please."

"Please, what, muffin?" I huff.

"He's not like that around other people." His thick, black brows pinch together. "You think he's pissed at you? No, beautiful. The way he looks at you, it means… Fuck." He holds me tighter, gray eyes drilling into me. "You really don't see it?"

"N-no," I say, although I'm less sure than before.

He sighs. His breath smells of peppermint and Carter. I need to put an end to this conversation. Put it off indefinitely and maul him in my living room. I wanted him, my baby. And here we are, taking a nose-dive into emotion-land.

Things have been so easy between us. He's crazy about me. I'm stupid for him. The three of us will ignore the big-ass elephant in the room.

Easy.

"Carter, I don't want to make a mess out of things."

"You never do, pet." Carter's hands slide lower, possessive, as he grips my hips. "He likes you. Very much."

Eek, he's serious. "No way. He would've said something."

"Doesn't have to," he growls. From frustration. From desire. Maybe from both. "That's how his eyes change when he needs."

Oh, no. This isn't good. This isn't good at all.

For Carter, not me. Carter the kid. Any number of things could've happened in the soundproofed penthouse. Bad things. The worst of them.

Motherfucker. I'll kill this child molester. I'll burn Killian until he's nothing but ashes. Then I'll pee on him. And worse.

No one touches my baby. No one.

"Carter, did he touch you?" I drown out the bubbling panic, smoothing my features and lowering my voice. On the inside, I'm fucking livid. "When you were a kid?"

"No, no." Carter squares his shoulders. "Never."

I tilt my head, studying his expression.

What the fuck? He seems disappointed.

Maybe the three of us don't have to be a mess?

Then again… I have questions.

"Okay. So, let me get this straight." My fingers run along the planes of his chest. "This… It's okay with you?"

He frowns, and it takes everything in me not to bite his bottom lip. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Making sense of this new situation gets trickier by the second.

"Hmm, you punched Bradley, from the bodega down the street, last month. Remember? When he asked me if I wanted a bag for my candy."

Poor Bradley. Carter didn't stop at punching him in the face. He then demanded that Bradley hand over his security tapes. Warned him against telling anyone about what transpired that evening.

It was hot. So fucking hot.

Still, I felt kind of bad that Bradley hasn't spoken to me since.

"He could've asked me." The muscles beneath his shirt flex. "He was hitting on you while I had my arm around you. He didn't respect you. Didn't respect me. He had it coming."

I quirk an eyebrow.

"Bradley isn't Killian." Another truth I can't refute. "You're moving in. End of story."

Carter plasters a scorching kiss on my lips, ending our discussion. For now.

My body responds to his demanding fingers, bending to Carter's will. He pushes me back to the couch until I'm lying on it. My zipper is yanked down, and Carter snarls as if he's offended it's there in the first place.

My big, strong man lifts my hips while tugging my jeans and thong down my ass.

He pins me with a dark glare once I'm naked from my waist down, towering over me. "I'm going to lick your pretty pussy, Amara. I dare you to tell me no."

I open my legs wider. "Never."

"Jesus, my horny little pet is drenched for me. Or is it because I told you Killian's dying to fuck your pretty hole?" He pushes two fingers inside me, and I cry out his name. "Yeah, that's right. Scream for me, baby. Tell me how much you want me to suck your clit."

Images of his father materializing beside him filter into my vision.

About having not one pair of hands digging into the flesh of my thighs, but two.

Not one tongue lapping on my pussy.

Two of them.

"Please."

"More," he urges, his breath tickling the sensitive, wet, most desperate part of me. "Fucking beg."

I scream.

"Beg, Amara. Use your fucking words." Two fingers turn to three, curling, probing, maddening. "Then I'll give you what you need. I'll let you come on my face."

"I am begging." I sound absolutely feral, downright insane. That's what he does to me. "Please make me come. Pretty, pretty please."

He lowers his mouth to the apex between my thighs. He pinches and twists my nipple through my cardigan. Then tugs at the piercing on the other one.

I scream again, scratching the cushions. I'm not allowed to grab onto my dominant man's hair no matter how I'm itching for it.

My back arches, my lips mumbling Please and Carter over and over as my head thrashes.

"That's it." He lifts his head, winking at me. "That's my girl."

When he closes his lips on my clit, I die and go to heaven. A force—Carter's force—barrels into me, sucking the air out of my lungs in one harsh blow.

I don't come, eagerly waiting for his permission. I don't have to, but I love it. Love him telling me what to do.

He tugs harder on my nipple piercing. The pain sends another rippling pleasure to course through me. His tongue licks, his fingers are ruthless, stabbing into me. Coaxing an orgasm out of me.

"Stop, stop. I can't take it anymore." Tension builds inside me, burning through me. "I'm going to come, please tell me it's okay."

"Are you begging?"

My head shoots up to meet his beautiful, ravenous eyes.

All I can do is nod.

"Then yes, come for me." He resumes finger-fucking me hard and fast. "Show me how much you love me eating you out, Amara."

This time, he sucks my clit without a shred of mercy. It hurts and it torments. And it's the best orgasm I've had in my entire life.

The whole neighborhood can hear me begging for mercy.

"Good girl," he praises between soft kisses and languorous laps of his tongue. "That's my good girl."

I'm too dumbfounded for words. So I watch him, just watch him when he pulls his cock out. My lips part, hungry for the thick dick he's stroking. To suck off his precum. To swirl my tongue around his piercing.

"Stay where you are, Amara." Carter bites on his bottom lip, using my wetness as lube. "Stay right there —fuck—so I can come on this beautiful pussy."

I do, lifting my cardigan to give him a view of my nipple ring that he loves so much.

"Beautiful," he groans, fucking his fist faster while aiming at my pussy. "So fucking beautiful. Tell me you're hungry for my cum."

"I am." I play with my piercing, and a few minutes later, he finishes on my pussy.

His depravity doesn't end there. He bends to my sex, licking his semen off me, and climbs up my body. Carter's thumb pushes down my lip, and he spits his cum into my mouth.

"Swallow." His order is an easy one to follow.

I love the taste of his cum.

"Good girl."

Carter gets a towel from the bathroom, cleaning me up. Then he fixes my clothes back in place, helps me off the couch, and rakes his fingers through my tangled hair.

"No more arguing," he murmurs against my lips. "Unless you want this to be your last orgasm in a very long while."

"Carter, no."

"So go pack." He pauses, tilting his head. "Don't give me that look. If this is about watering the plants, you'll do that. You work in the shop downstairs, remember?"

My head bobs with every vehement nod.

His eyes are dark and fierce and absolutely gorgeous. "Go, then. I'm not asking again."

I don't walk to pack my shit.

I run.