I yank up the fabric of her tank top. She has a black bra underneath, the creamy mounds of her breasts pushed up, begging for my attention.
I yank the fabric down and her perfect breasts bounce free. I bend my head, first running my tongue over her hard, pink nipple, then flicking it with my tongue. Carly inhales sharply above me, then gasps as my mouth fastens around it. She moans as I taste that breast, then sighs when I turn my attention to the other. Her fingers slide through my hair, but then she tugs.
“Get off me,” she murmurs, lowly.
Her pebbled nipples tell me a different story, so I scowl up at her. Since she’s also scowling, I pull away from her breasts and straighten. “Why?”
“Because you’re not treating me right,” she states. “I like you, you know I like you, but I’m not going to get pulled into this game of push and pull. You’re not going to storm over here, dole out or collect an orgasm, then avoid me for a week. That’s not going to be my life. I’m not sure what kind of idiot girl you’re used to fucking with, but I don’t play that way.”
No, I don’t imagine she would have to. Carly’s hot as hell, but she’s more than that. She’s fucking adorable. It’s the adorable that gets me. Anyone could see Mia was physically a ten—Jace Bradford even figured it out, and sometimes that asshole was too high to remember what class he was in—but it was her sweetness, her cuteness that sunk hooks into me. It was her reasonably defending herself against me, someone she hadn’t invited into her life or anywhere near her, and then feeling bad for hurting my feelings afterward and trying to make amends. It was her dumb jokes, her well-meaning, horrible advice, the cute little way her nose would wrinkle up when she got mad at me.
I could sink into the Mia sinkhole right now, but Carly surfaces. Not the Carly standing in front of me right now, annoyed with me, but the Carly I spend all my time with. The Carly who sticks her tongue out at me when I tell her how lame her little “red kryptonite Clark” is, who steals my popcorn but refuses to make herself a bowl, who cuddles with me and pretends she’s only trying to be my friend.
Doesn’t play games, my ass.
I like her games, though.
Just like I liked Mia’s games, until there was a third player.
Just the thought causes me to break out in a cold sweat. What if it happens again? How am I supposed to stop something like that? I tried everything in my power to stop it the first time, and I couldn’t.
It’s not even impossible. It’s unlikely, but Mateo will find me eventually. It’s personal now. He wanted to kill me when I attacked Mia after he did years ago, and she didn’t even belong to him then. Now she does, and I took her anyway. I’ve heard in great detail how he punished the cop who had Beth. That’s not a club I want to join.
What will he do when he finds me? What will he do if I have a Carly? Is he even wrapped up in Mia the way he was before, after four years? It’s hard to imagine. Beth didn’t last that many years, but it’s difficult to imagine Mateo being loyal. Fucker isn’t loyal to anyone.
What if he hurts Carly the way he hurt Mia to punish me again? Torture me before he kills me, demands payment for the tab I opened in Vegas?
I want Carly, but there are so many things that can go wrong. I want many more nights on her couch, with her body snuggled up against mine, watching terrible fucking television and talking about our lives, but I don’t want to hurt her, either. I don’t know how to be with her without hurting her in some way—whether with this bullshit, or the more legitimate kind when Mateo finds me. The cost is too high.
I’m not thinking clearly enough after the tumblers of whiskey, so I must not be controlling my expression. I must be oozing some sort of sadness, because Carly’s irritation melts and she takes a step forward, bringing a hand to my jaw and cradling my face in her hand.
“What’s stopping you?” she asks, candidly.
“I can’t do this.”
Carly swallows, her big blue eyes flecked with sadness. “Why?”
I just shake my head, looking away from her eyes. It’s too much. I can’t explain it all to her, and even if I did, she has that goddamn Mia streak—she wouldn’t believe me. She wouldn’t hear all the evidence of how I can ruin her life simply by caring about her because of my toxic fucking legacy and then agree we should go our separate ways. She would do the stupid thing. The thing Mia did. Try to hang onto me, not understanding the cost.