She felt good. So good, pressed against him, eager for him, wanting him. He wondered if she was wet and moaned into her mouth when her tongue slammed into his. She groaned loudly in answer and pushed her hips into his, begging him. He wanted to take her: hard, right there, slamming against the door, but the whole thing just seemed … wrong?

She kissed him with a desperation that wasn’t sexy. It was needy and panicked.

His hands, wrapped tightly around her waist, moved to her face, where he pushed her back. She panted against his cheek with her eyes closed and her lips still in a full, gorgeous pout.

“Peaches,” he gasped before swallowing. “Shit. Just … wait a second.”

“No,” she replied, burning her gaze into his. “I want you. I want you now”—she licked his throat—“inside me, fucking me, taking me.”

“Fuuuuck,” Carter moaned, rotating his hips against her, pushing his erection against her soft stomach.

“Yes!” She took his bottom lip between her teeth. “I can feel how hard you are, Carter. Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me and that you want it as much as I do.”

“Want it?” Carter growled incredulously. He bent, grabbing the backs of her thighs, and yanked her off her feet so her legs wrapped around his waist, her heat pressing perfectly against his belly button, her flip-flops falling to the floor.

“Peaches, I don’t want it.” He pushed his face into her neck, smelling her peach-scented hair, and bit her skin, making her gasp. He sucked her earlobe. “Jesus Christ.” He lifted his face and placed his nose at the side of hers. “I fucking need it.”

Their lips met again, passionate and raw. My God, Carter had never experienced a need like it. It was all-consuming, heady. It swelled in his body, ready to erupt like a volcano: ready to erupt into her.

Her hands gripped the back of his neck as Carter staggered through his living room, bumping into the back of the couch. He leaned against it for one second while his hands shifted up and under her top, her soft skin against his palms.

Setting off with a grunt while Peaches moved her mouth to his jaw and began nibbling it in the sexiest, most sensual way, Carter moved toward his bedroom, wishing to all fuck that his bed would meet him halfway.

Carter was harder than he’d ever been in his entire life as his knees hit the side of his bed with a dull thump. Peaches lifted her mouth from his and pulled hard on his shoulders, toppling him, and making him fall forward onto the bed, on top of her. The feel of her legs wrapped around Carter’s waist while he ground against her was incredible. He bent her neck back and started kissing, licking, and biting her from her chin to her collarbone and back again. He was suddenly frantic with the need to consume her: every part of her.

There were no words for her taste. No fantasy had come close. “Perfection” seemed insanely inadequate.

He groaned, pushing his hips into her again, hungry for any kind of friction, and watched in awe as her back arched in pleasure. He had to get inside her, had to feel her around him.

Carter lifted onto his forearms and searched her face for any signs of hesitation. If he saw any he’d be devastated, but he had to know that she was sure. He could smell the sweet scent of Amaretto on her breath, which meant she wasn’t as sober as he would have liked, but the way in which she responded to his touch suggested she was as ready as he was.

Their eyes connected and a flash of something heart-wrenching crossed the green of her irises. He pulled back in concern. “Peaches,” he murmured, but her fingers pressed hard against his lips.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t think. Please. I need you to not think and just be with me.” She pulled his face back to hers and smothered his mouth with long kisses that set his bones alight.

Carter tried to listen to his gut, he tried to listen to the sensible part of his brain, but her mouth and hands were far too distracting. Swallowing his conscience with one huge gulp, he gripped the zipper of her top and pulled it down in one fluid movement.

Jesus.

No bra.

“Shit.” He licked his lips and just fucking stared. She was gorgeous; her dark stiff nipples ached to have his lips and tongue around them. “You’re— My God, you’re perfect.”

Before she could reply, Carter’s mouth fell against her right breast, where he hollowed out his cheeks and sucked as hard as he could. Sweet fruits. Her breasts were so perfectly heavy and full in his hands. With a guttural moan, Peaches’ legs wrapped farther around him, and her nails scored the fabric of his T-shirt. She gasped and whimpered into his buzzed hair.

“I need to feel you,” she groaned, pulling at the shirt’s hem. “Please let me feel you against me.”

Without a second’s pause, Carter released her nipple, grabbed the neck of his T-shirt, and yanked it over his head. He crashed back down onto her, grunting at the feel of her bare skin against his.

While he continued to worship her, she released her arms from the confines of her hooded top and—as soon as she was free of it—he grabbed her hands and pushed them above her head, crushing them into the mattress of the bed.

Their tongues met again between their mouths in the open air, twisting and dancing amid soft moans and silent confessions of feelings too big and scary to say aloud. Peaches gripped Carter’s fingers between hers and lifted her head from the bed, urgently seeking from him what Carter was more than willing to give. He wanted to give her everything, anything.

Fuck, he already had. He knew in his heart that she owned him.

“Say it,” she gasped against his cheek when he began licking at her jaw. “Say you want me. I need—I need to hear it. I need to hear it.”

Carter growled into her cleavage. “I want you.” His teeth grazed her sternum. “I’ve always wanted you.”

My whole life.

“Again,” she croaked, her voice trembling. “Tell me this is right. Tell me we’re right.”

Carter, stunned at her words, glanced up.

What he saw knocked every ounce of breath out of him. Her eyes were clenched shut, her face in an almost grimace of pain, and a small shimmer could be seen at the inside corner of her right eye. She was crying.

“Peaches,” he whispered, and lifted his body, terrified that he’d done something wrong, something she didn’t want. “What’s wrong? Did I— Was I too rough?”

Goddammit, he’d tried to be gentle.

She shook her head from side to side, her eyes remaining shut. “You’d never hurt me,” she murmured. “Would you, Carter? I know you’d never hurt me or lie to me. Would you?”

“Never,” he replied, his throat constricting in fear and confusion. “Please look at me.”

She remained quiet, keeping her eyes closed, but the lone tear trickling down her cheek spoke volumes.

“Christ, Katherine,” Carter begged in a voice even he didn’t recognize. “Please talk; you’re scaring the shit out of me.”

At his words, her eyes snapped open. The fire behind them was so fierce, Carter was momentarily dumbstruck.

“What did you call me?”

Carter stared at her, baffled. He shrugged. “I called you Katherine,” he answered in a calm voice. “Why?”

“You never call me that,” she retorted venomously.

“I know, I just … It just came out.”

“Get off me.”

Carter balked. “What?”

“Get. Off. Me!” She wrenched her hands free of his and pushed against him so hard, he landed on his back, bouncing as the bed took his weight.

“What the fuck?”

But she didn’t answer him. Instead, she grabbed for her hoodie, her hands shaking and her face twisted in anger. Carter watched her, helpless.

“Peaches!” she yelled, pulling on her top. “You always, always, always call me Peaches!”

“I know, but—”

“Only my mother calls me Katherine! My mother. Why tonight, huh? Why did you call me Katherine tonight?” She wasn’t even looking at him while she struggled to fasten her zipper. She seemed close to losing her shit completely.