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Carol’s birthday came a day after an enormous mass casualty.
Three city buses cashing against each other and derailing in what the news described as the uncoordinated falling of fucking dominoes. 59 victims went through the doors of County’s ER and 45 are still alive to tell the tale.
The next day you got the ER staff falling to their feet, emotionally bruised, looking for any symptom within themselves to claim sickness and leave, no remorse. You got a depressed Carol Hathaway having to spend her thirty-four birthday amongst the worst group of people. You got Doug Ross, teaming up with the nurses to throw Carol a surprise party one week after her birthday.
Clark’s, the nearest bar near the hospital, because they all knew Doc Magoo’s wasn’t going to cut it. They all knew they wanted to get at the very least tipsy and Mark became the designated driver to those who waited all week to get completely hammered.
Carol is currently dancing around with a sash over her that says Birthday Girl while Carter laments the fact that he won’t be able to get drunk tonight due to Lucy— who he’s both, staring daggers at from across the room and admiring, which endlessly amuses Malucci— finding someone to cover her shift and arriving at the bar.
It’s all Lucy’s fault really.
She knows he loses all sort of composure whenever she’s involved. She knows, at some point, he’s going to walk up to her and start a petty, unfounded, and frankly, ridiculous argument. She knows no other person can drive him as crazy as she does. She knows that if he so much as touches a second beer, he’s going to be making an entire fool of himself in front of all his coworkers.
She knows how much he wants to fuck her.
With her tight red long sleeve shirt, the one that cuts mid stomach and has a little too much cleavage for it to be work appropriate, and her way too perfectly fitted jeans that make her ass look sinful to Carter’s eyes.
Lucy continues to immerse herself in conversation with Connie and Malik. To everyone, it appears as if she hasn’t even noticed Carter sitting at the bar. But to him? He knows Lucy knows she’s taunting him by only her presence. He knows that when Lucy found her replacement for tonight, he was in the front and center of her mind, relishing in what was about to happen.
“Stop laughing, Malucci.”
He doesn’t stop. “I’ll stop when you two finally make up your mind about each other.”
Carter averts his gaze from Lucy and squints his eyes at Malucci in what can almost be described as disgust. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
A louder laugh erupts, and before he walks away, he says, “Sure. Act all naive about it. Maybe someone’ll believe you.”
Oh but Carter knows. He just won’t ever give Dave the satisfaction of being right.
So they almost hooked up on the suture room back when she was an MS3, whatever. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter much. It didn’t matter that both of them knew she was lying about not being attracted to him; that Carter got pissed off at the insinuation of it being true anyway.
It doesn’t matter that the number of times they’ve kissed is now four.
The second time, a lapse of judgement and too many tequila shots that had Lucy dragging him to a bar bathroom after they ran into each other, both on dates with other people, and on the other side of Chicago, far away from any prying eyes.
Then, a heavy makeout session that gave Lucy a hickey on the top of her breast and Carter puffy, red, bitten lips. It happened after a particularly hectic shift where they disagreed on everything; from patients, to treatment, to whoever got to have Haleh for assistance in cases where the poor woman didn’t want to be involved. Relentless petty attitudes that had Carter pushing Lucy up against the wall outside of the hospital the minute they both clocked and stepped out.
And finally, two weeks ago, on the rooftop. The day Lucy could finally claim to have started her psych residency and no longer be Carter's student. Perhaps the softest kiss of his life, a coming together that had Carter expecting for it to put an end to all his misery. And then…
Nothing.
Lucy walked around the ER the next day— as the assigned psych intern —completely ignoring Carter and how he was two seconds away from having a psychotic break she’d had to treat. No acknowledgment from the night before, not even a knowing stare thrown at his direction.
Because no, it doesn’t matter that they both know Carter is not the superior moral being he once claimed to be, that he wasn’t above a man wanting to sleep with his student; he was exactly that. It certainly doesn’t matter his hypocrisy has translated to not only being noticeable to them both, but also everybody else. It doesn’t matter that if they finally manage to hook up tonight, Dave Malucci will be six-hundred dollars richer.
What matters is Carter has been craving to see Lucy without any clothes on for two years at this point. It’s that Lucy is expecting Carter to finally put out. To beg her. And he won’t fucking do that.
Call it pride, or ego, or his own stupidity. There is a future reality in which Carter is currently lamenting the fact his past self was so unbelievably stupid that he’s spent less than ideal time between Lucy Knight’s legs. Lamenting that he’s depriving himself from learning what she tastes like. To find out if she’s as sweet as his dreams have claimed she is.
“You were staring,” states Lucy, who has finally slid up to the bar counter, “A mojito, please,” she asks the bartender.
“When am I not?”
She smiles. He feels his heart rate spike up. “True.”
Lucy recounts her adventure convincing a third year resident to cover her shift in exchange for her buying a lot of the good coffee and they both pretend to care about the conversation; acting as if Lucy didn’t lean against the counter with her elbows and gave Carter a painful display of her cleavage her shirt can’t cover.
“Well,” she says while taking a sip of her newly delivered drink, “you know what to do, Carter.”
He forces himself to smirk. “Don’t wait for it.”
“You know I won’t.” And she leaves him, returning to the table of people waiting for her.
Carter catches a glimpse of Malik shaking his head at Lucy before moving his eyes to him and shaking it as well, because he knows.
Because everybody knows. And nobody cares except for him.
Nobody cares that the stupid betting pool expanded itself to psych, peds, and surgery; that even fucking Benton put down twenty dollars on them getting together next month; that Weaver lost two weeks ago and the next day she dropped in front of him a Personal Relationship Disclosure Form from HR while he was drinking coffee first thing in the morning.
He should just learn to live with it. Accept his new reputation as the sleazy doctor who hooked up with a med student—follow Ross’ example and not get the redemption arc of the guy who loves to throw surprise birthday parties for his girlfriend—and he would, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s not technically true.
They haven’t consummated their two years in the making pent up sexual tension.
Yet.
The night passes without a scene of interruption. Many drinks get exchanged between every person there except Carter (and Lucy, but he’s too busy staring at her face to notice). He talks to everybody except her—who seems to have made it her night’s mission to taunt him by not sparing him a glance. Carol gets absolutely trashed and is the person who commemorates the departures of the party whilst being carried away by Dr. Ross. Mark gives him a pat in the back while escorting away most of the nurses and Weaver to his car. Benton even chuckles in his direction before leaving.
He gets distracted saying goodbye to a smirking drunk Chuny when Dave makes his (un)anticipated return. “Watch out for that guy, man.”
“What?”
Dave only laughs in response before leaving him. His apparent specialty that night: making fun of Carter. But it doesn’t matter. At least, nothing has yet warranted it.
Why is he the last one there? Because she hasn’t left. Preferably, she hasn’t left with him.
And so there were t— Three. Apparently there were three.
Sitting in front of Lucy, a man making conversation, making her laugh. Late-twenties, maybe a bit older than Carter; dark suit, no jacket on, an undone tie. He carries a glass of whisky in his left hand, the right one going over to touch Lucy’s strand of hair falling in front of her face and Carter has to dig his nails into the skin of his hand to avoid going over there and doing something stupid.
Carter knows they could leave together, that Lucy would torture him by grabbing this guy’s arm and walk through the doors of the still crowded bar. He also knows she would not get into any cab with him; she would fake an emergency or simply tell him she changed her mind and hope he’s normal about it. Lucy isn’t one for bar’s one night stands.
Still, she would be leaving without him. And well, he can’t have that, can he?
Lucy bites her lip at the stranger, then diverts her gaze to get it fixated on Carter. She might as well just kill him.
They stand up, she grabs her coat and he can see her telling him she has to go to the bathroom then walks away from him.
Fuck.
He knows what he has to do, but it doesn’t mean he’s much too happy to do it.
One could argue they’ve been this little game of theirs for so long, what’s waiting another night? No harm done in still prioritizing their pride, right? They’re both known for that when it comes to the other.
Carter knows a lot of things.
How Lucy only carries blue bullet point pens in her pockets. The way she takes her tea because the caffeine on coffee would quite literally make her explode. That the first Monday of every month she’s five minutes late because she goes to refill her Ritalin prescription up to the third floor.
And Carter knows he’s tired.
Tired of holding back on holding her hand when they’re alone on elevator rides. Tired of knowing they’re both going home to empty apartments. Tired of having to look at the already filled HR form that sits on his desk every morning before heading to the hospital. Tired of waiting for her.
Because Carter knows a lot of things, but maybe the one he’s the most sure about is that he loves her, and throughout the years, he’s come to learn she loves him too.
Perhaps his first official act of love will be to surrender.
He gets up from his seat, muttering a series of excuse-mes to every conversation he’s interrupting while trying to reach the bar’s bathrooms and having to wait until she comes out.
Except, when he arrives in the hallway, she’s already there, leaning against the wall, waiting for him.
Her head turns at his, and the smile reaches her eyes. “Oh, hey!”
There’s no going back. “Please.”
She giggles and a feeling inside his stomach tightens at the sight of her approval that he’ll worry about later, preferably in his bed.
No more words are needed.
“Let’s go,” she says, grabbing his hand and leading him away from the place.
If they can both hear the sudden yell of ‘oh come on!’ coming from the table Lucy was previously sitting at, they pay it no mind. Instead, she pins him up against the wall outside, immediately grabbing his tie and pulling him down for their lips to meet in a forceful bruising kiss.
His arms go around her waist, pulling her closer to him, as if afraid this is all part of his imagination and he’s still inside contemplating whether or not to go look for her. He’s doing all the work when it comes to the position, with Lucy not even bothering to stand on her tiptoes and relieve some of the inevitable pain his neck will suffer tomorrow.
She bites his lower lip and mumbles, “That wasn’t so hard now, wasn’t it?”
Carter groans, throwing his head back and letting it hit the wall, “Shut up, Lucy.”
Lucy moves them to another side of the street where there is a concrete elevation in the sidewalk that allows for her to be the same height as him.
“No, I don’t think I will,” she says, then goes to attack his neck and he lets out a yelp of surprise. She’s at least two hickeys in and has gone over multiples “you were so good for it, John” that make him both reach to grab her ass and create a very noticeable tent in his pants.
She grants him a bit of peace when she finishes decorating his neck and places a soft peck to his lips. “Let’s get out of here. You brought your car?”
He can only hum in response.
The ride back to his apartment is torturous, with Lucy reaching to massage his thigh and even offering to blow him as a way to win a petty argument she started.
“We’re here,” he states, pulling his keys away from the ignition.
“I can see that,” she snorts and undoes her seatbelt. “Now move before I drag your ass to the backseat and ride you.”
She might as well have shot him in the head. His brain goes mush.
Stepping into the elevator inside his apartment complex, the doors barely begin to close before Lucy once again drags him by the tie, only this time she lets him push her up against the rail.
“God, Lucy. I’ve dreamed of this.”
He can tell she’s just as desperate as him by the urgent tone she uses. “Me too.” She pushes her tongue inside his mouth and begins to do wonders with it.
“I can feel how much you’ve dreamed of it too,” she mumbles between kisses, grabs his waist to switch positions, and places her thigh between his legs. He immediately turns into a puddle of nerves, his senses heighting everywhere, and he whines.
“Please.” He grinds himself against her leg, wincing at how sensible he feels.
The doors of the elevator open and thank god, there’s not a poor soul waiting by the doors on the third floor which guards his apartment. Not the old lady that lives three doors down or the family of three that are his next door neighbours.
Between mumbled, rushed kisses, he gets the door open and finally, they can pretend to be embarrassed at their lack of shame in privacy. Lucy is relentless though, and rapidly goes over to his belt.
Lucy, in her purest sense, can never let him have a second of tranquility because she immediately drops to her knees. He hasn’t even dropped the keys in the mantle and she’s on her fucking knees in front of him. The amount of times he’s dreamed of this scenario, the amount of times he’s woken up from it hard as a rock, the amount of times he’s touched his cock and come from it.
But before Carter can thank a god above or the forces of the universe for granting him his wish, Lucy stops her movements and instead drops her hands into her lap. Still on her knees, she leans back, taking a seat in herself and focuses her eyes on his face. She never even got to unbutton his pants.
“Wha—what? Why di—did you stop?” To say he sounds pathetic would be an understatement.
“I changed my mind.”
Both the gods above and the forces of the universe point and laugh at him when now he’s the one dropping to his knees in front of her. It’s almost unconscious how fast he does it too, the bone of his knees feeling a sharp pain by the force of impact; one that’ll definitely leave an ugly bruise.
His hands move to cradle her face and he moons over how puffy her lips look; his thumb flickers at them and pulls him into a trance. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever been lucky enough to see. “Okay,” he whispers, ‘Whatever you want.”
“I want to come tonight,” she demands, running her hands through his hair, making a bigger mess of it and not even bothering to look him in the eye while doing it.
All that pride he was claiming to have not even two hours ago? Out the window. Gone. Non-existent.
“I can make you come,” he nods, leaning in to place soft kisses all over her face, landing on her lips.
This one kiss turns sloppy quickly; Lucy wasting no time, leaving behind Carter’s facade of softness, and pushing her tongue inside his mouth. Unlike all their previous encounters—both of them fighting for dominance just like they did in any other argument—Carter lets Lucy take all the lead, lets her massage her tongue against his, and lets her grab his right hand to place it under her shirt and on top of her breasts and squeeze.
She nibs, sucks, bites and Carter is sure if he were to speak right now, he’d be nothing but a bubblering mess. Something you maybe look and feel pity at, or something to care for.
At last, Lucy pulls away, taking a long line of saliva with her, and having a stare Carter could only describe as hungry—he’s sure he looks the same.
“Get up.”
And up he goes, no further instructions needed. Lucy stands up as well then takes his hand. They head into the rooms on the back corner of the apartment and Carter points out which one is his bedroom. Call it a sort of manifestation but before he left for his shift, he made sure a pair of clean sheets were placed on the bed and he also fucking vacuumed. There’s always a possibility Lucy might come over tonight, he used to tell himself. Tonight he’s basically winning the lottery.
The second the back of his knees hit the bed, she pushes him into it. Quickly, she climbs over his lap and straddles him, grabbing his wrists and pinning them over his head. The sound that escapes from his lips could be considered sinful, a real mix between a growl and a gasp.
He could easily overpower her, he knows this, she knows this too. The tight grip she claims to have, barely scratching the surface of really dominating him. Yet, Carter finds himself, exactly at this moment, literally, under her thumb, and he likes it.
A motion with his head and a parting of his lips that has him silently begging her his deep desire to be kissed. She barely contains her smile of satisfaction and moves over to grant him his wish.
Kissing Lucy is now, easily, his favorite activity in the world, he thinks.
The feeling of losing himself between the warm her mouth provides, letting out the quietest gasps only Lucy can be privy too. The way her tongue dances inside his mouth and is getting to know every corner, getting to know how he truly tastes. How maybe God intended Carter to be kissed. He thinks, if he were actually religious, he’d be tomorrow first thing in the morning in church, giving thanks and meaning it. The power of Lucy’s taste and how it makes him want to believe in bigger things.
Slowly, Lucy begins to rock her hips against him. His pants feel uncomfortably tight and the sweet painful feeling of her pussy grinding on his cock is making him squirm and become dizzy, as if in an unconscious state of pure pleasure. He doesn’t know exactly where he is, only that he doesn’t want to leave anytime soon. And it’s the same for her.
“You feel so good, John.” she gasps.
“Ahh… yes,” he whimpers between all his heavy breathing. “Don’t stop.”
Lucy’s movements don’t become faster but they do intensify. He’s orbiting on cloud nine and there isn’t something that would make him care about anything but this. This is perhaps his moment of no return, the one he will look back on and point. The hot pit on his stomach he will remember.
It was never supposed to happen like this.
See, Carter prides himself in being good in bed. It’s been a good couple years since he’s left a partner unsatisfied, probably since undergrad. He knows where to touch, graze, wander. When to go slower, harder, faster.
Specifically, he takes great pride in knowing how to last in bed. A practiced skill that took him time, effort and a good chunk of embarrassments. Many partners in the past have expressed their gratitude and amazements, and most of the ones who have asked what his secret was, have, well, not been that upset about his methods.
Start thinking about literally anything else; his preferences include lists of random objects that’ll keep him entertained and focused for a while. List of all surgical equipment in the OR, every procedure he got to do that week in the ER, all the patterned suspenders he owns. Just to name a few.
It works. It shows efficient results. It has never once failed him since he perfected it.
He would never doubt himself.
And that’s his fatal flaw.
Call him a romantic but it’s because he loves her that he comes in his fucking pants like he’s sixteen years old at a particularly forceful grind from Lucy. Too focused on the pleasure of finally getting to be with her, he couldn’t start to name procedures in his head.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he lets out a long hoarse moan between kisses then curses at the ache, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Their movements halt. She lifts up her head from his chest and the look Carter receives from her could almost be perceived as pure awe. “Did you just… did you just come?”
Carter is sure his already flushed face turns ten times more red if the brand new feeling of hotness and embarrassment he feels run through his body is anything to go by. Add that to his dishevelled state and he’s positive the word ridiculous couldn’t even begin to describe him.
“I’m sor—” his apology gets muffled by Lucy’s lips on him with an intensity that wasn’t present before. She pulls him upwards so he’s fully straight and sitting on the bed and he immediately wraps his arms around her, confused at the reaction he’s receiving. He gets so lost in it, the uncomfortable wetness between his legs gets forgotten for a second.
Carter pulls away first.
“Wh–what?” He asks her, an apology still sitting on his lips, ready to come out if necessary.
Lucy grins at him, cradling and grazing his face in her hands almost as if it’s something precious. Like she finds him adorable. “That was so hot.”
“It’s hot when I come in my pants?”
“It’s hot when you come in your pants for me.” She clarifies and bites her lip, looking at him like she wants to eat him, and well, you’ll never hear him complain about that. Lucy moves over to his neck, gently gracing her teeth against his pulse point and Carter can detect a twitch down on his soft cock. “You like me that much, John?” She bites him. “You wanna fuck me that bad, baby?”
And he’s dead. Because there’s no way Lucy is basically reciting back his fantasies at him. There’s no way he’s this lucky, therefore he must be dead.
“Mmhm,” he agrees by whimpering for her and rapidly nods his head.
Gently, she grabs his right hand from her waist and removes it. She guides him over to the front of her jeans, lets him unzip them, and places his hand under her underwear.
He wastes no time and wanders between her folds, groaning at the wetness that instantly coats his middle and index fingers. “Luce, you’re so fucking wet.”
Lucy moans in response, biting his cheek. “Yes. All for you, baby.”
Okay, he’ll never be able to be called that without popping one.
“I want to make you feel good,” he involuntarily pleads, the tone escaping him without realizing.
Her hands grip his shoulder and in a second Lucy is now under him. “Yeah? Show me then.”
She pushes his head down her body.
Message received. No need to tell me twice. Whatever you fucking want.
In an instant, because despite having no defense in the lasting department Carter still has moves, her previously dangerous top and jeans are removed and thrown against some corner of his bedroom. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t plan on her putting those back on anytime soon.
The wet spot on the front of her lace pink panties has him burying his whole face between her legs; not expecting it, she closes her thighs, making him groan in pleasure. He’s exactly where he wants to be.
His hands graze the tops of her thighs—the squishy feeling of her soft skin between his fingers—and tenderly removes him from her hold, placing light kisses to her inner thighs along the way that have her impatiently squirming.
He lifts his head completely and grants himself a minute to openly stare at her. He’s been doing this for years, having lost shame for it a long time now, and the familiar beating of his heart reach his ears and brain.
She’s always been a fucking sight for sore eyes but now. Now, she’s so beautiful, Carter is afraid he might be dreaming and will soon wake up.
Whole entire body flushed, her skin glistening with a tender layer of sweat that just makes touching feel a hundred times warmer.
“John,” she whines, lifting her hips up to his face. It snaps him back into place.
“I’m there, I’m there,” he reassures, then removes the last piece of clothing still standing before positioning her legs over his shoulders, caging him.
And at this very moment, about to eat Lucy Knight’s pussy, he is sure he is dead. He’s dead and this is heaven.
Straight in, no hesitation, he delves his tongue inside her, pocketing into his brain her goddamn sweetness, groaning in delight, and getting hard once again. Lucy moans and he moves over to play with her clit. First, flickering his tongue in quick motions that serve to stimulate her before giving room for questions and sucking. After Lucy begins giving him endless praise that isn’t helping him in trying to not come again, he adds a finger to her dripping core, steadily pumping it in and out.
“Oh, John. That feels so—fuck!” She praises, before demanding, in the quietest of tones, “More.”
In need to draw out of her the dirtiest of noises, he adds a second finger and reattaches his tongue to be inside of her, stretching her open and getting her ready. Carter can feel Lucy’s hand hovering around his head and he retreats, making her whine, but beginning to pick up on the pace of his fingers.
“Pull my hair,” he says, with a desperate look on his face, not even bothering to sound like pleading.
Lucy, dazed and out of focus. “What?”
He grabs her wrists, forcefully guiding them to his messy head of hair. “Pull my fucking hair, Lucy, please.”
At some point during him eating her for dinner, Lucy unhooked her bra, letting her breasts fall at their sides. She grabs Carter’s left hand—the one rubbing circles on her stomach plus keeping her in place, and lifts it over to cup and play with her nipples, rubbing them, pinching them. He moans into her pussy, the vibrations making her pull at his hair harder, which in turn makes him moan again. It’s an endless circle with pleasure.
He’s half tempted to lift his head and suck a nipple into his mouth to make her squirm and clench around his fingers, but he’s a man on a mission and his tongue is doing hard, honest work at the moment. He returns to focus it on her swelled clit, begging for his attention.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” she whines, grabbing a fistful of hair and keeping him there.
Carter is barely breathing and the sense of asphyxiation makes his cock twitch in an interesting way. In response, he adds a third finger and hollows his cheeks, sucking hard on her clit. The change pushes Lucy over the edge, making her pussy clench around his fingers, arching her back, and letting out loud, unashamed cries.
He removes his fingers, not before cleaning her over with his tongue, which makes her squirm from the stimulation and tries to push him away whilst also chasing him. He finishes and then pops his fingers into his mouth, making sure nothing as sweet as Lucy could ever go to waste.
Lucy, blissed out and with a smile on her face, reaches out her hands at him. He crawls over her, gives her no time to breathe and passionately kisses her, making her taste herself in his tongue. They both moan in unison at the exchange.
“Was that good?” He mumbles between her tongue in his mouth.
She laughs. “You did amazing, baby. I’m so proud.”
And fuck her, she’s an evil woman. Fuck her and her psych knowledge. Fuck her and her receptiveness on knowing how much he craves praise and attention. Her praise and attention.
“You deserve a reward.” She begins helping him remove all the clothes he hadn’t had a chance to be released from—his suspenders, his shirt, his pants— then switches their position once again, crawling into his lap, and moving them backwards a bit. “I’m gonna ride you, baby.”
“Yes, please.” He grabs a handful of her ass and throws his head back, thumping it against the headboard.
Before anything happens, he feels quick pecks go all over his face and his heart swells in his chest. It puts them for the first time this night on real loving ground, not just the desperate animalistic one. It culminates on one last true, searing, deep kiss; it’s the exchange of a million words.
While distracting him with her mouth, she manages to recover a condom from his nightstand and puts it on him. She aligns herself over his cock then, slowly, inch by inch, sinks completely into it. His hands instinctively settle on her waist and his voice emits a particularly loud groan. Thank god for the thickness of his apartment walls.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just… shit, Luce, you feel amazing.” Warmth and tightness engulfs him. A pressure in the pit of his stomach makes its appearance and Carter focuses his attention back to Lucy. She leaned back, hands holding onto his legs, mouth open and evening her breath.
They stay like that for a minute, enjoying the closeness. The most physically intimate position they’ve ever encountered themselves in. He reaches for her head, an all-consuming need to feel his mouth against hers.
Carter has learned, over the course of two torturous years, that Lucy has different styles when it comes to kissing. Exploratory, desperate, aroused, etcetera. But there’s also loving. He gets to experience being loved and to love. He gets to know how that feels like when kissing Lucy.
Perhaps Lucy can sense how his heart settles into the comfortable space that is her hands, but she begins to move, opting for a slow and steady rhythm. Carter’s grip on her waist serves as a guiding force, but it’s Lucy the one in complete control, so she takes his wrists before pinning them upwards, picking up the pace of her hips.
Perfectly coordinated circles over him. He’s two seconds away from committing a mistake but his recently discovered weapon can strike again.
“Lucy, please,” he tries to convey his resignation through his eyes, “let go of my wrists."
She relents, too focused on both their pleasures. Immediately, Carter goes over to her clit and gives it a quick pinch, which makes her spasm and start moaning high-pitched. “John, baby, do that again. Make me fall apart, John.”
He repeats it, focusing after completely on her, not letting her rest for even a second.
Lucy retires her focused pace, instead, she lets herself go completely free, chasing her own pleasure in the form of rocking wildly into his lap and bouncing on his cock. She’s reaching close to her orgasm; consequently, Carter tells that hot pit in the bottom of his stomach to go searching.
In between all her grinds, she settles her head on his shoulder and asks, “You know I love you, right?”
And that does it. Carter tumbles over his climax and wraps both arms around her, forming a grip, and desperately pounding into her. Lucy follows shortly behind, crying out his name and biting on his neck hard.
It takes a while for both of them to regain their breaths. He pulls away only for a second, only to start kissing her chest, her neck, her face, ending on her lips.
“I love you so much,” he mumbles between kisses, “I love you so much it consumes me. It might kill me one day, Luce, I’m warning you.”
Lucy grins at him, abandoning her previous attitude, now in total awareness of both of them being equally vulnerable. “I know,” she laughs.
They untangle and clean themselves before returning to bed, both of them completely spent and deliriously happy.
This is technically the first time Lucy will be staying in his apartment, yet it doesn’t feel any sort of unfamiliar. She was always supposed to be here with him.