Dynasty (Boys of Winter 1)

I’m really not alone in this.

I push up onto my toes and gently brush my lips over his. “Thank you,” I whisper as the heated steam from the shower fogs around us. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

“Trust me,” he says, holding me impossibly closer, not letting me pull my lips away from his. “I did.” And just like that, he kisses me deeper, momentarily making me forget the turmoil that clouds my mind.

CHAPTER 24

Cruz’s arm wraps around my body, holding me close as he silently sleeps behind me, his body glued to mine as though the thought of being away from me physically pains him.

It’s just after one in the morning and I’ve been struggling to find sleep, so when I hear the soft thud of the door directly across the hallway, I find myself slipping out from under Cruz’s arm and wandering out into the hallway.

I silently grab the door handle of Carver’s bedroom and push it open to find him pacing his room, stripping out of his clothes. He spies me the second I walk in and ignores me as he steps through to his ginormous closet. He drops his jeans before finding a pair of sweatpants and walking straight back out of the closet, turning off the light as he goes.

He eyes me as he walks through his room, his stare boring into mine as he steps right up in front of me. “What is this?” he asks, his hand falling to my waist. “I know you’re fucking King, and you just spent the night in Cruz’s arms. Now you think you can come and sleep in mine?”

I raise my chin and meet his stare, wanting more than ever to be honest with him. “I’m not even going to pretend that I know what’s going on with Cruz and King because when it comes down to it, I can’t even figure myself out, let alone them.”

“And me?”

“You keep the monsters away,” I murmur, giving it to him straight. “When I know you’re there, I can close my eyes. I can’t do that with anyone else, not even myself.”

Carver studies me for a moment before finally nodding and dropping his hand to mine. He leads me across his room and peels back the blankets. Within seconds, I’m curling into his chest, my leg hitching up over his hip and his hand falling to my thigh to pull me closer.

My heart begins to race. Carver and I have always had a strict big spoon/little spoon relationship. I’ve never curled into him like this, and I sure as hell haven’t been concerned about jumping his bones behind closed doors. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve definitely thought about what Carver would be like between the sheets, but the opportunity has never quite presented itself like this before. When I’m in his bed, it’s about finding peace, about having his comfort, and keeping the monsters of my dreams at bay.

But the way he holds me, the way his thumb roams back and forth over my thigh, the way my body presses against his, something is changing—something big, and I don’t know if I’m capable of resisting him any longer.

My hand falls to his chest, feeling the strong muscles and rapid beat of his heart beneath, and as I raise my chin, looking up to meet his eyes, his lips come down on mine with the sweetest, fragile kiss known to man. I sink into him, never realizing just how badly I’ve been craving his touch.

His lips move over mine like a tortured dance, both of us trying to work out exactly what this means as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, instantly claiming me as his own. He grabs my body, pulling me up over him until I’m straddling his hips and can feel him hardening beneath me.

His hand claims my ass, squeezing it and shifting me on top of him so that my aching, needy pussy grinds against his delicious cock. I groan into his mouth, needing him so desperately, and press my body harder against his.

Our lips fight for dominance but he doesn’t dare let up, curling his hand around the back of my neck and gripping my hair. He pulls me back, and our eyes meet for just a brief, tension-filled second before he draws me back in and picks up exactly where we left off, silently letting me know exactly who’s the boss. Spoiler alert—it’s not me.

My hand slips down his body, feeling the tight ridges of his abs and soaking in the warmth of his skin, but as my hand continues down, he captures it in his own, holding it tightly between his strong fingers. “Stop,” he grunts, an air of authority in his tone.

Rejection slams through me and I find myself pulling back even more, unable to look away from his heated, intense stare. “What? Did I—”