The Carrero Solution (Carrero Book 3)

Hormones kick in, and I lose control; arms sliding around his neck fully, I yank him down on top of me; forcefully. I want to wrap every inch of him around me, within me, devour him with a need so overwhelming that I’m going to self-implode. All those pent-up desires unleashed; hormones and heartbreak; anger and lust; I’ve been denied, love-starved for agonizing weeks; and they come crashing down with a passion that has me yanking his tie off, ripping open his shirt buttons aggressively like a crazed wild cat. Jake pulls away, a hand coming to my wrist, stopping the snaking motion of my nails running down his exposed torso.

“Emma, slow down,” he pants, trying to untangle me, but I only dive back in, sucking his lower lip into my mouth and biting him, deprived for too long and turning feral with need. My inner body is combusting with fiery heat, and my lower body is aching with a pang of hunger so intense I want to scream. He automatically releases my wrist and moves down over my breast through the sheer satin of my dress, soaring heat from the sensitivity of it. He moves back into this, losing himself in the lust for a moment, deepening the kiss, his hardness against my pelvis. He wants me just as much as I want him, but he pulls away fast with no warning, lifting his hands up in defense.

“Okay, this stops.” He kneels back and lifts me up under the arms, pulling me into a sitting position, before releasing me, standing back on the floor, expression wild and heaving in air. “I’m trying so hard to be good, Emma … I can’t if you keep doing that.” He takes several deep breaths trying to calm his body down. He’s completely irresistible like this, standing there with an open shirt and raging hormones cloud any rational thought. His muscles and tanned skin are on show, with ruffled hair, kiss swollen lips, and lust-fueled hazy eyes trying to control his own emotions.

“Maybe I don’t want good Jake. Maybe I want normal Jake.” I pout angrily. My inner core almost twisting itself into a frenzy of horniness just looking at him.

I want authoritative, no-nonsense Casanova Jake. I need him. I need this. I need sex. I’m so crazy for him right now.

“Emma, please. I told you I won’t touch you or do anything until you’re ready.” His tense body turns me on, and I bite my lip, fixated on his muscles moving under the form-fitting shirt, exposed toned abdomen, and tailored pants. A sex-crazed haze comes over me fiercely.

Throwing all thoughts except sex out the window, I stand up and yank his shirt out at the waist. I slide my hands under the hem of the smooth fabric and up the sculptured muscles across his abdomen, reveling in the feel of the body I missed so much. I bite my lip and focus all on the body in front of me. A body built to make women go completely weak at the knees and their panties self-combust. He groans and slumps toward me slightly, tensing at my touch, making me feel empowered.

“You know how much restraint I’m exercising right now?” His low husky voice and shallow breathing confirm it. I can feel the energy pulsing from him, making me feel desirable, knowing he’s fighting the lust driving through him, knowing I could break his will with a mere touch. Knowing I have this much control over him only drives my need to have him joined to me even more.

I reach up on tiptoes, kiss his neck, nibble, and lick the skin I have been denied, as he stiffens in response. The tension is oozing from him, yet he doesn’t move out of my grasp or move to touch me. My hand slowly traces the soft, hard muscles down his chest, across his sculpted stomach, around past his hips, and finally over his ass.

Every stroke makes the burning ache inside me notch up until I’m almost melting from within for him. I reach down, grabbing his hand, not satisfied with his self-control, pulling him into me, almost groaning at the look in his eyes as we come nose to nose. He may not be initiating anything, but he isn’t stopping me from doing it. He’s just as weak as I am, and no matter how much willpower he’s trying to dredge up, it’s failing him.

Jake has many levels of lust. I’ve seen them all, from flirty starts to complete lust-driven sex, and right now, this look crowns them all. His pupils almost take over the green of his eyes, his face set in complete longing, and his mouth ready to kiss. I maneuver his hand under my dress to my waiting lace underwear and let go of him as it touches the flimsy fabric. I bite my lip and use his wrist to turn his hand to cup me fully and groan as the mere touch ignites sensations that can consume me. We both groan at the contact as his hand flexes slightly, and he fully connects to me. Neither of us looks away, eyes intensely locked.

“Emma. Don’t,” he whispers so softly it almost makes me break. I shake my head and lean up, brushing my lips across his, and he bends down further to accommodate me, kissing me softly and enjoying me. He’s savoring me while his hand stays between my thighs, gently cupping my heat, making me throb with the mere touch. His thumb travels slowly to the front of me, hitting the exact spot I need him to be at, and he gently moves slightly. A sign of his weakening resolve.

God, I missed the way he kisses me, so badly. I forgot how he felt down there, how his touch could rip me apart so easily.

I glimpse the shadow of her inside my head moving into view, and I push it away. I won’t let her keep taking him from me. I need him too much. I’m not ready to completely forgive and forget, but I desperately want to start moving on to stop the overemotional angst of the last couple of weeks.

He’s mine, she can’t have him, and she has absolutely no chance of getting near him if I have any say.

He pulls back suddenly, his face a picture of confusion and agony, and rests his forehead against mine, sighing heavily. He removes his hand, much to my complete disappointment, and runs fingertips across my lips; his eyes filled with conflicting thoughts and regret.

“Who’s the over-thinker now?” I smirk, the tension still sparking between us. He smiles softly and runs fingers from his other hand lightly across my abdomen before looking back up at me, a sliver of emotion flickering through my stomach where his mind is. It quiets my combustion a little.

“I want you,… Badly. I just can’t … Not this way. You’re not yourself right now, baby. It wouldn’t be right.” He kisses me on the temple, pulls me with him to the bed, and sits me down like a child. His whole manner has returned to the gentle Jake of the last few weeks and the soft, caring mellow mood he’s been in.

I’m not ready to back down yet. I know him too well. He’s trying to be the good guy, probably worried I’m too fragile. Or that he’ll hurt the baby, that maybe I’m doing this because I’m crazy horny with hormones, or that it will mess us up even more.

Maybe I am.

Maybe it will. I’m so confused about so many things, but not this. I know what I need. I need assertive, confident lover, Jake, who dominates me. He’s the missing piece of this puzzle. The anger and frustration that snaps out of me are a direct result of missing him so badly that I can’t function. I need the intimacy back, above everything else, the kissing, touching, and yes, even the sex to feel whole again. I need to be owned by him fully to feel like I can move on again.

I watch him resist, but he wants me. It’s singing out from every pore of his body. I know he has very little will when it comes to me. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck as he leans in to go for another soft kiss, catching him by surprise, and he tumbles on top of me gloriously.

“Fuck’s sake, Emma!” He snaps in sparking anger, rolling off me onto the bed with a furious glare and jumps up onto his feet like a panther. “I could’ve hurt you or the baby.” His lust replaced with sheer annoyance. I instantly bristle and scowl at him, spurned on by his overreaction and the rejection of what I really need.

“Is this what I have to endure for eight months? Being treated like fine china and pandered to? Regardless of my behavior?!” I snap, frustration turning me into that crazy monster he once denied an orgasm to in his mother’s gardens, my good old trusty anger bouncing up out of nowhere to devour me again.

“Yes!” His retort is nowhere near as anger-fueled, but it still pisses me off majorly.