Carter by R.J. Lewis Page A

mattress, still on the floor, with my homework in my lap.
    “Hmm?” he muttered, barely paying attention.
    “I went to the clothing store today.”
    “Cool.”
    I frowned. This was the headache that came with living with a musician. He wasn’t always around mentally, which resulted in this: him ignoring me but pretending to pay attention at the same time.
    “I have hairy armpits,” I proceeded to say, tilting my head as I studied him.
    He grunted again, having not paid one ounce of attention to me.
    “I want to tattoo my face.”
    Nothing.
    “I’m wearing a thong.”
    This time, his head shot up, and he stared at me with wide blue eyes. “Are you really?”
    I couldn’t resist laughing. “Oh, so you heard that ?”
    “I heard everything you said,” he replied, spitting out his pencil and tossing aside his notebook.
    “Oh, yeah? Well then what else did I say, wise guy?”
    He moved forward and slowly crawled to me. Shirtless, did I mention that? He was so fucking hot, I nearly combusted on the spot. He gave me his usual smouldering look that told me what mood he was in, and with his lips pulled up in a smirk, I knew exactly what was on his mind.
    “You said,” he muttered, drawing near, “you went to a clothing store, you have hairy armpits, and you want to tattoo your face.”
    My mouth broke into a massive grin as his arms rested on either side of me. His mouth skirted along mine.
    “Oh,” I mumbled against his lips, “so you choose not to respond to me.”
    In typical Carter fashion, he didn’t respond to that . His eyes simply looked down at my pyjama pants. “Are you seriously wearing a thong?” he asked heatedly, because that was apparently the most important thing right now.
    I bit my lip and nodded, that blush really burning my cheeks now.
    “Fuck,” he cursed with a pained look in his eye. “You’re already so sexy, Leah. But decorating that tight body? You must look like a fucking bombshell under all this baggage of clothes.”
    “So you want to see, I take it.”
    “I want to see and taste, thank you very much.”
    I laughed again and went to pull my pants down, when his hand shot out and stopped me. He shook his head at me and I raised a confused brow at him.
    “No, Angel,” he said, “for me to enjoy the full experience of seeing you in a thong, I need you bent over first.”
    My breath escaped my lungs in a whoosh. “Bent over?”
    He nodded gravely, like this was an extremely serious matter. “Oh, yeah. I want you bent over so I can slowly peel your pants off.”
    Holy fucking shit on a stick.
    He raised his finger and drew a circle in the air. “Around, Leah. All fours.”
    I turned around and felt his hands on my hips, positioning me in front of him. He pressed his hand on my upper back, forcing me down so that my ass was in the air. I was freaking out a little, my nerves and excitement competing for my attention.
    “Are you comfortable?” he asked me, his fingers trailing the hem of my pants.
    “I’d be more comfortable if you just got it done,” I answered.
    He chuckled and started peeling my pants off.
    “Fuuuck,” he slowly cursed behind me, and it sounded like half a groan.
    All that worrying he wouldn’t like it was for nothing. Thank God. I’d bought the thong today while I’d gone shopping with Marlena. She was in some other aisle, thankfully well out of view, and I had five whole bucks I was willing to blow. When I saw the white thongs hanging there among the others, I wondered if Carter would find me sexy with them on.
    I had grabbed them and rushed to the checkout. When they were bought, I shoved them in my purse and met Marlena in the cooking aisle, pretending to give a shit about non-stick frying pans while my thoughts revolved around whether I would look like a squeezed sausage in them, or whether I might actually pull it off.
    I quickly learned they weren’t very comfortable, or I just wasn’t used to them yet. They rode up my ass crack and it felt