The Carrero Effect Trilogy

Chapter 37B

I follow suit and yank at his shirt, experiencing the overwhelming satisfaction of ripping cloth and buttons popping off, revealing his toned physique and tanned skin. He grins against my mouth mid-kiss, and I almost spasm with pleasure. I've never felt desired this way and welcome it openly.

How can one man be so sensual with so little effort?

His hands come up and cradle the sides of my face, stroking my jawline, trying to calm the pace, before he pulls my hands up beside my head and holds them down. There's an urgency to it, but I squirm under him, pushing against him hard, trying to ignite full-on sex.

"Slow down, Emma," he breathes against my face.

No, no, no. Don't stop, don't let me slow down, and let my mind take over. Don't let me start thinking this through.

If I let the memories and doubts creep in, I won't let go. I won't let this happen.

I need this to happen.

He slightly shifts his position on me, pushing firmly between my thighs, and I know he will not stop. He's turned on too, majorly so, and even with my inexperience, I can feel his full hardness against my pelvis, his dick straining against his pants.

My cheeks flush with the knowledge and embarrassment at the evidence, my innocence and naivety showing. My fingers wriggle free to roam over his body and arms hungrily in response, trying to feel out every forbidden part of him. He's teasing my mouth, kissing and nibbling my lips, driving me insane with need; I can almost feel my body building to self-implode, yet he's still trying to slow the pace.

No! I want him to lose control in the way I am. I want the passion and the hunger, the fast clothes-ripping and heated motion of seconds ago.

I groan and pull him down on top of me, trying to make that clear, forcing the inner voices away in a surge of stubborn passion. The intensity of this burning longing overpowers me as he goes for my throat, kissing and trailing his warm breath across my skin, goosebumps forming while I writhe and squirm under him in desperation. He pulls what is left of my skirt free and casually tosses it aside, confident in what he's doing, a sign of his 'sexpertease' and experience. His hands are on the lace of my panties, and I mentally thank Donna for her love of buying me sexy black lingerie.

Or not …

Now that he's just ripped it off, the thin lace disintegrates under strong fingers. I squeak in surprise. He smiles again, this time against my throat, his teeth pressed against me, his stubble gently scraping my delicate skin with the movement of his face. It makes me arch under him as I moan out.

I love how that feels, how he feels. He's teasing me; he knows how to drag this out so that I'm begging for more, and it's all new to me. If only he knew how big a deal this is. Sex is easy for him, and he has no idea how broken I am inside. Even getting this far is a massive leap for me, and I'm letting go for him.

He lifts his body to one side and shrugs out of his shirt; I can't help but lock eyes with him, caught in his steady gaze, with no hesitation. His pupils are dilated with a look of sheer lust, and he's still as seductive as the first time I ever laid eyes on him. No niggling doubts anymore. I don't care if he fires me after this. I want this more than I want my job.

I yank at the button of his pants, impatient to feel him inside me to quell this craving, but he stills my hand. He moves down my body, trailing kisses across my naked stomach and lower down to my …

Oh, fuck!

I writhe back into an arch as his mouth connects with my core, and I cry out. I grasp at the floor. I hadn't expected that at all. He probes with his tongue, and I moan loudly, unraveling. I've never felt anything like this, and I'm so close to the edge of a precipice that it's terrifying. No one's ever kissed me down there. It's warm and engulfing, sensations so purely divine that I roll my eyes back in my head and lose control of my limbs. I writhe beneath his attention, hot waves building inside of me. I'm trying to hold still, but I'm squirming, moving, and arching. I grab his shoulders, trying to haul him up, scared that the sensations will overpower me; I want more than his mouth. But he pins my hands down at my sides, holding me in place.

He continues his erotic assault, and I can't take it. I can't let go; I can't release like this. This sensation … I've never orgasmed before, but I know this is what is building inside me, and the growing tension is terrifying, like a tidal wave from my toes. I have heard enough about what orgasms are to figure out this is what's happening.

No. No, no … Yes … No!

"Let go, Emma," he coaxes me, but I can't. I'm trying … I'm trying, but my head's spiraling with confusion.

What happens if I let it happen? What happens if I let him push me over the edge?

I don't want to fall; I don't want to reach that pinnacle and drop-down free falling. I like control. I need control. I don't want this to end because I'm scared of what happens next. It's too much. It's terrifying. I don't know what's on the other side.

He shifts over me, bringing my hands above my head in a swift change, pinning them down. His eyes are heavy with longing, his mouth parted, and he is breathing hard. I want him so badly it physically hurts.

"Fine, have it your way." He raises his eyebrows sardonically. Was that a threat?

He's at my mouth again, kissing me hard, and I can taste myself on him. I know it should repulse me, but it doesn't because it's his mouth, and what it just did to me was mind-blowing. He is on me once more, feeding a fire inside, taking my mind, and pushing all sense away. He pushes the remainder of his clothes down with one hand while the other cups my face, keeping my eyes on his.

Oh god, he's naked.

He presses against me, and his manhood is … Oh god.

I groan at the contact. I lurch back against the floor in ecstasy at the touch of warm skin against mine, the smooth caress over my most sensitive parts, the sensation overwhelming. I'm so responsive to his body. It's taking me like I'm a virginal teen with zero experience.

I hear a rip of foil, a condom packet; I guess he keeps them handy. He moves away for a moment, then back quickly, and in one slow, easing movement, he slides inside me, softly, gently pushing in, as I exhale with pleasure and grip his shoulders. It overwhelms me as I'm stretched and filled in sheer ecstasy. I gasp and grab his upper arms, grinding into him, hungering for more. The feeling is unlike any sex I have ever had before, and I'm overtaken with insanity for him. He moves slowly, bracing himself over me on his muscular arms, caging me in as I grab and pull him down. The motion sends extreme waves of pleasure and aches through me.

Jake starts to find his rhythm. His mouth is next to my ear, and he is breathing heavily as he experiences insane pleasure. It's too much that builds up inside me again as he's thrusting slowly and surely, his lips on my neck. He shifts to pin my hands down again so his torso presses against my body possessively.

It's actually happening. Jake's making love to me. We're having sex!

Slow and sensual, then building into a faster, harder frenzy with a rhythmic stroke. He knows exactly what he's doing and is barely breaking a sweat while I claw, grip, and try to hold myself together from the rippling waves trying to unravel me. I'm full of him, stretched to capacity and yearning. I'm climbing higher and higher while my body heats, trembles, and tingles crawl up my skin.

Oh my god, oh my god.

It's all I can chant, not sure if it's internal or out loud, as the lapping waves of extreme pleasure wash over me with every thrust. I'm moaning and groaning, oblivious to my own sounds, and caught in the best moment of my life.

It feels beyond good. It feels like everything I ever wanted it to feel like and could only imagine it would be. The heaviness of that reality slaps me in the face so suddenly, like an ice bucket of water, that I start trying to fight for control against the waves running through me as fear begins to seep in ever so coldly.

What are we doing? We shouldn't be doing this. We can't.

I struggle with my mind, my biggest nemesis, unaware that my body responds to the doubts pushing to the forefront and pulling away from him. Reality claws at me like a ravaged animal, forcing my mind back to attention. Terror takes hold, and I know I'm losing the battle with myself.

"Stop overthinking, Emma," he grunts into my ear hoarsely. His breath runs over my throat; he kisses my naked shoulder, biting and nipping. I turn my face to his and breathe him in, nuzzling his hair and trying to get back to the lost abandon of moments ago, to get immersed in how good this feels. How good he feels. Desperate to join him again.

He changes his angle and thrusts harder. I moan and arch against him as a spasm of pleasure courses through me unexpectedly. I can't hold on for much longer. He's managed to pull me back so effortlessly, and I pant through a cry. I've never had sex like this. I've never felt this kind of all-embodying sensation. It's terrifying yet amazing.

What about when he stops? What happens to me once I'm done being ravaged by my boss?

The tears sting my eyes unexpectedly, and I try to bite them back, emotional, stupid thoughts kicking in to remind me what Jake is like with sex.

What about Marissa? What does she mean to him?

I grasp his shoulders, turning my face away, afraid he'll sense the fear and doubt. Overwhelmed again, I'm fighting the building tension within my body as it nears a greater height. I'm still clinging to him, pushing against him despite my emotional turmoil, which only confuses me more. My body wants something my brain does not; I can only move in motion with his thrusts, groaning and clawing to make him push harder. Submissive to what he's doing.

I'm so confused.

"Stop it, Emma," he pleads. He grabs my chin in one hand and forces me back toward his assault of kisses.

Stop what?

I'm doing what he's making me do, my body moving in time to his, held captive by his mouth and hands. Climbing again, only so intensely that I know I will rip apart. I don't know how to react, how to stop it. I don't want to stop it. But I have to. I'm scared that it'll overwhelm me. Marissa is invading my mind. What we're doing … doubt searing through me. It's too much; it's too intense, writhing under him, trying to keep control, but he grabs my wrists roughly as I try to recoil, holding them down to the floor while making my senses reel back to him. He stops fucking me.

"I'll stop, Emma. Do you want me to stop?" His tone is serious and dark, but his eyes are wary and begging me. He drags my focus back in from all the messy overthinking and pushing in, and I shake my head. I don't want to face the after; it can't stop. I don't want him to stop.

"Don't," I pant, scared of the intensity in his look, of how overcome with lust he is and how desirable he is to me. He visibly relaxes and starts moving hard and fast inside me as though he knows I may change my mind, pulling my thighs up for leverage and holding me more firmly with every thrust. His desire drowns out sense, and Jake goes for it.

His kiss is my savior from myself, while he pounds me like he just can't stop. Every part of him is against me, his mouth on mine again, and I'm lost as his tongue caresses my own. I relinquish all control. That last piece of him entwined with me, drowning out the last of the voices in my head.

It sends me off the edge, and I erupt so suddenly; I can't even prepare as it's like nothing I've ever experienced. I cry out, screaming his name, digging my nails into his shoulder blades while spasms explode inside and out, causing a million sensations to ignite at once. My brain spins and jerks in ecstasy. It's devastating. It's amazing. And overwhelming, all at once, as my thighs clench around his waist forcefully. He thrusts hard into me once more, heightening my completion, causing another volcano eruption of stars which have me spiraling out of control, up and over the crashing waves, free-falling, crying out and clutching for dear life as he holds me.

Spent as soon as the shudders recede, Jake stills within me, falling on top of me, panting as much as I am, so I guess he found his climax inside of me while I was mid-orgasm.

"Emma, merda," he breathes and groans into my neck, lying heavily over me after his cumming. I lay sated and breathless as the world slows around me and my senses start to calm. My body is tingling, and I'm exhausted, suddenly emotional, and all too aware as sense loses its lust fog. Self-consciousness rolls over me, and I suddenly see what we just did, which shakes me before kicking me in the gut with a rude awakening.

I'm semi-naked and entwined with him on the floor of our suite. This is more than an 'oh shit' moment. That's a massive understatement. This is more of an 'I've lost my fucking mind' moment.

I shrug out from under him, instantly mortified, cold, terrified, ashamed, and unsure. He rolls away reluctantly, kicking his pants and underwear from around his ankles. I start to tremble as this hits me properly, and I scan his naked body in a panic.

What have we done?

My face starts burning, and my legs turn to Jell-O. I can't breathe as anxiety tears my mind open. My body is still basking in the aftereffects, yet regret is also swooping in. I try to get away quickly, but he hauls me back against his naked body, and I stiffen all over.

"Emma, don't," he warns with an unreadable tone.

"Don't what?" I sound small and terrified, and I hate that voice; it's betraying the overwhelming hysteria growing up inside me like a tornado about to engulf my entire world.

"Don't close that door, not after this." He stretches out beside me on the floor, voice low and raw, but I want to die with shame at what I have allowed him to do with me. I'm no better than all the whores he beds.

I can't. I can't do this. What the hell have I done? I've just destroyed my relationship with Jake and my entire career in one fell swoop. I've just opened Pandora's box on a whole host of chaos I can't deal with.

My mind is running a hundred miles an hour. I'm seeing everything we are and I've worked for crumbling away to dust. He can do casual sex and brush off stuff like this, but me? He's ruined me for anyone else ever!!! I've just wholly surrendered what was left of my heart to the one man who would never want it, and I can't go back.

"We've crossed the line, Jake: we can't go back from this." There are tears in my eyes because I know this changes everything. He swears under his breath and rolls back over me, leaning in while trying to bring me back to him, but I resist. His eyes search my face trying to gain contact, caging me in with his muscular arms, but my walls rise.

"Emma, don't do this. It's sex; don't overthink it." His words are like a slap in the face.

This is the problem right here!

This was just another meaningless screw to him, another faceless woman. But it wasn't. It was me, Emma! And now everything is destroyed, and I'll never go back.

"I'm not you!" I spit angrily. I shove his chest hard, the emotions bubbling up, ready to burst forth, that inner self-doubt and fear flooding through. "I can't just have sex then shrug it off meaninglessly."

Why did he have to say it like that? Like this is nothing. This is why I should have never let it get this far.

"You think that's what I'm going to do?" he says with instant hurt, then anger. His arms tense over me, keeping us apart to glare eye to eye, his face a picture of rage and betrayal, but I am so far gone in my own mind.

"Maybe I should ask Marissa!" I snap at him, close to breaking down. Jealousy rips through me saying her name, heart wrenching pain hits me hard, and my eyes smart with the instant need to cry.

Is that what he does? Screws and then forgets it? Is this who he is?

I know that's who he is; I've seen it a million times. Why am I shocked at this?

"Fuuuck … Emma," he groans, dropping his face into his hand and rolling onto his back away from me. It sounds like he's asking God for strength as he pushes up and moves away entirely, jumping to his feet and stalking off toward the bathroom to deal with the condom. I turn away; I don't want to see him naked. Not now, not ever again.

The beginnings of a panic attack overwhelm me. I leap up, fully submerged in emotional madness and regret, and run to my room. I slam the door, lock it behind me, and brace myself against it, panting, unable to reel in the chaos inside me.

I let him kiss me. I allowed him to have sex with me. I let him touch me in places with his mouth no one ever has. How can I go back to normal after this? How can I rewind and delete what happened? It's monumental. It changes everything between us, how I feel about him.

He pounds the door behind me a minute later, causing me to jump and hold the handle tightly. My heart races in sudden fear. I just can't face him.

"Emma, open the fucking door." He sounds livid.

"No." If I do, I'll break, and I can't break; I must stay strong. I need to distance ourselves until I can grasp what we've done.

"You're being childish; we need to talk about this." He's enraged, and it just closes me down more.

"Why?" I spit. So he can inform me that it's casual sex and I'm making a mountain out of a molehill.

Is this the chat he has with every woman he fucks?

"For God's sake, this is the fucking problem with you, Emma. You're like a fucking swing door." He raps the wood with a slap, and I jump, still clinging to the handle.

What the hell does that mean? He's the one with the crazy moods and bad temper.

I glare at the door and flinch away when he pounds on it again. My body is a trembling bag of nerves at his reaction.

Seriously, Jake!

"Open the door, or I'll fucking kick it in." He is beyond mad and sounds terrifying. I'm scared; I've never known him this insane. Jake has never intimidated me in this way, except maybe the night he beat Ray, but now I'm shaking so badly I think I may throw up or pass out. I believe he will kick the door in; he's strong enough. And angry enough. It makes me pale. Memories of a thousand mad men flit through my brain as my blood runs cold, and I shrink back.

"Jake, you're frightening me," I cry out desperately, my voice overtaken with emotion, tears stinging my eyes. My body trembles as I revert to teen Emma. He seems to still for a long, drawn-out pause.

"Open the door. Please." He switches to talking through gritted teeth, lowering his voice as though he's trying to quell his temper and soften, but he's still pissed.

The shrill tone of our room door buzzer goes off, and he curses, only quieter, as though he's turned his face away from my door.

Go away, Jake.

I silently pray.

"Emma, open the door for the love of God." His voice is calmer yet still booming through at me.

"Someone's at the door, Jake."

Go answer it and leave me alone to freak out. Leave me to calm down and stop shaking like a leaf.

I'm trying to sound cold and cool, but I'm petrified.

"I don't give a fuck; now open the door. Why are you hiding?" He's exasperated and hurt.

Why am I hiding? Because I'm scared. The overwhelming realization of what I've just done is drowning me. Jake's anger and aggression are scaring me. I'm suffocating, and I can't think straight. I can't look at him; how could I? I've just seen every part of him naked and let him do intimate things to me. Pleasurable things!

For the first time in my life, they didn't feel wrong. Yet I'm experiencing the most guilt and shame I've ever felt. My head feels like it will self-implode and take my body with it. It's too much.

The buzzer goes again, only longer and more repetitive; someone is making it clear they have no intention of going away. Whoever is out there is persistent; he knows they will not just leave. He thumps the door once more, making me jerk, as he storms out, cursing.

Now that I know he's gone, I run to grab a robe. I'm vibrating all over, and I know it's not just from fear. My body is still reeling from what he did to me, the overwhelming climax that rocked my entire world.

I pull off the remains of my clothes until I'm fully naked, shrouding myself in the plush bathrobe, hoping to feel more secure and a slight easing of this crazy cold fear.

There are voices in the living room. I can't make them out, but one is Jake, and the other sounds like it might be female.

Who's he talking to?

My curiosity calms me as nosiness becomes the overriding emotion, pulling me out of my head. Knowing he's with a woman out there, my suspicions are aroused, and a little green-eyed monster pushes herself out. At least it means he's leaving me alone, and for that, I'm grateful, but I need to calm down and pull myself together. I need to get my emotions in check. I've no idea what I will do; I need to think, work out my next course of action, and put it all back in the little black box.

I still hear the voices; they're raised now, and I hold still. I strain to hear, but I'm scared to get too close to the door. I don't know how to navigate this. I don't know how to fix what I've done.

What happens now? I don't want to be another one of his playmates that he picks up and drops on a whim. How could that work when I'm with him all of the time? I pale at the sudden realization.

He won't want me around anymore if I'm just another fuckbuddy; he never keeps them around. He doesn't date anyone beyond a month at most and never goes back to dating someone he's seen before. Very rarely, anyway. It's not his style to backtrack. We can't work together if this is what we do. He'll replace me. Fire me.

I'm not sure I want to do that again; I feel dirty and ashamed for letting this happen. I did what every other female on the planet does. I fell at the feet of Jake Carrero and gave him all of me. I am no better than any other woman he has ever had sex with.

No, in fact, I am worse!

I am a broken, emotionally messed-up woman who turns every little act into a huge brain-fuck and overthinks every tiny detail. I am a woman who let herself fall for him, despite knowing what he is.

Why would he want to deal with all the mess that I am?

The voices in the room have moved away, and I realize they're more muffled than they should be. Whoever is here has been moved into his room, and he's shut the door. I physically slump, knowing he would only take someone who has shared his bed into his room to talk, someone here in a non-professional manner.

Despite all my inner chaos, this thought causes sharp pain in my chest. I pull the robe tighter around me and slowly slide forward to unlock the door, peeking out as I do. I can see his door from here, and it's shut, the living area clear. My hands trembling, I move out slowly, pulling the robe tighter. Fear gives way to paranoia as my gut aches with warning.

I see the remains of my skirt and panties on the floor, and Jake's clothes still lie in a heap. Whoever came here would have seen them too.

I move forward to try and listen, my turmoil held in check for the time being. I want to know who's in his room with him. I want to see if it's one of his playmates, even though I don't have the right to care. It's getting to me on extreme levels, jealousy eating away inside, agonizing.

I get close enough to distinguish the voices and freeze as the raised, clear, overly familiar voice hits me like a ton of bricks, that snarly, whiny bitch of a voice.

I gasp as my ribs retract, my heart thumping against them painfully.

Marissa Hartley!

Fuck.