I’ll Always Be With You (Lancaster Prep Book 4)

WEST RIDS himself of his boxers and guides me so we’re both lying on our sides on the bed, face to face. He strokes my face with his fingertips, letting them trail down my neck, across my shoulder, along my arm. I’m shivering, overwhelmed with emotion and need, and I’m aching to be filled.

But I’m also scared. Is it going to hurt again? It might. I’ve only ever had sex once, on Halloween night, two years ago, right before our world imploded.

I remember how big he was, and how thick he felt back then. It even hurt earlier when he pushed two fingers inside me and I was wet. Well, it wasn’t too much pain. It just took a little time to adjust. And after a few seconds, it felt good.

“You look scared,” he says as if he can read my thoughts.

“I’ve only ever had sex that one time,” I admit. “Remember?”

His gaze softens. “Yeah.”

I nod. “I don’t want to worry about pain. I just want to feel good.”

“I’ll make sure it feels good. I promise.” I love those promises he makes me. “It’s been a long time for me too. The same amount of time. And tonight, this moment, you—it matters to me.”

It doesn’t even bother me that there was someone else before me. It was a long time ago. And I love that he said I matter.

“You know that, right?” he asks when I haven’t said anything. “You matter to me, Carolina.”

“I know,” I whisper, nodding, my hair rustling against the pillow. This feels like a moment. Like something important is happening between us and I don’t want to forget a single detail of this night.

Not a one.

“I care about you.” He touches my face. Presses his thumb against my lips. “I’m falling in love with you.”

I’m breathing heavier and I swallow hard, trying to calm my suddenly riotous emotions. I don’t know how to answer him. I care about him, I do, but I don’t know how to say it. Or what I’m feeling for West might actually be love.

I think it is, but I’m not sure.

“You don’t have to say it back.” He kisses me so gently I think I might cry. “I just wanted you to know.”

He tries to pull away, but I don’t let him, keeping him with me, my mouth finding his. We kiss for so long, my mouth aches. He’s got my back pressed against the mattress and he’s lying on top of me, my legs spread, his lower body snug against mine and his insistent erection nudging against my belly.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he says at one point, after he spends approximately five minutes on each of my nipples. He’s panting, his body covered in a sheen of sweat and I realize that I do this to him.

He wants me just as badly as I want him—maybe even more so.

“I want to,” I tell him, reaching between us so I can brush my hand against his dick. I feel it leap beneath my fingertips, as if it has a mind of its own, and I slip my hand beneath his boxers, curling my fingers around his length.

His agonized groan lights me up inside, encouraging me. I start to stroke him, finding a rhythm, going with him when he rolls away from me until he lands on his back. I tug on his boxers, trying to get rid of them and he helps me, until he’s lying there as naked as I am.

Leaning back on my haunches, I study him blatantly, my gaze roving over every inch of exposed skin. He’s smooth and lean, his stomach flat, his cock thick and long and fully erect. He’s got the lightest smattering of hair between his pecs, around his navel and narrowing into a line below it. This delicious little trail that leads to his cock, and oh my God, I really am nervous about that thing fitting inside me.

“You’re staring,” he eventually says, his voice strained.

“You’re big,” I return, my gaze never wavering from his erection. “Did it fit last time?”

He’s grinning at my silly question. “It fit.”

“I don’t know …”

“Trust me.” He’s on me in an instant, and I’m flat on my back again, staring up at him. “It’s going to fit. And it might hurt, but I doubt it.”

“You doubt it?”

“We’ve already been through this once. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re a man.” I swat at his chest, but before I can make contact, he’s got his fingers around my wrist, stopping me. “You don’t have to worry.”

He grabs my other wrist and holds my arms above my head, pinning them to the mattress. “I’m going to make sure you’re ready.”

“How are you going to do that?” My voice turns breathless when he runs his mouth down my neck. Across my collarbone. He lets go of my wrists.

“Watch,” he whispers, and I do.

I watch him as he rains kisses all over my skin. His mouth is everywhere, kissing me in places I never thought could feel so good. On the inside of my wrist, behind my elbow. My rib cage. My hipbone.

He completely ignores where I want him the most, slipping down to kiss along my calves, the inside of my knees. The tops of my thighs, his grin wicked when he flashes it my way after catching me staring.

I’m trembling, my muscles taut with anticipation, the pulse between my thighs throbbing. I can’t think. All I want is for his mouth to be on my pussy, bringing me pleasure just like he did only a few minutes ago.

But the man doesn’t deliver. He teases and taunts. He flips me over and kisses my lower back. My ass. Drawing closer and closer …

“Get on your knees,” he demands, and I automatically do what he says. “Spread them wider.”

I do that too. I’m so wet, I can feel it drip down the inside of my thighs.

“Fuck, look at you,” he whispers just as he kisses the very bottom of my right ass cheek. “You’re glistening.”

“West.” His name is a moan on my lips, a shuddery breath leaving me when I feel his finger teasing. Testing my wetness.

“You’re so open to me.” He slips his finger inside me with ease. “You’re almost ready.”

I gasp when he adds a second finger and starts to pump them in and out of my body, his movements slow but smooth. I rear back, trying to create friction, dying for him to move faster. Harder.

He removes his fingers from my body and I cry out, disappointment flooding me. He strokes me, his fingers toying with my clit, strumming it and I angle my hips, rubbing against his fingers shamelessly, desperate to come.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he murmurs, making it sound like an endearment.

“Please,” I beg, unsure of what I’m asking for. Just knowing that he’s the only one who can give it to me. “Please, West.”

He readjusts himself, his head sliding between my legs, my pussy hovering above his face. He grabs hold of my ass and pulls me down, his mouth open, sucking as much of my sensitive flesh between his lips as he can, his tongue lashing at my clit over and over.

I grind against his face, gripping the headboard, my hips working as I rub against his mouth and chin. The orgasm hovers, my entire body tightening, my belly tingling and when he hits a certain spot, I’m done for.

The orgasm slams into me, so strong I swear I almost black out. I’m shaking. Moaning. My pussy pulsates, my body quaking as the tremors race through me. He clamps his hands around me, holding me to his face as I come and come, until I finally roll over, worried I might’ve smothered him.

“Are you okay?” I’m on my side above him, resting on my arm, despite the fact that my limbs are weak and I’m afraid I might collapse at any moment.

He smiles at me, his entire face smelling like my pussy. “I think you’re ready.”

Within seconds, we’re positioned once more with West above me, his cock probing at my entrance. I close my eyes and exhale deeply, trying to calm my racing heart.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my forehead. “You’re so tense, Carolina.”

I do my best to imagine my muscles slowly melting and it helps. He eases his way inside me, just the head slipping inside and I immediately tense up once more, my inner walls trying to strangle him, just like the first time.

“Fuck,” he bites out, pressing his forehead to mine as he inhales sharply. “Spread your legs wider.”

I do as he says and he works his way inside me. Deep. Deeper. Inch by inch filling me up until I’m wincing, a soft moan escaping me.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really.” It feels amazing.

He kisses me. A sweet, tongue-filled kiss that doesn’t stop for what feels like forever. It has the right effect on me because the next thing I know, I’ve got my arms around his neck, my fingers in his hair, stroking him. He starts to move, pulling all the way out before he plunges back in, that delicious friction making me forget all of my worries when I moan.

“Better?” he asks.

“Don’t stop,” I encourage.

He starts to go faster, his hips working as he thrusts his cock inside of me again and again, filling me up. I glance down, trying to see it, and I catch a glimpse of his cock sliding out before it disappears inside of me yet again and my inner walls grip him tight.

“Fuck,” he groans, pausing. Like he needs to before he loses control. “I’m gonna come.”

“Go ahead,” I encourage.

“Are you close?”

“I don’t know. Not really.” I was just enjoying the ride. I’ve already come twice tonight. I didn’t expect for it to happen again.

“I want to make you come.” He reaches between us, his fingers brushing against my clit and my pussy pulses around his cock, making him groan yet again. “You like that?”

“I like all of this,” I say on a gasp, throwing my head back when he fucks me into the mattress.

His pace is fast, our sweaty skin slapping against each other, our moans mingling in the air. He grunts with every thrust, his fingers pinching my clit, setting me on fire, until I’m a gasping, shaking mess and he’s shouting. I feel it then. That first burst of semen spurting into me, filling me, and he grunts yet again, one last final thrust before he goes completely still, hovering above me with his hands braced on the mattress on either side of my head.

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his chest heaving, his breaths harsh. I watch him in complete and utter fascination, marveling that our bodies are still connected. That he’s still inside me, a part of me.

I think he always will be. It doesn’t matter what happens.

He’s mine.

And I’m his.

I WAKE up in his arms a few hours later, the predawn light already starting to creep in through the cracks of the blinds on the windows. I lift my head to watch him sleep, mesmerized by how soft his face looks. How boyish.

He’s still so young and he’s dealt with so much responsibility. He could have anyone in the world. Be anywhere he wants, and here he lies with me.

With me.

I touch his cheek, his stubble prickling my palm. I give his face a gentle shake and his eyes flutter open, his mouth curling into a slow smile.

“What?”

An idea has come to me and I start to laugh.

“Carolina, what the fuck? You’re freaking me out.”

“I want you to do something,” I say between laughs.

He frowns. “Okay.”

“Draw on me.” I scoot across the mattress, stretching across him so I can reach for the drawer on my nightstand. I pull it open and scramble around until I find what I’m looking for. “With this.”

I hand him a pen.

“What do you want me to draw?”

“Whatever you want.” I roll over so I’m lying on my stomach. “Maybe something on my back. My ribcage? Maybe right here.” I point at my side, just below my ribs. “Something meaningful. Or cute.”

“Why?” He sounds wary. And sleepy. The poor man.

“I want to get it tattooed on my skin. So I will never forget this night.”

He smiles faintly, scrubbing at his chin. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. And I don’t need a tattoo to remember it.”

“I don’t either.” I roll my eyes, feeling playful. Carefree. Cared for. “But I want one. I’m jealous of yours.”

He glances at the tiny drawing on the inside of his wrist before he meets my gaze. “I love mine.”

“I want one to love too.” I point at the pen in his fingers. “Start drawing.”

“I can’t draw.”

I blow an exasperated breath. “Then write something sweet. Like, ‘Carolina is the most beautiful woman in the world.’”

“You are. You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“I do,” I whisper, like the insecure being that I am, and he leans in, delivering a sweet kiss.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Thank you.” I tap his chest with my finger, then shove him gently. “Now write something.”

He thinks about it for a while, tapping the pen against his lips as he surveys my body. Looking for the perfect spot to write my future tattoo. Finally, he decides on the spot, right along the curve of my hip. He writes and writes, at least five words and I frown, trying to see what it is.

“Don’t look,” he warns, his voice fierce. “Wait until it’s done.”

“What if I hate it?” I’m teasing.

I won’t hate it.

“You won’t,” he says confidently, and when he’s finished, he leans back, admiring his work. “I like it.”

“Can I look at it?”

“Absolutely not.” He climbs out of bed. “Let’s get dressed. And you better put some panties on.”

We don’t even bother taking a shower. I’m sure our skin smells of sweat and sex, but we don’t care. I throw on a tank and a skirt, pull on a pair of full coverage panties at West’s insistence while he slips on his suit pants and his shoes, walking out to his car with no shirt on like it’s no big deal.

He looks delicious. Rumpled and sexy and exposed. I should probably drag him back into my bed and have my way with him but I also really want to get this tattoo.

“You can’t go like that,” I insist, and he pops open the trunk of his sleek Aston Martin, digging into a travel bag that’s nestled inside, whipping out a black T-shirt, and yanking it on within seconds.

“Am I presentable now?”

His disappearing abs make me pout but then he’s slapping my ass and encouraging me to get into the car, so I do.

We’re at the twenty-four-hour tattoo shop minutes later after a harrowing journey on the mostly empty city streets, and I’m able to get right into the chair. West explains the tattoo he wants to the artist, a beautiful woman with long, jet black hair and very little clothing on, her skin covered in ink.

“Your tattoos are amazing,” I tell her when she approaches me, fear making my heart beat faster.

“Thank you.” She smiles gently. “He told me you don’t like being touched by strangers.”

I’m touched he would even mention it.

“Or anyone really,” I amend. “Except for him.”

“Will it bother you if I touch you?”

I shake my head. “I want this.”

“Okay.” She pats my arm, her gloved hand not bothering me in the least. “You’re going to like this tattoo, I promise.”

I lie on my side and let her work on me, the steady hum of the tattoo gun nearly lulling me to sleep. It hurts, but after a while, I completely zone out, almost enjoying the pain, and when she’s finished, I’m almost disappointed.

“Want to see it?” she asks, sounding excited, and I nod my response.

She leads me over to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall, my dress covering it, the fabric brushing against the sensitive skin and making me hiss. West appears at my side, pulling the skirt up until the tattoo is exposed, my skin glowing red, the black ink traced over the words that he wrote. They’re in French.

Je serais toujours avec toi.

I frown, concentrating on each word, translating them to English in my head.

I’ll always be with you.

My gaze lifts to find West watching me, the worry on his face making my heart melt. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” I whisper, tears welling in my eyes. I blink hard, trying to make them stop but one slips down my cheek and he reaches around, wiping it away with his thumb.

“I love you,” he whispers back, his hands settling on my shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

I lean my head to the right, resting my cheek against his fingers. I wish I could say the words in return, but I’m too overwhelmed.

Someday, I tell myself.

Someday.