Page 22 of Red Zone (PCU Storm #2)

CARTER

H er body fits against mine like it is meant to be here—hip to hip, mouth to mouth, her legs wrapping tighter around me as the kiss turns frantic.

She rolls her hips once—slow, intentional—and fuck.

I feel it everywhere.

A groan rips out of my throat before I can catch it. My hands grip her thighs, pinning her beneath me, grinding down without thinking.

She gasps into my mouth, then does it again. Harder.

That’s it. That’s the moment I lose whatever thin thread of self-control I had left.

I press into her, hips rolling against hers like it’s the only thing keeping me alive. There’s nothing between us but thin fabric and too many unsaid things, and even through the layers I can feel how ready she is. How hot and wet she is.

Her nails dig into my shoulders, her head tipping back as she moans my name—soft but wrecked.

“Carter…”

The way she says it, like a prayer and a curse in one, sends electricity straight down my spine.

“Fuck, Lyla,” I growl. “You keep doing that and I’m gonna come in my pants.”

“Good,” she pants. “Maybe then you’ll shut up.”

I grind against her again, rougher this time, and she bucks up to meet me—desperate, wild, perfect. We fall into a rhythm, messy and uncontrolled, breathing each other in like it’s the only oxygen left in the world.

Clothes stay on. Barely. My shirt twisted in her fists. It’s not about getting naked.

It’s about relief. About release. Finally letting ourselves want.

And she wants .

I can feel it in every gasp, every drag of her hips against mine, every breathless curse she whispers into my neck as I rut against her like a guy who’s been dreaming of this for months—which, let’s be real, I have.

My cock’s hard as hell and pressed tight against the soft heat between her legs. There’s nothing gentle about the way I move. Nothing held back.

And the best part?

She matches me, move for move, fire for fire.

When she moans again, louder this time, and bites down on my shoulder to muffle it, I know we’re close—both of us, teetering on the edge.

I pull back just enough to look her in the eyes. Her pupils are blown, lips swollen, breath ragged.

“You good?” I ask, voice barely steady.

She grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me back down.

“I’m better than good,” she whispers against my lips. “Don’t stop.”

So I don’t.

I fuck her through our clothes until her thighs tremble, and she gasps my name again, broken and sweet. And then I follow, hips stuttering, coming undone right there with her—hot, breathless, wrecked.

I roll off her slightly, and just lay there, the sounds of us breathing mixing with the sounds from the long-forgotten movie.

Minutes go by, and we’re still tangled together. Her leg is draped over mine, her fingers resting just beneath the hem of my shirt, like she forgot to move them—and I hope she forgets a little longer.

I’ve had sex before. Casual, fast, a necessary means to an end.

But this?

This was fully clothed and still managed to wreck me.

Her crop top is bunched up beneath her ribs, her neck flushed, and her lips…kiss-bitten and parted like she’s still catching her breath. She’s not saying anything. Neither am I.

But I can feel her.

All of her.

The rise and fall of her chest. The heat of her skin under my palm. The way her fingers twitch, just barely, when I shift.

And I know I should get up. Say something cocky, make a joke, hit the reset button before this gets too real.

But I don’t move.

Because I’m starting to think I could get used to this—her weight against me, her laugh still caught between us, that electricity under my skin that only seems to settle when she’s close.

Which is…bad.

Really bad.

She exhales, slow and quiet. “What is this?”

I look down at her, the tension between us barely cooled.

She doesn’t sound mad. Doesn’t sound like she regrets it.

Just…uncertain. Like she’s waiting for me to screw this up.

I consider giving her the classic Carter line—“just fun” or “whatever we want it to be.”

Something easy. Safe. But I can’t bring myself to lie.

So, I tell her the truth. “I don’t know.”

Her hand curls into my shirt.

I brace myself for her to pull back, to shut this whole thing down.

Instead, she says, “Okay. Well…if we’re gonna keep doing this, we need rules.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah?”

She meets my eyes. “It stays casual. No strings. No feelings. We hook up, we blow off steam, and then we go back to normal. Friends. Teammates. Whatever this weird almost-friends thing is.”

I pause.

Because everything in me wants to agree. To nod and play it cool. Pretend that the second her leg brushed mine, I didn’t feel like I’d been hit in the chest. Pretend that her laugh doesn’t live somewhere under my ribs now. Pretend that I’m not already screwed.

But I do what I’m supposed to.

I nod. “No strings. Just fun.”

“Exactly,” she says.

But her voice is softer now. Not smug. Not distant. Just…tired.

I reach up and brush a strand of hair away from her face. “For what it’s worth,” I murmur. “I like fun with you.”

She smiles, faint and wary.

I lean in and kiss her cheek, just once—gentle and simple, nothing like what we just did.

And that’s the most dangerous part.

Because now I want more than that.

And I shouldn’t.

“All right,” I say, forcing a grin as I shift back onto my elbows. “Not to ruin the whole emotional clarity thing we’ve got going, but I’m gonna need to change before these sweatpants become a problem.”

She snorts, but I see the color rise in her cheeks.

“Or…” I add, dragging out the word. “We could shower. Together. Y’know, to conserve water and protect the planet.”

She shakes her head with a laugh, already sitting up. “You’re unbelievable.”

I grin, holding out my hand once I’m up. She takes it.

The bathroom fills with steam almost instantly. Lyla stands at the sink, hair up in a loose, messy knot, tugging her top the rest of the way off with zero shame. She’s down to just her underwear, then nothing at all and my brain short-circuits for a full two seconds.

I strip my shirt off and toss it into the corner. “This is about saving the planet, right?”

“Exactly,” she deadpans, stepping into the shower first. “Strictly environmental.”

Losing the rest of my clothes, I follow her in, and the water hits hot and steady.

She moves to one side to give me room, even though the space is tight—and maybe that’s the point.

Our bodies keep brushing. My hands twitch at my sides, resisting the urge to grab her hips, drag her closer, and kiss her until the glass fogs over for a whole different reason.

But I don’t.

Because something’s shifted.

She tilts her head back, letting the water soak her hairline. Her eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, and there’s no teasing in her expression now. Just exhaustion. And something that looks an awful lot like peace.

She’s still for a beat.

“I haven’t felt this calm in a while.”

I glance at her, surprised. “Because of me?”

She smirks without opening her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

I chuckle under my breath, reaching for the body wash. I squirt some into my palm and without overthinking it, I move behind her and gently start rubbing it over her shoulders.

She tenses for a second—just one.

Then exhales and lets me do it.

Her back relaxes under my hands. I take my time, moving in slow, deliberate circles, watching the soap slide over her skin and swirl down into the drain. My fingers trail along the curve of her spine, light and careful.

“I used to hate showers,” she murmurs.

“Seriously?”

“Too many panic attacks after school. It felt like the water was trapping me. Like I couldn’t breathe.”

I go still.

“You good now?” I ask softly, not joking anymore.

She nods. “Yeah. I think. It just depends on the day. This?” She glances over her shoulder, her eyes meeting mine through the steam. “This is okay.”

My hand stays on her waist longer than it should.

It’s not about sex. Not right now.

It’s about her letting me see this version of her. Quiet. Unarmored. Trusting.

And that? That’s way more dangerous than anything we did on my bed.

We towel off and change into dry clothes—both of us stealing from my dresser like it’s not a big deal that she’s about to be wearing my clothes. She ends up in a faded T-shirt that hits mid-thigh.

I don’t say anything about how good she looks in my clothes, but goddamn.

We settle back onto my bed with the lights off and a new movie playing in the background. This one’s quieter. Slower. The kind of thing people put on when they know they won’t be paying attention for long.

Her head finds my chest.

My hand finds her hip.

And somewhere in between the second act and the end credits, we fall asleep.

I shift groggily when I feel her start to move.

She’s careful about it—quiet. Peeling the blanket off slowly like she’s trying not to wake me.

Her bare legs brush against mine as she slides out of bed, soft footfalls barely creaking the floor as she grabs her phone and hoodie from the chair.

I keep my eyes closed. Just for a beat.

Then I crack them open.

“Where are you going?”

She freezes like she got caught breaking curfew. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” My voice is thick with sleep, lower than usual. “It’s one in the morning.”

“I know.” She pauses. “I just thought I should go.”

“Why?”

She hesitates, clutching her hoodie tighter in both hands. “Because…this wasn’t supposed to turn into a sleepover.”

I sit up slowly, running a hand through my hair.

Her eyes dart to me, guarded and unsure.

“Lyla,” I say, softer now, patting the space beside me. “Get back in bed.”

“I didn’t bring anything,” she says quietly, like she needs a reason to justify it.

“You’re wearing my clothes. Good enough.”

She bites her lip, torn.

“Just stay,” I say again. “You’re already here.”

Another pause.

Then she exhales and nods once—barely more than a breath—and climbs back into bed.

She curls against my chest, stiffer than before at first. Like her walls are still halfway up. But when I rest my palm on her back and she doesn’t move away, I know she heard what I didn’t say.

The second her breathing evens out again, I know I’m fucked.

Because I agreed with her that this was just fun. A way to relieve the tension between us. Just a way to let off steam.

But this?

This isn’t casual.

This is the red zone.

And I’m in way too deep to walk away.