8. Charlie
8
Charlie
A na was enjoying herself, and so was I. Every touch, every command, only pulled me deeper into this. She could edge me and tease me all night long if she wanted to, and I’d still beg for more. There was a thrill in giving up control, in letting her lead. I wasn’t just playing along—I wanted it. I’d do anything she told me to do. I’d fucking chop my finger off if she desired, and I’d do it with a smile on my face.
I eyed her as I began slicing an heirloom tomato, but I couldn’t keep my focus. I was desperate to watch her every move. She sat on the couch, phone in hand, a hint of a smile on her lips. The way she was so calm, so in control, drove me crazy. Just as I was about to look away, she glanced up, catching me staring.
“Are you sure you don’t want help?” she asked sweetly, her Spanish accent like music to my ears.
I shook my head, trying to keep my cool. “No. You’re supposed to be relaxing,” I replied, focusing on the tomato but still stealing glances at her. “What do you do to relax?”
She smirked slightly, her gaze lingering on me. I could feel the tension rising again, and staying cool around her was a losing battle.
“I read, or listen to music, or just sit on my ass and watch twelve hours of TV,” she answered with a laugh, her smile easy and natural.
I couldn’t help but grin. “Twelve hours, huh? Sounds like you’ve got the art of relaxing down.”
She leaned back, her gaze still on me, playful and relaxed. “I’m good at it,” she teased. I could tell she was getting more comfortable around me and I was reveling in it.
At this rate, the caprese salad I planned on making was destined to be forgotten.
“What do you like to listen to?” I asked, wondering if she ever heard my music. She must have, right?
She gave me a knowing smile, pausing just long enough to keep me guessing. “A little of everything. I love oldies, Motown, alternative, anything female-driven. But I was obsessed with the Backstreet Boys when I was young. I don’t know if you know anything about boy bands.” Her eyes lit up with mischief, teasing me.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Boy bands, huh? I might know a little something about them.”
Her laugh was addicting. I needed to hear more of it.
“You have some great songs, too,” she said, her tone turning serious for a moment.
I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep things light despite the compliment. “Oh, so you have listened to my music?” I teased, grinning. “Which song is your favorite? Don’t tell me you’re just saying that to be nice.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I’m serious! And no, I’m not just being nice. I like your stuff…only when I’m not listening to the Backstreet Boys.”
I chuckled. “So?” I asked, desperate for her validation. “What’s your favorite of mine then?”
I could feel the anxiety in my chest as I waited for her answer. It wasn’t just a casual question—I needed to know what she thought, if what I created meant something to her.
She met my gaze, her expression softening. “Your latest,” she admitted, naming the title. “The ballad and the piano. It’s…real, and sad. It’s beautiful.”
Her words hit like a warm wave, filling the void I hadn’t realized was there. I was already planning on writing at least a dozen songs about her.
“So, you’re a fan then, huh?” I teased, trying not to show how excited I actually was. Inside, my heart was pounding with pride.
She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Maybe. But don’t let it go to your head,” she quipped, though I could see the hint of warmth in her eyes.
We settled into an easy conversation, talking about favorite places to travel and movies we liked, and I was finally getting around to making the caprese salad. At one point, we delved a little deeper.
“Is there something that’s always stayed with you? Something that’s shaped who you are now?” she asked, leaning her elbow on the couch and laying her head against it.
I took a deep breath, the old memories surfacing. “Yeah…my dad left when I was young. It changed everything for me. I’ve never been able to shake that fear of people walking away.”
She was quiet for a moment, her eyes softening as she got up and walked towards the kitchen where I stood. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been…but I get why you’d feel that way. That kind of loss—it stays with you.”
She reached out, her hand gently brushing mine. “But not everyone leaves. Some people stay, even when it’s hard.”
Her words echoed in my mind. The thought of her leaving…fuck that, I couldn’t let that happen. She had become too important, too necessary. The more she cared, the deeper the hold she had on me. I didn’t just need her anymore—I needed her and had to keep her. The idea of her walking away was unbearable. I wouldn’t survive it, and I couldn’t let it happen.
I knew it was obsessive and unhealthy—this need, this desperation—but it was too late to turn back. She had slipped under my skin, into my mind, and there was no escaping it now. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it didn’t matter if this was healthy or not. I couldn’t not want her. I couldn’t stop this pull even if I tried. I was past the point of no return, and I didn’t ever want to go back.
Before I could stop myself, I pulled her in, pressing my lips to hers with a desperate need. When I pulled back, my hands trembled, nervous about what I was about to say.
“I can’t let you go, Ana,” I whispered, my eyes searching hers. “You’ve become too important to me. I don’t know how to stop this, and I don’t want to. I need you in my life.”
She hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly before she spoke. “Charlie…I care about you. I really do,” she said softly, her hand resting on my arm.
I nodded, trying to believe her, but inside, the fear still took hold of me. She was trying to reassure me, but it didn’t stop the panic rising in my chest. Then she pulled back, just slightly, like she needed space, like maybe everything I just said was too much for her.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, my voice shaky. “I know I’m being too much. I’ll stop. I don’t want to push you away.”
I could hear the desperation in my own words, but I couldn’t take them back. I hated feeling like this, like I was overwhelming her, like I was losing control of myself.
I could feel her watching me, sensing my panic. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed me, and it was like she was telling me everything would be okay without saying a thing. I didn’t hesitate. The second her lips touched mine, I leaned in, pulling her closer. I wanted to get lost in her, to forget everything else. This was all I needed—her, in this moment. The kiss deepened and I let myself drown in her.
She pulled away and took my hand, her fingers threading through mine. There was no hesitation as she gently tugged, leading me towards the bedroom.
And I could feel it—she was using this to avoid conversation. Maybe she didn’t want to confront what I had confessed so deeply, or maybe she was scared of hurting me. But right now, none of that mattered to me. I’d take what she was willing to give, even if it was just this. I needed her too much to question it.
She had me on my back before I could even take in the surroundings of her room. It was quick and I didn’t have time to keep overthinking as her body pressed against mine, her lips finding mine frantically. It felt like she needed this—like her control over me was a way to fight whatever she was feeling. I’d let her take the lead and use this moment to escape whatever fear she was avoiding because right now, I needed her just as much.
I sat up as she quickly hopped off of me, pulling her jeans and underwear down and eyeing my hard cock through my jeans. She pulled her shirt over her head, her bra completely filled with her gorgeous tits. I waited and watched, my breathing quick, ready for whatever she was going to give or take from me. I didn’t have to wait long—she was back on her knees on the bed, her fingers pulling down my jeans and boxer briefs, carefully letting my aching cock spring free. Her hands were instantly stroking me, her lips desperately finding my cock. It was like something ignited in her, making her lose control as her warm mouth slid up and down my length. I was still letting her take the lead as I watched, the sight of her blowing me almost too much as her hazel eyes stared up at me with desire.
“I’m gonna come, mi diosa . Your mouth is too fucking good,” I said breathlessly.
I could see the smile curl up on her lips as her head continued to bob up and down.
Her hands replaced her mouth for a moment. “Good, baby. Come for me. My good boy deserves to come in my mouth,” she whispered, then her lips found my cock again.
With her approval, I let go and felt the pulse of my cock throb as a wave of pleasure shot down, my cum releasing into her mouth as we continued to lock eyes, the low hum in her throat making everything feel more intense.
She swallowed every drop of me before sitting up and crawling over me, kissing me hard with the taste of myself on her lips. She pulled away before she sat up and aligned her perfect pussy with my face, then lowered her hips and instantly began grinding against my open mouth. My tongue swirled deep in her cunt as her hips swayed back and forth, our eyes locked, our connection fucking magical. She lowered her upper half and grabbed my hands, pinning them beside my head, leaving me completely at her will. Her full tits bounced perfectly in my view as I flicked the tip of my tongue against her clit, igniting soft moans from her lips.
“Yes, baby. Just like that,” she praised, and I rapidly continued, watching her mouth widen and her breaths hitching.
“Fuck yes, Charlie!” she moaned loudly, and my cock instantly twitched from hearing my name on her lips as she came on my mouth.
I wanted to watch her come over and over again, but before I knew it, she lifted her hips and leaned down, capturing my lips in a passionate kiss, her hands lightly tugging my hair. Her body pressed against mine, soft and demanding. My hands gripped her plump hips tightly as I lifted my own, instinctively searching for her warmth, desperate for more. Without hesitation, she slid onto me, my cock filling her completely. She sat up, her hips grinding against mine as she chased her pleasure. Her eyes locked with mine, intense and full of need, pulling me deeper into the moment.
And it was then that I desperately wanted to tell her that I loved her. But I couldn’t say it. If I did, I knew she’d pull back, she’d end this, and I’d ruin everything between us. She wasn’t ready for that. The second those words came out, I’d lose her. So I kept quiet, even though it hurt, knowing that holding it in was the only way to keep her close.