Chapter 11 Charles
Charles
She wants to clean the tub, feeling all embarrassed after rocking my fucking world. I only pull my jeans back onto my hips when she is pleased with herself.
A giggle leaves her as I throw my shirt over her top half. Hardly to my surprise, it swallows her whole.
“I brought my own—”
Opening the door, I check to make sure we haven’t garnered an entire audience.
When I see the coast is clear, I’m turning back toward her to see she’s gathered the said outfit in her arms. “I like my shirt more.” Plucking her into my arms, I groan at how well she fits in my hold as I pick her up.
While she’s gasping, I’m on the move. “The less on you now, the less I need to take off once we’re back in our room. ”
Ellie’s eyes go wide in amazement. When I said soon, I meant as soon as possible.
Unlike what just went down, I want her somewhere she can flood my ears with her moans. A place I can take my sweet time tasting her, no, devouring her.
She blushes pretty, pressing her thighs together tightly while pressing a hand against the front of the shirt to keep her body hidden from any onlookers.
If anyone came across her while she’s like this, I’d make them close their eyes and forget the very memory. Only I’m the one who can see her like this.
Just thinking about someone moving around has me rushing up the stairs. Setting her down long enough to fish out our key, once we’re inside, nothing else matters.
The second the door to our room swings shut, the world outside ceases to exist. There is only the heavy, anticipatory silence, broken by our ragged breathing.
The air is thick with the scent of her, of us, a heady perfume that goes straight to my head, my blood, my cock.
She’s standing there, dwarfed in my shirt, a flicker of that same shyness in her eyes even though I’ve already had an eyeful of her. No matter how much I look, I’m still in awe.
“So fucking beautiful,” I breathe, the words torn from me. They’re inadequate, a pale shadow of what she is, but they’re all I have.
I close the distance between us, my hands finding her hips through the soft cotton. Her breath hitches as I do what I please. I don’t speak again. My actions are my language now.
Leading her to the bed, the space between the door and the mattress feels like a marathon. Every step is a study in restraint. My fingers go to the hem of my shirt on her body, and I pull it up and over her head in one smooth motion.
A fresh wave of pink washes over her chest, up her neck. The longer I stare, the more I realize how true reality is. She is mine.
“On the bed,” I tell her, my voice a low rumble. It’s not a request.
She obeys, moving with a fluid grace that makes my teeth ache. She lies back, her brown waves fanning out against the white duvet, a stark, beautiful contrast. She is offering herself, and the trust in that gesture is a physical weight in my chest.
I stand at the foot of the bed and I stare, drinking her in. The elegant line of her throat, the perfect, soft swell of her breasts, the delicate dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.
My cock, already half-hard from the climb and the sheer proximity of her, throbs in earnest, thickening against the rough denim of my jeans. It’s going to be hard all over again at this rate. It’s a certainty.
Her instinct is to hide. She brings her heels together, trying to conceal the very heart of her from my relentless study. The gesture is so innocent, so at odds with the demanding hunger coiling in my gut, that it makes me cruel.
“Spread your legs.” The demand comes out rough, grated. I know I shouldn’t be. I should coax, I should worship, but the only thing I want to do is pounce on this woman and get my tongue on her.
Hell, after what she just did to me, my tongue feels like it won’t be enough.
She doesn’t seem to mind. My rough tone doesn’t frighten her; it excites her. I see the flicker of response in her lust-filled eyes, the subtle tremor that runs through her thighs before she obeys. Slowly, like she already knows I like the tease, she lets her knees fall apart.
And there she is.
Her perfect pussy. Completely bare, glistening with her arousal, a slick, pink flower already blooming for me. The sight is a punch to the gut, a visceral shock that makes my mouth actually water.
Did she shave herself, secretly hoping I’d see her like this? That only adds another layer to this. This sweet woman, she wants me. I don’t know how or why, but we’re one and the same.
I have to swallow, my throat suddenly dry. She is so ready, so wet, and all of that is for me. The evidence of her desire is the most potent aphrodisiac I’ve ever known.
I can’t stand the distance any longer. I join her on the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. I kneel between her legs, my hands sliding under her thighs, pushing them further apart, opening her wider to my gaze. I am relentless. I want to see every fold, every hidden secret.
All of this needs to be mine.
“Charles, please,” she whispers, her voice strained. “Hurry.”
A low growl rumbles in my chest. Hurry? Is she insane? “I’m not hurrying, Ellie. I want to enjoy myself.”
My eyes are locked on the slick sheen coating her inner lips. I have to touch it. I have to taste it. I reach down, my fingers hovering for a moment before I drag my middle and index fingers through her slit, collecting the proof of her need.
It’s hot. Slick. Perfect.
I lift my fingers, and her slick clings between them in a thin, translucent rope, a glistening bridge that makes my cock weep in jealousy. I hold it up for her to see, my eyes daring her to look away. “See what you do to me?” I murmur. “See how much you want this?”
Her eyes are wide, fixed on my fingers, her lips parted in silent awe.
I bring my fingers to my mouth, my gaze never leaving hers, and I lick them clean.
The taste explodes on my tongue. Divine. It’s her, a musky, sweet, and salty. A flavor I’d recognize in the dark, on my deathbed. “You taste like heaven.”
That’s putting it lightly.
I lower my head, dipping down between her thighs. My shoulders spread her wider, leaving no room for any bashfulness.
The first touch of my tongue is a flat, broad stroke from her entrance all the way up to the tight, throbbing bud of her clit. She cries out, her back arching off the bed, her hands fisting in the duvet. I groan against her, the vibration making her jump.
I settle in. This is my purpose. My life goal.
I eat her pussy like a man starved. Because I am.
I devour her. My tongue delves inside her, tasting her deeply, before flicking back to her clit.
I circle it, tease it, flatten against it, then suck it gently into my mouth.
Her hips buck against my face, but I hold her firm, my hands pinning her thighs, keeping her exactly where I want her.
“Oh… Charles!” she moans, her voice cracking.
I don’t let up. I map her with my tongue, learning every spot that makes her gasp, every secret place that makes her whimper. I find a rhythm, a relentless, driving cadence that has her climbing up higher and higher toward her peak.
I slide two fingers inside her, curling them, finding that rough, spongy spot deep within. She clamps a hand over her mouth to contain a scream, her inner muscles clenching around my fingers like a vise.
“Yes, right there,” she sobs between her fingers. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
I have no intention of stopping. I fuck her with my fingers, my tongue working her clit, a dual assault on her senses. I am lost in her, in the scent, the taste, the sounds. The wet, slick sounds of my mouth on her pussy are each catalogued in my mind, engraved in my memories.
I can feel her body tightening, growing stiff. The pitch of her moans shifts, becoming higher, a warning of what is approaching.
“I’m… I’m gonna…” she chokes out, her words fragmenting.
“Come for me, Ellie,” I growl against her soaked flesh, my voice guttural, foreign even to my own ears. “Flood my mouth, baby.”
It’s the final command, sending her over the edge.
Her entire body seizes as the orgasm rips through her.
She convulses around my fingers, her pussy milking them, a fresh flood of her release coating my hand.
I keep my mouth on her, drinking her in, licking and sucking her through the shuddering waves until she’s pushing weakly at my head, oversensitive and spent.
She collapses back onto the bed, boneless, her chest heaving. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused. A fine sheen of sweat covers her body, making her glow in the dim light.
I slowly pull my fingers from her, bringing them to my mouth to clean them, my eyes never leaving her beautiful form. The taste is even more potent now, mixed with the intensity of her climax.
I move up her body, hovering over her. She looks up at me, her expression one of dazed, utter devotion.
“You…” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “You are… incredible.”
I lower myself, bracing my weight on my forearms, my still-hard cock pressing insistently against her thigh. I kiss her, deep and slow, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
“That,” I say against her lips, my voice rough with pride, “was just the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I’m talking all the way at the top.”
Her smile is contagious, her laugh blissful as she pushes me off her chest. Using up what little strength she has left, she’s left melting against the bed. Still working on catching her breath, she aims her happiness toward the ceiling. “You’re too much.”
Drinking her in, I consider asking her if I can be hers. Right now, it’s the only thing I want to be.
It’s only been a day. Suddenly throwing everything at her once might spook her away. I can’t risk losing this because I’m impatient.
I can wait a little longer. When the right time comes, and it will, I’ll do whatever it takes to make her mine.