Chapter 4 T.J
T.J
Icouldn’t think past the taste of her on my lips—sweet coffee, a faint edge of salt from earlier tears, and something uniquely Charisma that made my blood roar. Three years of nothing, of ice in my veins, and now?
Fire everywhere she touched.
She pulled back and my eyes popped open.
“Bedroom?” she echoed, but there was a wicked little tilt to her smile that said she had other ideas.
Before I could take a step, she slipped out of my hold, turned, and walked the five paces to the kitchen table. My table. The sturdy oak one I’d built myself the first winter here because I needed something to do with my hands that wasn’t drinking or punching trees.
She hopped up on it like it weighed nothing, thighs parting just enough to make room for me between them.
The borrowed flannel rode high on her legs, exposing smooth skin that begged to be touched.
Her hands braced behind her, shoulders back, chest rising and falling fast. Those dark eyes flashed—half challenge, half pure, electric want.
“Fuck me right here, T.J.”
The words hit like a gut punch. Raw. Direct. No hesitation. My cock jerked hard against the zipper of my jeans.
“Jesus, Charisma.” I dragged a hand over my face, trying to scrape together some shred of control. “Let me grab a condom from the bedroom—”
She shook her head, quick and certain. Her hair spilled over one shoulder like ink.
“I’m on birth control. I want to feel you. All of you.”
That was it. The last thin thread of restraint snapped.
I crossed the room in three long strides, hands finding her hips and yanking her to the edge of the table so her heat pressed right against the aching ridge of me.
I kissed her again—harder this time, all teeth and tongue and three years of pent-up hunger.
She moaned into my mouth, fingers digging into my shoulders, legs hooking around my waist to lock me there.
Clothes came off in a frantic rush. My shirt hit the floor.
Hers—my flannel—followed, buttons popping somewhere in the chaos.
The sweatpants and my jeans landed in a tangle by the chair, followed by our underwear.
Then it was skin on skin, her nipples tight against my chest, my cock trapped between us, leaking against the soft skin of her stomach.
I slid one hand down, finding her slick pussy.
Fuck. She was so wet, my fingers slipped through her folds without resistance.
I groaned against her throat. “You’re soaked, baby. This all for me?”
“Yes,” she breathed, hips rocking shamelessly against my palm. “Only you.”
I pushed one finger inside her—slow, careful, testing. Tight. Hot. Her inner walls fluttered around me like they were trying to pull me deeper. I added a second finger, curling them, stroking that spot that made her gasp and arch.
“Damn, you feel perfect,” I said, my voice wrecked.
I dropped to my knees right there on the hardwood, shouldered her thighs wider, and put my mouth on her.
The first taste—sweet, musky, addictive—nearly undid me. I licked slowly at first, learning her, savoring every shudder. Then faster, circling her clit, sucking gently until her hands fisted in my hair and her thighs started to shake.
“T.J.—oh fuck—don’t stop—”
I didn’t. I licked and sucked and fucked her with my tongue until she broke, crying out sharp and high, hips bucking against my face.
The sound of her coming—raw, surprised, beautiful—sent a pulse straight to my dick. I was so hard it hurt. When her tremors eased, I stood, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and staring down at her flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and kiss-bitten lips.
She reached for me without hesitation, her small hand wrapping around my cock. I hissed through my teeth at the contact—too good, too much after so long. She stroked once, twice, her thumb swiping over the slit, spreading the wetness there.
Then she bent forward and took me in her mouth.
Christ.
Hot. Wet. Eager. Her tongue swirled around the head like she was exploring every ridge, every vein, learning me by feel.
No hesitation, no performance—just pure, curious hunger.
She hollowed her cheeks and slid down farther than I expected, and I had to grip the edge of the table to keep from thrusting.
“Charisma—fuck—look at you,” I rasped. “So fucking good. That’s it, baby. Just like that.”
She hummed around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. I let her play for another minute—watching her lips stretch around me, feeling her tongue flick the underside—until my balls drew up tight, and I knew I was seconds from losing it.
I pulled free with a wet pop, chest heaving. “Stop. I need to be inside you. Right now.”
She nodded, eyes bright, legs spreading wider in invitation. I stepped between them and notched myself at her entrance. The heat of her kissed the head of my cock, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from slamming home.
“Slow,” I told her, more for myself than for her. “Tell me if it hurts.”
She bit her lip and nodded. Then—fuck—she slid one hand down her own body, cupping her breast, pinching the nipple, trailing lower over her stomach until her fingers found her clit. She circled it slowly, eyes fluttering closed.
“Will this…make it hurt less?” she whispered.
I groaned so deep it rattled my ribs. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s gonna do it. Keep touching yourself. Let me watch.”
The sight of her—head tipped back, fingers rubbing slick circles over her swollen clit, lips parted on soft moans—nearly finished me before I even got fully inside.
I pushed forward, slow inch by slow inch.
Tight. So fucking tight. Her walls gripped me like a fist, fluttering every time she brushed her clit.
Halfway in, she whimpered, nails digging into my biceps.
“Breathe, baby,” I said, my thumb stroking her hip. “You’re doing so good. Look at you taking me.”
Her eyes opened, locking on mine. Her hips tilted up, greedy now, pulling me deeper. I bottomed out with a groan that matched hers—seated fully, surrounded by wet heat, her pulse beating around my cock.
She came first.
Her fingers sped up, breath hitching, then her whole body seized—back arching off the table, thighs clamping my hips, pussy spasming hard around me in long, rolling contractions.
The sight, the sound, the feel of her coming undone on my cock—it was too much.
I thrust once, twice, then buried myself deep and let go.
Pleasure detonated behind my eyes—white-hot, endless—my release spilling into her in thick pulses while her walls milked every drop. I growled her name, hips jerking through the aftershocks until we were both trembling, slick with sweat and each other.
For a long minute, we just breathed—foreheads pressed together, hearts hammering in tandem.
Finally, I eased out, both of us wincing at the loss. I scooped her up off the table, her legs wrapping loosely around my waist, arms looping around my neck.
“Shower?” she mumbled against my shoulder, her voice sleepy and satisfied.
“Later.” I carried her down the short hall to my bedroom. “Sleep first. You’re exhausted.”
She lifted her head, smirking even through heavy eyelids. “Only if you’ve got something bigger than a twin bed in there, mountain man. I’m not planning to wake up with my ass hanging off the edge.”
I huffed a laugh—the first real one in years. “King size. Plenty of room for both of us.”
“Good.” She nuzzled into my neck, lips brushing skin. “Because I’m planning on waking up in the middle of the night and climbing on top of you again.”
I kicked the bedroom door shut behind us, already half-hard at the thought.
“Rest up, Charisma,” I said, laying her gently on the cool sheets and sliding in beside her. “You’re gonna need it.”
She curled into my side, one leg thrown over mine, her hand splayed possessively on my chest. “Promise?” she whispered.
I kissed her temple, pulling the quilt over us both. “Promise.”