Chapter Fifteen
Marin felt like she was dreaming. One minute, she’d been spilling her most embarrassing secrets to Charlotte—the wine had definitely loosened her tongue—and the next thing she knew, Charlotte was touching her arm, kissing her wrist, kissing her lips, and Marin’s body was on fire in a way she’d never felt before.
She had sparks. An inferno of them. And they were worth every moment she’d waited to experience them. Oh fuck . . .
Charlotte’s tongue teased the seam of Marin’s lips, and she opened to her, inviting her in, welcoming her, because good god this was the best thing she’d ever felt.
Marin thought she’d known what she was missing, but she’d underestimated just how amazing it felt to kiss the person you wanted.
She needed Charlotte’s mouth on hers like she needed air to breathe.
Marin pressed forward, an embarrassingly needy sound escaping her throat as Charlotte’s tongue swept into her mouth. They were facing each other on the couch now, one of Marin’s hands on Charlotte’s thigh while one of Charlotte’s hands drifted up Marin’s arm toward her shoulder.
Her fingers left a trail of sparks in their wake.
Marin was exquisitely aware of every millimeter of skin Charlotte had touched.
She thought she’d feel those places forever, a permanent imprint of Charlotte.
She could hear herself breathing, hear both of them breathing, quick gulps of air between kisses, breathy gasps, and murmurs of pleasure.
Marin closed her eyes and soaked it in, the warmth of Charlotte’s fingers on her skin, the pressure of her mouth against Marin’s. Laura’s kiss had left her cold, but this one . . .
This kiss made Marin feel alive. Her body thrummed with pleasure from her scalp to her toes, centered in the needy ache between her thighs.
She felt the gust of Charlotte’s breath over her cheeks, the softness of her lips.
They were as soft as Marin had imagined.
Charlotte’s hair tickled her neck, and it was soft too. It was wonderful.
A distant part of her brain wondered if this should be happening, why this was happening, if she wasn’t careening wildly toward wine-induced regret when it ended, but here and now, she was too enraptured by Charlotte’s kiss to question it.
Marin wanted to drown herself in this kiss and never surface.
She must have opened her eyes, though, because now she saw the hazy shape of Charlotte before her.
Charlotte’s face was too close to hers for her eyes to focus.
Marin just saw blond hair and Charlotte’s upper body twisted toward hers, reminding her that they still sat side by side on the sofa.
Without pausing to think, Marin gripped Charlotte’s hand and tugged.
She wanted Charlotte in her lap, and that was exactly what happened.
Charlotte’s knees slid down to settle on either side of Marin’s hips.
Her warmth covered Marin’s thighs a moment before her weight settled there, and Marin couldn’t have kept herself quiet if she’d tried.
She let out a whimper that bordered on a sob.
It was lust and desire and desperation, and Marin was all those things.
The ache between her thighs was so intense, she thought she might combust. Her entire body felt overheated. Her panties were soaked. She couldn’t seem to draw enough air into her lungs. With shaking hands, she cupped Charlotte’s cheeks, kissing her deeply and thoroughly.
Passion. Marin had thought she knew what that meant, but she hadn’t known it would be this intense, that she could crave quite this much, that her body could sizzle with a need this powerful. This kiss was everything she’d been waiting for and more. She hadn’t known it could be this much more.
“Charlotte . . .” Her voice was little more than a needy rasp. It was the first word spoken between them since they’d started kissing, and it hung in the air like a warning bell now.
“Marin.” Charlotte blinked at her as if she’d just awoken from a trance. Then she scrambled backward out of Marin’s lap, landing awkwardly on the floor.
Marin stared at her for several long seconds as her senses cleared .
. . at least as much as they could. She was drunk, both from wine and from arousal.
Her thoughts were muddled by both, spinning out of control because she’d kissed Charlotte.
Well, technically, Charlotte had made the first move, which she never in a million years would have imagined happening.
Why had Charlotte kissed her? Was Charlotte queer?
Or was she just trying to give Marin what she’d been missing?
Marin’s intoxicated brain couldn’t make sense of anything except how much she had loved every moment, how ridiculously turned on she was, and how desperately she wanted to be kissing Charlotte again.
Except Charlotte was sitting on the floor with her arms wrapped around herself, looking like she’d made a terrible mistake, and that was the metaphorical bucket of ice water dumped over Marin’s head. Fuck.
“Charlotte . . .” She reached for her, but Charlotte scrambled to her feet.
“I shouldn’t have . . . we shouldn’t have . . .”
Marin snatched her hand back. She felt sick. Oh god. Had she ruined their friendship? “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I . . .” Charlotte gave her head a quick shake. “I just, I should go.”
“No, please. We should talk about this.”
“I can’t.” Charlotte was still shaking her head. She grabbed her coat and purse and backed toward the door. “Not right now.”
“You’re too drunk to drive.”
“I’ll call a cab.”
“Please wait . . .” Marin’s whispered plea sounded desperate and dejected, but Charlotte was already out the door. It closed behind her with a solid thump, and then Marin was alone. It had all happened so fast, the kiss and its aftermath, and her head was spinning.
She pressed her hands over her face, and a miserable moan tore from her chest as she processed Charlotte’s abrupt departure and what it likely meant. Tears burned her eyes, and a painful lump rose in her throat. Oh god. Oh no . . .
A high-pitched whine yanked her from her downward spiral.
Marin opened her eyes to find Ember crouched on the floor in front of her, eyes wide and worried. “I’m okay,” Marin told the puppy instinctively, but she wasn’t.
She was very much not okay. Tears blurred her vision, and her stomach churned with a sickening combination of disappointment and fear.
Marin had spent decades making sure she kept her desires locked down so tight that nothing like this could ever happen.
She hadn’t even allowed herself to initiate hugs with her female friends.
She’d toed such a hard line to keep from ever crossing one . . .
And now she’d crossed it in the most devastating way, because it had happened with Charlotte. She needed Charlotte in her life. Charlotte’s friendship meant the world to her. Marin wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold all over. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately not to cry.
Something nudged her leg, and she looked down to see Ember standing there.
The puppy whined again, visibly distressed by Marin’s anguish.
She’d ruined her friendship with Charlotte, ruined her first time making out with a woman, and now she was upsetting her puppy because she couldn’t get control of her emotions.
Marin pressed a hand over her eyes, trying to calm down when all she really wanted to do was curl in a ball and sob.
She’d gone from such intense pleasure to misery in such a short time, it left her head spinning even more than it already had been from the wine.
The emotional whiplash felt strong enough to rip her apart.
She sucked in several deep, desperate breaths until she was able to give the puppy a fake smile and lift Ember into her lap. “Sorry about that. Do you need to go outside, sweetie?”
Ember squirmed in her arms. Not sure if that was a yes or just general puppy restlessness, Marin stood and fastened Ember’s leash, then led her outside.
She’d forgotten her coat, and the cold air was a shock to her system, but it did help sober her up.
Charlotte’s car was still here, a visual reminder of what they’d done and how it had ended.
When Marin got back inside, she picked up her phone and sent a difficult but necessary text.
Me: I’m so sorry. I never meant to overstep my bounds with you.
The text was almost immediately read, but no dots bounced to let Marin know that Charlotte was responding.
Charlotte sent nothing back, and that made Marin feel even worse.
She was half delirious now from the aftereffects of the wine and her emotional upheaval.
Her body felt sweaty and wrung out, and she desperately needed a shower and a good long cry.
Ember had other ideas. The puppy was bouncing off the walls, demanding Marin’s attention, so she did her best to fake a cheer she definitely didn’t feel as she sat on the floor to play with her.
Marin could fake a smile with the best of them, but inside . . . she felt irreparably broken.
Charlotte was the worst friend in the history of friends.
Last night had been 100 percent her fault.
Marin had shared deeply personal things with her, and Charlotte had responded by kissing her.
It had been one of the hottest kisses—if not the hottest kiss—of Charlotte’s life, and that had completely thrown her world off its axis.
Then she’d panicked and bolted, thinking only of herself and how she felt in that moment.
But how had it felt for Marin? After telling Charlotte how long she’d craved a woman’s touch, how she’d waited to feel passion with a partner, Charlotte had kissed her, touched her, straddled her lap until Marin looked like she was completely overcome with pleasure, and then Charlotte had just . . . left her there.