Chapter Eighteen #2
"I've never done anything physical with anyone, except for you," she finally answers.
"It was all virtual. I'd dress up, talk to them, tease them.
Sometimes I'd..." she pauses. "Sometimes I'd touch myself when they requested and paid enough.
But I never met anyone in person. My mother wanted me to, but I would always delete the incoming message requests before she saw them. "
"Good," I say, brushing a strand of hair from Charlotte's face. "That's good."
Charlotte's weight shifts on top of me as she leans down, her hair creating a dark curtain around our faces.
"I've never been touched by anyone except you," she whispers.
"Not willingly, anyway. Just grabby hands, men my mother brought home who thought I should be part of a package deal.
I always managed to fight them off or hide until they left.
Corey was the one who got the furthest. The first time I managed to stop it.
The second time was when you… introduced yourself. "
"Is that why you asked? You were worried I'd been with other men?"
I consider her question. Was I jealous? Protective? Or just collecting information like I do with every other aspect of my life?
"I'm not worried about other men. The night of your birthday, there was blood covering my fingers." Even in the low light of the room I can see the red creep across her face, starting at her neck and flowing upward like a crimson tide. Her eyes dart away from mine.
"Don't be embarrassed, Charlotte. I know I wasn't rough with you, and it wasn't your period because you asked me to buy you tampons two weeks later.
That leaves one logical explanation." She nods her head in answer, still unable to meet my gaze, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip.
The vulnerability in her expression stirs something protective within me .
"I just want to understand what you've experienced," I tell her honestly, reaching up to tuck another strand of hair behind her ear, my thumb lingering on the soft skin of her cheek.
"What might be new for you, what might bring up bad memories.
I need to know these things." I let my hand slide down to cup her chin, gently turning her face until she's looking at me again.
"I care about you, Charlotte, more than I expected to.
Whatever we do together, it should always be because you want to do it.
Not because you feel obligated or because you're playing a role you think I want.
" My voice softens. "You're not on camera anymore.
You're not performing for strangers. This isn't a transaction or a game, and you sure as hell don't owe me anything.
When you're with me, I want you to be exactly who you are, doing only what you want to do and are comfortable doing.
Nothing more, nothing less. Understand?"
"I'm exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to do." She leans down and presses her lips against mine.
"Get some sleep," I say against her lips. "We'll start your training tomorrow."
Still straddling my waist, Charlotte settles back against my legs like they are the plush backrest of a chair, "I thought you wanted to know about my cam work." The warmth of her skin seeps through the layers of fabric between us, her bare ass dangerously close to my growing length beneath her.
"Yeah, you just told me about it."
"I was going to show you." Her fingers graze the hem of my t-shirt she's wearing, bunching the fabric between her fingers.
"Show me?"
"Yeah, telling just isn't the same as showing." She slowly pulls the shirt upward. Slow. Agonizingly slow. The fabric glides up, revealing inches of pale skin, the firmness of her thighs, the gentle curve of her hips, and finally, the taut plane of her stomach.
And nothing else.
No lace. No cotton. Just her and the faintest dusting of dark hair at the apex of her thighs.
She pulls the shirt higher, inch by tantalizing inch, until the hem of the fabric catches on the hardened peaks of her nipples. She lifts the hem just high enough to tease the shadowed swell of her breasts underneath.
"You said you wanted to know," she murmurs, shifting her weight just enough to grind down against the already strained length of my dick. The friction causing me to hiss through my teeth.
"So, pay attention." Her lips parting on an exhaled breath as she presses down harder, testing my self-control.
"Char," I warn.
Her answering smile is pure fucking sin. "See something you like?" she teases, tilting her head with a false innocence even as she continues her slow, torturous reveal.
I’ve spent years carefully crafting every aspect of myself and my life. The control over my surroundings and situations I find myself in, isn't just a habit; it's become the foundation of who I am now. Every emotion is locked down stripping myself of tells I've erased every chink in my armor.
But right now? With her bare thighs bracketing my waist, with the soft, unsteady rise and fall of her chest as she teases me, that control splinters.
My fingers dig into the soft flesh of her thighs, hard enough to bruise, and a wounded little sound slips past her lips, half gasp, half moan.
Christ, I should let go, loosen my grip, but I don’t.
Because that whimper is the sweetest fucking sound I’ve ever heard .
She finally pulls the shirt over her head entirely, tossing it aside to the floor with a graceful slowness. Like she’s giving me time to map every dip and curve of her body highlighted by the dim moonlight. And I do.
"This is what they'd pay to see," she whispers, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. Her delicate hands skim across her collarbone, then trail down between her tits.
My mouth goes dry as her fingers trace lazy circles around the hard peaks of her nipples. Each movement is slow and unhurried, she's savoring this power she has over me, and fuck if I'm not playing right into it, completely under her spell.
"But you're the only one to ever have me," she continues. Her hands glide down her stomach, fingertips dipping into the subtle hollows between her hip bones.
Fuck, she's good at this… Too good. I watch, completely transfixed, as her slender fingers drift lower, teasing along the crease where thigh meets torso before finally disappearing between her thighs. A soft, breathy gasp escapes her lips.
I should tell her she doesn't have to prove anything.
But the words die in my throat when her fingers part slick flesh, her eyelids fluttering at the contact.
My cock throbs beneath her, rigid against the friction of her weight as she shifts against me.
Every tiny movement makes me want to flip her over and take what she's offering.
"Look," she whispers, dipping two fingers inside her pussy. "This is what they wanted. What only you get to touch." She withdraws her glistening fingers slowly, the moonlight catching on the wetness there. She brings them to my mouth, tracing my bottom lip with her wet fingertips. "To taste."
Possessiveness sparks in my gut like a live wire, burning hot and dangerous.
The thought of anyone else seeing her like this, I'll have to revisit rule number five. Charlotte gasps, her pupils blown wide as she watches me watch her fuck herself on top of me. Watching her touch herself like this has me harder than I’ve ever been.
The scent of her arousal fills the air, thick and sweet.
I bite my lip and fuck ; I can taste her on my skin where her fingers just were.
Charlotte draws slow circles around her clit, her breath hitching when she presses just right.
Her body tenses, a light sheen of sweat coats her body as her fingers sink deep inside of her with a slick, obscene sound that echoes in the quiet room.
She curls them, finding that perfect spot that makes her hips arch off me with a desperate, throaty moan.
Her thighs tremble against me, her soft skin feels like fire against my cooler flesh. Her free hand grips my thigh behind her for balance, nails digging in just enough to leave crescent-shaped marks as she fucks herself on her fingers.
I can't take it anymore, the sight of her pleasuring herself while straddling me is too much.
I have to touch her, feel that wet heat around my fingers.
I let one hand slide further up her thigh, savoring the silky texture of her skin.
Just as I'm about to sink my fingers into her pussy to join hers, to feel what she's feeling, she grabs my wrist with her free hand, her grip surprisingly strong.
"Ah, ah, ahhh," she taunts, her voice breathy. Her eyes, half-lidded, lock onto mine. "You can look, but don't touch."
"Let me," I growl, the words rumbling from deep in my chest, almost animalistic.
Her fingers slide free with a deliberate slowness.
I think she is going to let me touch her and then her lips curve into a wicked smile before she slowly pushes her fingers back inside her, deeper this time.
The smile on her face spreads even wider as she watches me struggle to maintain my composure.
"Say please," she whispers, and in those two simple words, I feel a shift in our dynamic that's as terrifying to me as it is exhilarating.
She's still grinding down against me, watching me with those big blue eyes and my jaw clenches tight enough to crack teeth. Her fingers work faster now. I should stop her, flip her onto her back and take control, but Christ, the sight of her like this… It's torture I'd sign up for again and again.
"Say it," she breathes, arching her back as she continues to ride her fingers.
I could take what I want. Pin her down, make her whimper, bury myself in that tight cunt until she forgets all about this little power play. But something about the challenge makes me hesitate. She wants this surrender just as much as I want to deny her.