Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Charlie
For a beat, we just stood there, both of us staring at the bed on the far side of the room.
Eventually, she turned to face me, light from the bedside lamp striking warm highlights in her hair, and I saw Jemma as I never had before—not as a memory or a half-formed wish, but as a woman who was finally, truly mine.
“You’re beautiful, Jemma.”
Her laugh came out soft and warm. “This doing it for you?” she teased, gesturing up and down her body to showcase the last pieces of her Mrs. Claus get-up—like Vanna White revealing blank letter boxes.
“Oh, yeah,” I said, stepping closer. “I like it so much I fear you’ve unlocked a heretofore unknown kink. I’ll never be able to look at Mrs. Claus the same way again.”
“Same with me and Santa,” she said, her lips tilting up into a smirk as she walked backward until her knees hit the edge of her bed, her eyes fixed on me the entire time.
Wordlessly, her hands found the hem of her sweater. She hesitated, just for a second, and then tugged it upwards in a single, decisive sweep, leaving her standing there in leggings, a heavy wool skirt, and a surprisingly lacy black bra.
For a moment, I simply took in the sight before following her lead, peeling off my red jacket and the black shirt beneath it, surprised by the absence of the shyness I’d expected when baring my middle-aged body.
It was only when my hands moved to undo my belt that self-consciousness surfaced. The evidence of what had happened in the car was still there, damp and sticky, and clinging to my skin in a way that was fucking uncomfortable. “Uh, I might want to wash up first.”
Her smile was soft, understanding. “Washcloths and towels are in the linen cabinet by the sink,” she said, nodding toward the adjoining bathroom.
“Thanks.”
I stepped inside, flicking on the light.
I cleaned up quickly, running warm water over a washcloth and scrubbing away the tacky traces of my earlier orgasm.
When I was done, I tossed the cloth into the hamper and braced both hands on the edge of the sink.
For a long moment, I just stared at my reflection—at the flushed cheeks, the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“You’re the luckiest son of a bitch in Mistletoe Bay,” I muttered, pushing up and turning back toward the door.
At the last second, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my hips. Even though I was about to get naked with Jemma, it seemed awfully presumptuous to just walk back in with my dick swinging free.
When I opened the door, she stood near the bed, the leggings and skirt she’d been wearing before neatly folded on the chair by the window. My mouth went dry. The black lace that covered her was both simple and elegant, and somehow the sexiest damn thing I’d ever seen.
A small, knowing smile curved her lips as I continued to stare. “You good?”
The words caught in my throat. “So damn good,” I managed, crossing the space between us in just three steps.
Jemma’s smile deepened and her eyes darkened as she eased herself onto the bed, moving backward until her head touched the pillows.
I let the towel fall away and followed her, feeling the mattress give beneath my weight. When I reached her, I dipped my head to taste the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. The sound she made—something between a sigh and a gasp—sent heat spiraling through me.
Her fingertips found my chest, exploring with tentative curiosity that made me shiver as I traced the flutter of her pulse with my lips, memorizing her heartbeat.
I hooked my finger beneath her bra strap, then paused. The last time I’d touched Jemma like this, we were seniors in high school. Two-plus decades had passed. We were different people now, with different bodies, potentially different desires.
“Go ahead,” she whispered, the slight tremor in her voice matching the shake of my hand.
My fingers traced the edge of the black lace, following the curve where fabric met skin. I circled the outer swell of her breast, careful not to touch where her nipples had tightened into tight little points against the delicate material.
“God, Jem,” I murmured, brushing my lips against her lightly freckled shoulder. “I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. I can’t decide if I want to savor every second of unwrapping you or just tear into my present.”
“Rip the wrapping off, Charlie,” she said with a light chuckle, her eyes sparkling.
“Are you sure?”
“If you don’t get this bra off me in the next twenty seconds, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
With a deftness born of long-buried muscle memory, I slid one arm beneath her, finding the clasp. A quick twist of my wrist, and the hooks released. She arched slightly, just enough for me to slide the straps down her shoulders, freeing her as the lace fell away.
I couldn't look away. Twenty-five years had transformed the girl I’d known into the woman before me.
The small curves I remembered had become fuller, more generous swells that rose and fell with each breath she took.
Her nipples had darkened to the color of ripened plums, and I found myself swallowing hard, desperate to taste what time had perfected.
I traced my fingertips around the outer edge of her breast, circling closer and closer to the center with each pass. When I finally brushed the pad of my thumb over her areola, Jemma arched beneath me, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
“More,” she whispered when I kept my touch feather-light. “Please.”
I cupped her breast fully in my palm, testing its weight before gently rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.
“Like this?” I asked, giving it the slightest twist as I watched her face to catalog her reaction.
She shivered, her eyes fluttering closed. “God, yes. Just like that.”
I shifted my attention to her other breast, giving it the same attention.
Jemma’s breathing quickened, her spine arching upward, silently begging for more contact.
I lowered my head, letting my breath ghost over her skin for just a moment before finally sucking her nipple into my mouth.
I swirled my tongue around it, savoring her soft moan, before catching it between my teeth and tugging.
“Charlie,” she gasped, and I released her with a soft pop.
“Remember that time,” I murmured against her damp, flushed skin. “When I made you come just like this?”
The memory of that night surfaced, vivid and electric—her trembling above me in the cramped back seat of my Civic, both of us wide-eyed with discovery. For days after, I’d walked around feeling like a king.
“Could you still …” I asked, watching her face.
She shook her head. “Not since then. Not since you.”
I hummed against her skin, savoring the way tiny little goosebumps bloomed over her, the way she bowed into my touch, desperate and needy and wanting more.
“Part of me is tempted to try,” I whispered, flicking my tongue across one tightened peak. “But I’ve got other plans.”
My lips traced a path down the gentle slope of her stomach, pausing to explore the dip of her navel, the soft curve below, feeling the muscles tense beneath my lips as I moved lower.
When I reached the strip of black lace between her thighs, I pressed my mouth against the fabric, inhaling deeply, pulling the scent of her arousal deep into my lungs.
I hooked my fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear, looking up to find her watching me with heavy-lidded eyes.
She lifted her hips in silent permission, and I slowly drew the lace down her thighs, past her knees, over her ankles.
When I tossed them aside, she parted her legs, revealing herself to me completely.
My mouth watered.
“So fucking pretty,” I whispered, settling on my stomach and pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, then another, working my way higher. Her scent—warm and musky with hints of salt and sweet—filled my senses.
She was slick against my tongue, warm and perfect. “God, you taste exactly how I remembered.”
“Charlie,” she gasped, her fingers threading through my hair—not guiding me, just holding on.
My tongue explored, relearning the landscape of her pleasure. I circled her entrance, dipped inside, then moved up to flick lightly across her clit.
“Right there,” she breathed, her hips rising to meet my mouth.
I settled into a rhythm, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention, listening to her breathing grow more ragged.
My own need built, and I couldn’t help rolling my hips, seeking friction against the sheets.
When her thighs began to quiver, I slid two fingers inside her, curling them forward as I sucked on her clit.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her thighs tensing against my head. “Please don’t ever stop.”
I doubled my efforts, my jaw aching pleasantly, my cock throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
When she finally came, her spine bowed off the bed, her legs clamped around my ears as she pulsed around my fingers … and then flooded my tongue.
The intensity of her release nearly triggered my own, and I had to reach down and grip myself hard at the base to keep from following her over the edge. I’d be damned if I was going to come a second time tonight without being inside her body when I did.
“Come here,” she said when she could speak again, tugging me upward.
I kissed my way back up her body, and when I reached her mouth, she welcomed me with a hunger that made my head spin, her tongue seeking mine as she moaned softly against me.
“I need you,” she whispered. “Now, Charlie.”
I couldn’t help the smile that curved my mouth as I pulled back to meet her eyes. “Be a good girl and say please,” I teased, nipping gently at her lower lip.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Please,” she breathed, batting her eyelashes in an exaggerated flutter that was somehow both ridiculous and enticing.
I reached between us, taking myself in hand, and guiding myself to her entrance. I was so hard it almost hurt. “This might not last,” I warned, meeting her gaze as I began to push forward.
The first slide into her body pulled a groan from deep in my chest. She was tight, her slick heat enveloping me inch by inch, her body yielding and claiming all at once.
Years of wanting, of wondering … all of it dissolved in the perfection of finally being joined with this woman for the very first time.
“Jesus, Jem,” I managed, my voice strained as I buried myself completely.
Her legs wrapped around my waist, her heels digging into the small of my back as if to keep me from escaping. As if I would ever want to be anywhere but here, surrounded by her, consumed by her.
I began to move, sparks of pleasure racing up my spine. She met me thrust for thrust, her hips rising to take me deeper. I reached for her hands, linking our fingers together beside her head, using the leverage to drive into her with more force.
“Yes,” she gasped, her eyes never leaving mine. “Just like that.”
I lowered my head to capture her mouth again, swallowing her moans as I quickened my pace.
Heat pooled at the base of my spine, my muscles tensing as I felt myself rushing toward the edge.
I tried to slow down, to make this moment last, but she was clenching around me, her inner walls pulsing in a way that made rational thought impossible.
“Let go,” she urged, her breath hot against my ear. “I want to feel you.”
Those four words shattered my last thread of control.
My hips jerked forward, and then I was coming, pleasure crashing through me as I spilled into her with a hoarse cry.
I collapsed onto her, our bodies slick with sweat, and my heart hammering against my chest. For a moment, we just breathed together, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.
When I finally found the strength to move, I braced myself on one arm and slowly withdrew from her body, unable to look away from the sight of my cum trickling out of her cunt.
“What are you staring at?” she murmured, propping herself on her elbows.
Without thinking, I traced my fingers through the mess between her thighs.
She watched, eyes widening slightly as I brought my fingers up and, with deliberate slowness, painted glistening trails across her tits.
“Charlie!” She laughed, the sound bright and surprised. “When did you get so kinky?”
I shook my head, mesmerized by the way the light caught on her slick skin. “I’m not. Or, rather, I haven’t been. Not ever. Not until now.” My eyes met hers, and I grinned, feeling strangely uninhibited. “But I’m suddenly thinking of all these things I want to do to you. Do with you.”
Her smile turned wicked. “Like what?”
“Like everything,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss her softly. “I want to worship you. I want to defile you. I want you to defile me.”
Jemma shivered as I slid off the bed, my muscles pleasantly sore, and scooped her into my arms. She squealed, clutching my shoulders as I carried her toward the bathroom.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I murmured against her hair, “so I can get you dirty all over again.”