Chapter 20
Charity lay on her back, her body languid as she reveled in her orgasm. Yet Oliver once again kissing his way up her body and then lavishing attention on her breasts with his cock nuzzling the entrance to her sex had her full attention. It seemed he had the full attention of every muscle, nerve, and cell in her body. She shot from relaxed to tingling and lifted her knees to make her more accessible.
After he finally let go of one of her nipples with a wet pop, he guided his cock between her slick folds and thrust deeply.
The initial jolt of the invasion swiftly passed with each skillful movement. She’d had sex before but now learned there was a great deal of difference in how the partner made her feel. With Oliver on top, it could be thought of as basic vanilla sex. But he wrapped an arm around her leg and stretched her even wider. His cadence didn’t slow, and she loved staring up at him as she felt each velvet plunge. She lost his eyes when he lowered his head and kissed her. At that moment, she couldn’t have coordinated anything, but his tongue thrust in time with his cock, and she felt the coil deep inside tightened. There was nothing basic or vanilla about Oliver.
She’d also never had more than one orgasm during sex, and even that wasn’t always guaranteed. She had one orgasm with his mouth and at first assumed this would be about him finding his release. That notion was obliterated as her own body readied itself for the second onslaught.
“Jesus, Oliver,” she groaned, finding it difficult to speak.
“I want to come buried in you, Charity. But let’s ride this out a little longer.”
She had no idea what he meant, but her eyes popped open when he rolled to his back, dragging her body along with him. She ended up prone on top of him with his cock still buried. She looked down and spied the questioning expression in his eyes. Grinning, she used her hands on his shoulders for leverage and pushed up while drawing her knees up at the same time.
Now she was straddling him, and how she’d managed to get in that position without losing his cock, she wasn’t sure, but she was damn proud of herself.
He chuckled, and she felt the movement from where they were connected straight into her core. As she looked down, her hair falling around them like a curtain, she asked, “What’s so funny?”
“You are, babe. You had a look on your face that you just earned a ten in the Olympics of changing sex positions.”
Now it was her turn to laugh, and she realized that was another first. Her previous sex partners had seen to her needs, and then they got down to business for themselves. Oliver could make her laugh, bringing humor and joy into sex. At that moment, she felt closer to him than she felt to anyone.
“Well, let’s see what other tens I can earn.” With that, she lifted up, almost off his cock, and then plunged down again.
His eyes widened, and his fingers dug in tightly to her ass. She repeated the maneuver several times, each time watching as his eyes grew darker with lust. She soon found her rhythm, alternating her speed with the depth she plunged, and couldn’t help but smile. There was a sense of freedom in being on top. For her, it wasn’t about power, although that was an emotion she felt, realizing the pleasure she brought to him. It also wasn’t about control since, in reality, it was his long, hard cock that she was riding.
It was about trust. Whoever was on top had power and control, but that meant the person on the bottom trusted her to care for their needs. With her fingers still digging into his shoulders, she rode him until her movement slowed. “I don’t think I’m gonna get an Olympic ten on riding. I’m gonna need a hell of a lot more practice for that.”
He grinned up at her with an expression that could be deemed boyish, which seemed ridiculous, considering his body was all man. “We can give you plenty of practice, but lift a little bit for now, and I’ll take over.”
She stayed on top, with her breasts bouncing in time to his thrusts as he moved his hips up and down. He had the stamina she lacked, and his hands moved from her ass up to cup her breasts. As he tweaked her nipples, she felt her core tighten again.
With her eyes trained on him, she could tell he was close. His face was red, his neck muscles tight, and the blood vessels swelling. One of his hands remained on her breast while the other moved between them, his thumb rubbing her swollen nub.
She tried to hold on until he came but flew apart, then realized that was what he was also waiting for. As her body vibrated from deep inside, clutching him tighter, he roared out his own release as he lifted his hips, thrusting even deeper. His movements slowed, and as her arms began to ache, she lowered herself to lay on top of him with her cheek pressed against his sweaty chest.
As she lay there and listened to his heartbeat, it struck her that sex was messy, sweaty, and, in some ways, not very dignified. Yet when it all ended with her body coming down from the high of an orgasm, and she could press her ear against his pounding heartbeat, it was so much more than just a physical act. She had no idea what they were and wasn’t ready to put a label on it. But right now, with the hoofbeats of his heart resonating against her face, it was as comfortable as coming home.
* * *
Charity sat in her office, still riding the wave of her fun, get-to-know-more-about-each-other weekend with Oliver. Even the piles of files on her desk couldn’t dim her post-sex high.
A knock on her door shot her gaze over to land on one of the girls at the center. “Latifa. Hi. Come on in.”
Latifa walked through the doorway, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and glancing around at everything but Charity. She sat down and sucked in a deep breath before lifting her gaze.
“What can I do for you?” Charity asked, noting Latifa’s nervous behavior.
The pretty teenager looked behind her at the open door and then swung her gaze back to Charity. “Would it be okay if I closed your door, Ms. Whitlock?”
“Of course.” Charity waited until Latifa had jumped up, closed the office door, and then took her seat again. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“There’s no need to apologize. My open-door policy is for everyone to feel that they can see me anytime. But many conversations need to be private, so this is fine.” She waited another moment as Latifa fiddled with the hem of her sweater. Finally, feeling the need to prompt her, she leaned forward, casually placing her arms on her desk. “Something is on your mind. Please, how can I help?”
Latifa nibbled on her bottom lip before finally saying, “You were asking some kids last week about Kofi. Kofi Jackson.”
She tried to hide her surprise but felt sure her interest flared like a rocket. “Yes, yes, I was.”
“I lied when I said I didn’t know him. He and I were in school together a couple of years ago. He was… well, he was real smart. And cute.”
A little smile slipped over Charity’s lips. “Yes, he seems to be very smart and very nice-looking.”
Latifa offered a soft smile, and then it fell from her face into a grimace.
“Do you know something about him?”
Latifa’s lips pinched together, then she blew out a breath and whispered, “It… might not be a good idea for you to ask.”
A trickle of fear slithered through her, ending with her coffee souring in her stomach. “Why not?” she asked just as softly.
“Most of the kids here wouldn’t know, but a few have heard things.”
“What kind of things, Latifa?”
“Like…like… he’s involved in some serious shit.”
Charity sucked in a hasty breath before it left her lungs in a shaky exhalation. So many things ran through her mind—drugs, prostitution, trafficking. “Honey, I need to know so I can help him. It’s not just him but also his younger brother.” She got up from behind her desk and walked around her desk to take a seat next to the obviously scared teen. Reaching over to place her hand on Latifa’s, she begged, “Please. I want to help him.”
Latifa held her gaze and nodded. “All I’ve heard is about someone who gets kids to live with them, and then they get the kids to do bad stuff. Mostly stealing, I think. But no one knows who they are or where they are. I never paid any attention to the rumors because they had nothing to do with me. Then I once overheard someone say Kofi’s name. They said he was gone, working for…”
Latifa’s face scrunched, and Charity squeezed her hand.
“I only heard one name, which didn’t mean anything to me.”
“What was the name, Latifa?”
“It was something like Fagin.”
Charity blinked, her hand jerking slightly. “Fagin?”
“Yeah. But I don’t know if it’s a first name or last. It’s really nothing.”
Charity sucked in another breath. “It’s something if you know Charles Dickens.”
Now, it was time for Latifa to blink. “Wasn’t he an author, Ms. Whitlock?”
She patted the girl’s hand and nodded. “Yes.” She closed her eyes as her heart ached. “Do you know anything else about Kofi or this Fagin person?”
“No, ma’am. That’s it. I swear.”
Standing, she smiled at Latifa. “Okay, you can go on back to your studies.” She wrapped her arms around the young woman, and they hugged tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered.
As soon as Latifa left, she closed the door behind her and grabbed her phone from her desk. Hitting the number for Oliver, she prayed he would be available. As soon as the call connected, she let out a sigh of relief.
“Hey, Charity,” he greeted. “What’s up?”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“At the work compound, why?”
“I might have found out something about Kofi and Ramzi, but I have no idea what to do with the information.”
“Okay, give it to me, and I’ll see what can be done.”
She told him about Latifa’s visit, ending with, “I don’t know how much you know about the characters in Charles Dicken’s Oliver Twist, but we may be facing a modern-day Fagin.”