21. Sticky Fingers
Sticky Fingers
Amelie
So you’re alive! I thought you’d fallen on a burner and caught fire.
Aaron
Alive and well. Just busy with Sadie and work.
Amelie
Is that all you’re busy with?
Picture a winky face. My phone’s bugging and emojis don’t work.
I swallow the thickness in my throat. “Picture a winky face?” What’s the fucking winky face for? There’s no way she knows about Charlotte, is there? It can’t be. Please, tell me she doesn’t know.
My fingers hover over the keys, but the screen shifts to an incoming call, and I stare at Charlotte’s name flashing on it for a long moment before I pick it up.
“Hello?”
“‘You exist with your whole heart. It’s beautiful to see.’”
Warmth unfurls in my chest. She’s read one of the notes I left for her.
“Did something happen to make you need the reminder?”
“You’re crazy if you think I have the kind of self-control needed for a jar of stars.”
“You opened them all?”
“Last night. Then I folded them all back up and opened one today.”
I grin, shaking my head lightly. “Of course. Well...I can make more. I think I could make an infinite amount, in fact.”
She chuckles, then after a long pause, she says, “You know I’m not using you, right?”
“Yeah?” I settle on the couch, lowering the volume of the TV. We haven’t really talked about our fight besides yesterday’s video call since Beatrice was around all day today, but I thought we’d cleared things up. “When I said that...I was just upset, Charlotte.”
“And it was my fault. But I want you to know...” For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, her voice comes back, quieter. “You matter to me, Chef.”
I let my head drop against the back of the couch.
“You’re not just some guy I use for pleasure.” She pauses, like she’s searching for the right words. “You’re...steady. Patient. Good. I don’t know if you realize how rare that is.”
I grip the phone a little tighter.
“I don’t do this,” she admits. “Not just the whole...being with one person thing, but this —talking. Letting people get close. I don’t know how to be what people expect.
And I think sometimes...” She lets out a laugh, like she’s still trying to make sense of it herself.
“Sometimes I’m the worst version of myself to see if you’ll stick around. And you always do.”
A lump rises in my throat. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”
“Wait, I’m not done.” Her voice is firmer now, but there’s something nervous underneath it. “I just need to say this, okay?”
I stay quiet.
“At some point, you won’t stick around,” she says finally. “I’ll do the one thing that’s...too much. That would break even someone like you. Don’t say it’s not true, because you don’t know . You don’t know...a lot of things.”
I really want to interject, to reassure her, to ask her what things she’s talking about, but I respect her wishes and keep my mouth shut.
“So I need you to know now, when things are good, that you’re not just some guy.
You’re the guy. The guy I’ll compare everyone else to, the one who set the standard, who’ll make it even harder for me to settle.
Because when I’m with you...I feel perfect.
I feel right . And I’ve never felt like that before. ”
For a second, I can’t speak.
Charlotte, who never lets anyone in. Charlotte, who keeps the world at arm’s length and acts like it doesn’t bother her. She’s giving me this.
I close my eyes, let the words settle, let myself feel the emotions trapped in them. The pain, the hope masked as certainty of failure, the fear. Then I say the only thing I know is true.
“You are perfect.” I draw an imaginary pattern on my jeans. “In fact, I’d go as far as to say that you’re the exception to the ‘nobody’s perfect’ rule.”
She laughs, the sound like cherry blossoms sprouting in my chest.
“Well, I’ll travel out of town for a shoot this week, so if you want to get some of this perfect on you...how about we hang out Friday night? I have a show in the afternoon, but you could come see me. We could spend the night at your place, watch another movie with Sadie.”
“Ye—” I immediately blurt, stopping once I realize Friday won’t work. “Fuck. I’ve got my brother’s bachelor party.”
“You do?”
“He’s getting married in a week and a half.”
“If you’re looking for a plus-one, you should know I’m in quite high demand. You better book fast.”
I hum, reveling in the fantasy of bringing her to my brother’s wedding.
Of kissing her in front of my friends and family—hell, of kissing her at all.
I wonder if she’d let me. Of dancing with her, getting her a second serving of cake, watching her win over everyone so fast they wouldn’t even notice it.
“I don’t know, Charlotte. You might end up falling madly in love with me, and I’ve got a strict no-refund policy. ”
Listening to her giggles, I feel my shoulders relax. I want to stay here all day, talking to her and making her laugh. Pouring our feelings out to each other one moment, then playing around the next.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?”
A beat of silence, then, “What do you mean?”
“Just...you keep talking about this secret I don’t know. These things , these reasons . You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you want to, you can.”
“You’ll run away, Aaron.”
“No, I won’t. I—” The doorbell rings, and I glance at the time on my phone. Miss Delaney.
“You have to go, don’t you?”
“Yeah. There’s . . .”
“Penny,” Charlotte chimes in.
“Yes, Penny. She’s here to help me figure out the menu for the Mother’s Day recital.”
“Uh-huh.”
Is she annoyed? She sounds annoyed.
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
I don’t even have the energy to put my mouth on another woman, let alone the will to do so.
“No, of course not.”
“Okay.” Her voice still sounds clipped. “’Cause you know, I?—”
“Relax, Chef. We’re good.” She clears her throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
I’m about to suggest I could call her later, but she’s hung up already.
“So, what are we thinking in terms of menu?” I ask Miss Delaney—right, Penny —as she takes the first sip of a cup of coffee. After some awkward chatter about Sadie, who’s currently at her grandma’s, we set up in the kitchen.
She’s wearing makeup—a heavier application than what she usually has on at school. Her lips are glossy, and there’s a touch of eyeliner that makes her eyes pop. She’s not in her usual overalls either. Instead, she’s wearing a blue sweater and a pair of fitted jeans.
Did she dress up for this?
“We’d originally planned some finger food. Mini sandwiches, fruit skewers, cheese cubes for the kids, and then crostinis and stuffed mushrooms for the parents. We expect about forty moms and forty kids.”
“Piece of cake,” I say before taking a sip from my cup.
“Great. We just need to make sure we avoid these ingredients,” she says, holding a piece of paper out. “Allergies, intolerances.”
We’re silent for a few moments as I read through the list, though I can see her fidgeting in my peripheral vision.
“It looks—” I start at the same time she says, “I was?—”
We both fall silent, and I gesture toward her. “Sorry, go on.”
“No, I...” She swallows. “Do you want to get coffee? With me?” She looks down at her mug with wide eyes. “I mean as a date. Like, outside. Or here, just not...oh, I’m messing this up.”
I look up at her—this pretty, slightly awkward woman who loves my daughter dearly. She’s exactly my type too, and she’s obviously into me. Nervous just to be around me.
Why doesn’t that do anything for me?
Because Charlotte .
She’s not Charlotte.
Nobody is.
“I’m flattered, Penny. Really. But I’m already seeing someone, and—” A knock comes at my front door, and she avoids my gaze as I stand from my stool. “Excuse me.”
I walk over and open it, my jaw almost hitting the floor when I see Charlotte standing on the other side, wrapped in an oversized burgundy sweater and a plaid mini skirt that swishes around her thighs as she shifts her weight.
“What—”
She quickly steps in, then grips my hand and pulls me toward the stairs.
“Wait,” I whisper, eyes running down her long bare legs, all the way to the white knee-high socks and vintage brown heels. I thought she couldn’t leave the house—I’d already given up on seeing her until tomorrow. “Penny’s here.”
“Uh-huh.” She tugs at my hand but I stand my ground, so she purrs, “Tell her you’ll be back soon.”
“What—why?”
I throw a worried look at the kitchen, and once I turn back to her, she steps closer until her forehead is pressed against mine. “Because it turns out I am jealous.”
Seriously? I hesitate, but who am I kidding? She left me starving for days, and now she’s serving herself to me on a silver platter.
I won’t be able to say no.
“Penny, uh, help yourself to another coffee. I’ll be right back,” I call. Once she says it’s no problem, I follow Charlotte upstairs and guide her into my bedroom.
My heartbeat is through the roof, and I briefly wonder again how much of this is self-destructive behavior, because I’m hard the second the door closes behind us.
I guide her toward the bed, but instead she pushes me against my door, my back hitting it with a thump.
She leans forward, her lips hovering so close to mine that her breath—hot and teasing—washes over my skin like a promise. My cock twitches in anticipation, already straining against my briefs.
I don’t want to get my hopes up again, but is she going to kiss me? Am I the exception to her rules?
“Did she already do it?”
“Do what?” I breathe. “Who?”
“ Penny ,” she says, as if her name alone is insulting. “Did she ask you out?”
“Yeah,” I breathe as her long, lethal fingers find my belt, and the sound of it unbuckling is obscenely loud in the silence. I pant, and my cock throbs in agreement, desperate for her touch.
“Did you tell her that you belong to me?”
Her hand slides to my zipper, tugging it down with agonizing slowness, the rasp of metal against metal sending a jolt of electricity straight to my balls.
God, she’s killing me.
“Yes.”
Her fingers hook into the waistband of my briefs, and I let out a strangled noise as she pulls them down, letting my cock spring free, already leaking pre-cum at the tip.
The cool air brushes against my feverish skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of her gaze as she steps back, her eyes locked on my dick.
I have no idea what’s about to happen, but I might explode before I find out.
“Who do you belong to, Chef?”
“Y-you.” I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
All I can do is watch as she reaches for the hem of her skirt, her fingers gliding up her smooth thighs to hook into the waistband of her panties.
She’s wearing red silk—fuck, I love her in red—and as she slides them down her legs, I’m struck dumb by the sight of her bare cunt, glistening with arousal, so pink and tempting I want to drop to my knees and bury my face in her right fucking now.
Before I can move, her skirt is pulled back down, and with her panties in one hand, she steps closer. Her lips brush against the pulse point of my neck as she says, “These are my favorite panties, Chef.” Her voice drips with sin. “Paint them with your cum.”
Oh fuck. She wraps the silk around my cock, her grip tight and perfect, and I let out a ragged sound.
The fabric is smooth, almost too smooth, but I’m so fucking sensitive that even that feels like heaven.
Her hand starts moving, sliding up and down my shaft with a rhythm that leaves me aching for more.
The silk clings to my skin, trapping every drop that leaks from me, and the sensation is maddening.
“ Charlotte ,” I beg, reaching forward and squeezing her hip.
She tightens her grip, her other hand roaming across my chest, her nails digging into my flesh just enough to make me hiss.
I can’t believe how good this feels—how dirty, how wrong, how perfect.
Her free hand slides lower, cupping my balls gently as the strokes of her other hand turn rapid and sharp. She rolls them in her palm, her touch electrifying.
Fuck. It’s the first time she’s truly touched me, and it’s so little, but I gasp for air as my hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of that exquisite pressure.
“You’re so heavy,” she murmurs, her fingers exploring, caressing.
More.
More. Now.
She traces the seam with her fingertips, sending shivers up my spine. “So full. You’ve been saving this load for me, haven’t you?”
More, more, more.
I can only grunt in response, my ability to form coherent words long gone. She chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates through me. Her fingers dance across my sac, alternating between light touches and firm squeezes that make my toes curl.
“That’s it,” she praises, her lips brushing against my ear as she speeds up her movements, twisting her hand around the head of my cock until I see stars. “I’ll remember how hard you came into my panties every time I wear them.”
Fuck . Her words send me spiraling, pressure building low in my stomach and my hips snapping forward as I chase my release.
Once her teeth graze the side of my neck, I’m done for. With a guttural groan, I come hard, thick ropes of cum erupting from my cock and soaking into the red silk still wrapped around me. It’s messy, it’s filthy, and it’s the best handjob I’ve ever had.
She doesn’t stop until I’ve emptied myself completely, her hand squeezing every last drop from me until I’m trembling and spent.
Then, with a wicked smile, she pulls the panties away from my cock, holding them up to the light like a trophy.
They’re drenched, the silk clinging to itself in sticky strands, so obscenely hot that my dick twitches weakly, as if it can’t fucking believe what just happened either.
She leans in again, her lips brushing against mine for the first time. “Good boy,” she says. “Wash them and return them tomorrow.”
I’m still catching my breath when she shoves the panties in my hand and walks out the door. Dizzy and flustered, I drop them on my nightstand and follow her out as I adjust my pants.
This must mean something, right? If she’s jealous about another woman asking me out—so jealous she came here to give me the best handjob of my life—then she must feel some type of way about me.
I follow her, fully planning to ask her what this means, and more importantly, if she’s really going to take an Uber with no underwear on, but she’s out the front door before I take the last step down the stairs. I turn around, only to find myself face-to-face with a horrified Penny.
Holy shit.
I’m certain my face is that of a man who just got jerked off. Flushed and in fucking heaven.
“Wow. She’s . . . beautiful.”
I clear my voice, so embarrassed that it feels like my skin is melting off my skull. “Th-thanks.” I close the door, then point my thumb at it. “As I was saying, I’m...seeing someone.”
“No kidding.”
I watch her frown as she turns around and walks to the kitchen.
That’s one way to make it official.