23. Skylar #2
Brennan’s voice on the phone, clipped and cold.
Charlie’s scream in the padded room. Charlie who had an interview in the morning and then a game on Saturday, all a performance.
Charlie stepping between strangers in a bar and taking the blame for his teammates.
A lifetime of putting everyone else first.
“Do you want this? Me?”
“I’ve never…” His throat bobbed. “Not about anyone. Not like this.”
She held his wrist. His pulse hammered beneath her fingertips. “I’m telling you that you’re worth the risk. Whatever happens. I’d rather find out than keep pretending I don’t care about you when I can barely breathe around you.”
His breath caught.
“I know you.” She pressed her palm flat against his chest. “So let’s stop denying ourselves and take what we both want.”
She kissed his cheek and he didn’t move. She kissed the tip of his nose and he didn’t move. “Please Charlie.” Her lips hovered over his. “Choose me.”
For a fraction of a second he held still, his chest rising and falling.
Then his mouth crashed against hers, urgent and open, his tongue sliding against her lower lip before he deepened the kiss and swallowed the sound she made.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist and he lifted her onto the marble counter of the kitchen island and the restraint dissolved.
The cold stone bit through her jeans and she gasped against his mouth.
Charlie stepped between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips, dragging her forward until their bodies pressed flush.
The height put her above him for the first time.
She held his face in both hands and kissed him deeper, slower.
His fingers found the hem of her shirt. He paused, his thumbs tracing circles against her hip bones, a question asked in skin.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it on the kitchen floor.
For a long moment he just looked at her, his eyes traveling down from her face to the black cotton bra that had seen better days.
The self-consciousness hit fast, a reflex born from thrifted wardrobes and borrowed everything, and she reached to cover herself.
Charlie caught her wrist. Brought her knuckles to his mouth. Kissed each one and then lowered her hand to her side.
“Don’t hide from me.” The words pulsed against her skin where his mouth hovered. “Ever.”
Warmth kissed the hollow between her collarbones, then moved lower, lips parting against the swell of her breast above the fabric, and Skylar’s spine arched. Her fingers raked through his hair, pulling him closer, and the groan that vibrated against her sent heat flooding through her inner thighs.
Off. His shirt needed to be off. She tugged the fabric over his head and ran her palms flat down his torso. Muscles contracted beneath her touch, his breath catching hard. The power coiled under his skin and the restraint it took to hold still for her hands undid something low in her belly.
Steady fingers unclasped her bra, drew the straps down her arms with a deliberateness that made her breath stutter.
Cool air prickled across her bare body. Then warmth replaced the cold, his mouth against her breast, tongue circling her nipple until her head tipped back and an indecent moan left her.
The exposure should have terrified her. Instead, the air on her skin and his mouth on her body and the quiet reverence in his hands made her want to give him more.
Every noise she gave him changed what came next. Pressure shifted. Angle adjusted. Pace slowed. Learning her. Cataloging her the way she cataloged light and shadow, except his medium was touch and she was the subject and the thoroughness of his attention made her eyes sting.
The button of her jeans gave under his fingers. She lifted her hips and he pulled the denim down her legs along with her underwear in one motion. Bare beneath his gaze, a wetness pooled between her legs.
“You’re so beautiful.” He traced the curve of her jaw. “So damn beautiful.”
She leaned forward, taking his mouth as her fingers fumbled with his belt, his zipper, and he helped her push his jeans past his hips. When she wrapped her hand around him, he hissed through his teeth, mouth dropping to her neck, and his whole body shuddered.
“Wait.” His lips moved against her bare skin.
She couldn’t wait a second longer. “I need you.”
"Wait. Wait." He pried himself away from her.
Her mouth found his collarbone, teeth grazing the taut muscle.
"Give me ten seconds." He was gone and back before the cold could reach her, foil in hand.
Charlie swallowed as she tore open the foil wrapper, then his eyes closed as she rolled the condom on, his jaw clenching, a full-body shudder running through him.
She guided him to her entrance because if he didn’t close the distance in the next three seconds her lungs would collapse. “Take what’s yours.”
There was no hesitation, pushing inside her inch by inch, giving her time to adjust, and the stretch drew a groan from deep in her belly.
Her legs wrapped around his waist and drew him deeper and his breath shattered against the curve of her jaw.
He was everywhere. The fullness, the heat, the weight of his body between her thighs and the rapid pulse in his throat hammering against her collarbone.
“Okay?” he whispered.
She answered by rolling her hips.
A low, broken sound escaped his lips and he began to move.
Slow at first, deliberate, each thrust measured and deep.
His hands gripped her thighs, angling her hips up, and the shift sent a bolt of white heat through her center that made her cry out.
He did it again. And again. Reading her body, adjusting, finding the rhythm that made her fingernails dig into his back.
The pace built. His restraint, the careful, calculated control he wore through every hour of his public life, came apart in increments.
Each thrust pushed harder, deeper, and the sounds he made against her grew ragged and desperate, a man finally allowing himself to take what he’d denied himself for months.
Skylar matched him, her hips rising to meet each stroke, her hands hauling him closer, and the friction between them built a pressure that climbed higher with every movement.
“Right there.” She gasped the words against his ear. “Charlie, right there, don’t stop.”
He didn’t stop. His hand slid between their bodies, his thumb finding the exact place that made her body sing, and he worked her in tight circles while he drove into her, and the dual sensation cracked her open.
The pleasure built and built and built until her vision blurred and her thighs shook and she buried her face against him and came apart with his name caught between her teeth.
A few more pumps and he followed, his hips stuttering, his grip on her thighs tightening hard enough to leave marks she’d find tomorrow. A sound tore from his chest, raw and unguarded, and he pressed so deep inside her she couldn’t tell where her body ended and his began.
Stillness.
Strong arms wrapped around her, pinning her tight against him, his face pressed into the curve of her neck. His breathing came in long, shuddering pulls.
Skylar held him. She pressed her lips to his temple and ran her fingers through his damp hair and said nothing. Their bodies said enough.
His lips brushed the hollow of her throat. “Stay.”
The word settled against her skin. She waited for the panic, the reflex to pull back, the voice from Ironwood insisting that reaching for someone meant losing them. The panic never came. In its place, a certainty so steady it frightened her more than the fear ever had.
“Yes.”