Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Whoa, who are you sending that to? It’s not finished. It’s…”
T.R. held it out of her reach as she stretched for it, enjoying the feel of her jolting against him. As expected, a second later, his phone rang. He answered, cranking the volume, grinning down at her as Jack said through the cell, “It’s perfect. She’s what we’ve been looking for.”
“Yup. Want me to ask her?” His eyes held hers as she perched her fists on her hips, this touch of sass from her intriguing.
“Ask me what?” she frowned.
“Yup,” Jack said. T.R. grinned harder. “Lemme text Bo.”
“What are you scheming, Trouble?” she demanded, managing to snatch her notes back. T.R. ignored her. “Come on, guys.”
“Oh, she’s begging me now, man.” T.R. winked at her, his words for his buddy.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning back to her tunnel to slip through the door, but he stopped her.
The musical notations were genius. It wasn’t just her notes about the syncopated lead-in.
It was the brilliant little twists she’d scribbled all over the margins, making him crave these glimpses into her uninhibited heart when her guard was down.
Her pulse fluttered in her neck. Her jade gems went wide. But she didn’t flinch. Yearning filled her face. And apprehension. He muted his phone and wrapped her in all his sterile-suited arms as his phone languished on mute and Jack cleared his throat.
“We wanna put a headshot of you up on our social.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And a bio. Jack’s post gained a ton of traction last night and it looks like the radio station in town picked it up.” He pressed a kiss to her nose.
She bit her lip like she did when she was thinking hard on what to say.
“Sure would like to show you off,” he whispered, and felt her relax into him in return.
That was it.
She’d been torn down so much, she didn’t know how to take it when someone built her up. Like he didn’t know how to accept her money. Accept the way in which she looked at him like some knight in shining armor when his armor was tarnished with bad deeds.
You gotta be honest with her—
He kissed her temple.
Kissed her jaw as she turned her lips to his and kissed him back. He set down the phone. Cupped her cheeks, tilting her head to slot her lips to his better and felt himself thickening, unable to help it no matter how much he gritted his teeth to stave it off.
“Okay,” she murmured against his lips.
Victory. He pushed away his increasing guilt like the proverbial thorn digging deeper into his side, because he dared not break this spell.
Somehow, he was walking her backward toward the wall, his body heating with need he ought to suppress because he had stuff to tell her, but unable to, growing like pressure in a cooker for over two weeks, her touch growing frantic as he caressed up and down her jumpsuit, over her ass, holding her snug to his burgeoning lust and began to hoist her up by her thighs, her rear palmed in his hands.
God, he felt himself crumbling like a tower to be falling into this woman again.
“Gotta—” He kissed wildly now, her mouth, her neck, as he wedged his hips between her thighs, feeling her trust, letting her legs slide back down as he ripped off his latex gloves and let them fall on top of the papers.
“Get my girlfriend outta—” Steadied her body as he fumbled her to her feet. “This space-age lingerie—”
A laugh blessedly bubbled up her throat as he unzipped it and stretched it down her arms, pulling the sleeves inside out as he dropped down to his knees and yanked it down revealing her leggings and …
that undershirt. His undershirt. She’d wanted him so badly she’d kept this.
Thank fuck he hadn’t suffered these weeks of loneliness alone.
He ripped down his suit’s zipper and fought his arms out of the sleeves, stripping it to the waist as he hurried to strip down her leggings, next and…
Sweet, lace panties, powder pink against her tan skin, bikini line smooth. Still so manicured beneath her Birks and overalls. Still an inner beauty queen despite how much she tried to hide it.
He traced a thumb over the lace. Over her mound. She twitched and hitched her breath as fingers clenched down hard on his shoulders.
He dove forward, relishing her gasp as he shamelessly nipped her through the fabric right on that hot button that with just the right amount of pressure would release her passion for him all over again.
“Jeezus, I’ve missed your taste, baby,” he growled, her sweet, tangy arousal strong for him, kneeling before her quaking legs like a supplicant desperate for mercy.
“On—my mind—constantly,” he gruffed between nips as he nuzzled right into the crux of her thighs and inhaled her fragrance.
“In my dreams, here in this place … wakin’ me up. ”
She whined with need and frustration he was stoking, sliding his tongue through the lace along her seam like a shameless devil.
“I’m—a desperate man, Flower Girl—Tell me I got a right to do this.
Tell me to cut loose—” He kissed harder, biting down on her thighs, bracing her rear in his palms to keep her close to his lips where he could suckle through the fabric, wanting to splay her wide open right here and have every inch of his way.
“Tell me you want me—can’t do anything more—till you give me the right—”
She ripped off his sterile cap and raked frantic fingers into his hair to anchor him down as her whine droned in her throat.
As she trembled, her legs shaking in his grip, he stared up her flat tummy with a mouthful of lace to see the outline of a matching bra beneath his undershirt, her brow furrowed tight, her eyes pinched closed, her mouth parted and those lips, those lips.
Lips he knew would return this favor to him tenfold and look so hot yet sweet, with her mouth full as she stared up his treasure trail into his eyes, as he cinched her hair around his fist like reins and guided her to the rhythm that rocked his world.
“That’s right, beautiful,” he husked. “You’re about to detonate for me, aren’t you?”
Her whine turned into a desperate cry as he suckled that sweet spot, pinched it with his teeth, moaned at the delectable flavor and grinned into her as she began to ride up and down his lips.
“Want me to push you over the edge, baby?” he rumbled, taking in how sexy she looked in her work boots and exposed panties and miles of legs, her stance widened just for him with her jumpsuit and leggings tethering her knees.
And then, after a beat, she nodded frantically. “Yes.”
*
He shoved to his boots and hauled Charlie to him around the waist and dropped his lips to hers, her taste strong on him and … it was so carnal, she gripped him hard, legs trembling as Thaddeus McClintock dragged up her T-shirt and ripped it between their meshed lips, over her head.
“Use me to hold yourself up, I got you.”
Use me to hold yourself up … Such a simple phrase and yet, Charlie wondered, her nails digging into his shoulders for purchase, his jumpsuit only halfway peeled down, grappling with her again in the next second as if he was afraid she’d vanish.
He dropped her shirt on the rubberized floor on top of hairnets and gloves.
“Love my T-shirt on you, baby.” His mouth was back on hers as he raked his hand over her bra, over her breasts, frenzied with lust, a floodgate undammed. “Love it more on the floor.”
He dragged aside her panties, arm still cinched around her waist, and, and—oh, slipped a finger between her folds.
Her knees trembled. Sparks pricked within her for permission to ignite.
“Hold me up,” she begged against his lips, grappling to cling to his neck.
He groaned, long and low and desperate, as he sank to her neck as if relief had finally washed over him and eased the tension in his every muscle, and simply held his finger within her, gripping her.
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening again,” he breathed against her skin, pressing a kiss to her erratic heartbeat in her neck.
“Girl, I’m so wild for you, and when you kicked me out, I…
” He bit a path down her neck, her collarbone, as her nails began to tear open his jeans, popping the button as he growled his approval and sank his mouth to her breast. “This lace … you’re so pretty …
so smart…” An edge of reverence rimmed his words. “What the hell do you see in me?”
His question niggled her lust-hazed mind. A protector. A champion. A man who knew what it was like to be wronged and pick up the pieces afterward.
“Someone who knows how to overcome,” she breathed. “Someone who sees Daisy for who she is instead of the guy she’s descended from. Someone who wants me in spite of it.”
“She’s part of you, sweetheart.” He held her tighter, nipping at her lips and jaw as his brow furrowed. “Don’t you see how incredible you are?”
“I have too many scars,” she whispered.
“Yeah, but scars are sexy…”
His lips enclosed on her breast, tugging with his teeth as his finger within her began to pump nice and languid, his thumb braced against her sensitive nub, kneading circles as he rolled his heavy erection against her hip and thigh with slow thrusts belying the fraying tethers on his control.
His other hand gripped her hip, her rear. His lips suckled through the lace, teeth tugging her nipple.
She cried out, her head falling back. His hold on her only tightened further.
“I got you, Flower Girl,” he murmured against her flesh. “Let go, I got you…”
She did. She rolled against his hand, seeking what she wanted.
She wanted him. And she didn’t want to be afraid to want him.
The sound of her arousal stoked him to pump harder, faster, kneaded with more determination as his head lifted from her breast, as the tension mounted, mounted, a blossom about to open to the sky and burst forth its perfume like sunrays.
His pace increased. “Good girl, Flower Girl, gimme that honey,” he rumbled his praise in her ear, nipping her lobe, holding her up as her legs gave out and she cried out, tipping over the edge.