16. Charlotte
— ? —
Charlotte
“You’re quiet,” Sutton said.
“I’m tired,” I said. “It’s been a long night of being manipulated into enjoying myself against my will.”
“You’re smiling while you say that, which undermines the complaint a little.”
“I’m tiredly smiling,” I said. “It’s a different category entirely. Less enthusiasm, more resignation.”
He took a turn onto Ocean Drive and the car swung gently with the curve, and my hand reached out to steady myself against the console and landed on his thigh instead.
I could feel the warmth of him through the fabric, the tension in his leg, the way his breath shifted just slightly when I didn’t pull away. I should have laughed it off, made some joke about losing my balance, put distance between us the way I always did when we got too close to something real.
My hand stayed exactly where it was.
His came off the steering wheel and covered mine, pressing it down against his thigh, his fingers curling around my wrist like he was afraid I might disappear if he didn’t hold on.
“Keep driving,” I said.
“I can’t concentrate when you’re touching me like that, and you know exactly what you’re doing, so either move your hand or accept what happens if you don’t.”
I slid my hand higher instead.
He swore under his breath, and pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road where the gravel crunched beneath the tires and the engine idled in the sudden stillness.
He put it in park and turned to look at me.
“This is a bad idea,” I said, watching his chest rise and fall.
“Probably,” he said.
“We’re on the side of the road and anyone could drive by and see us.”
“Probably,” he said again, and neither of us moved to start the car.
I was already reaching for him before I finished deciding to do it, and I don’t know who closed the distance first, only that one second we were staring at each other across the console and the next I was climbing over it with my knees finding the space on either side of his hips and my body settling into his lap.
His hands found my waist and pulled me down against him, and I felt him hard beneath me, straining against his pants.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his fingers digging into my hips. “Do that again, exactly like that, I need to feel you move against me.”
I rolled my hips again and felt him twitch beneath me. His hands slid up my sides beneath my shirt to find bare skin, his thumbs tracing the edges of my bra with a deliberation that made me arch into his touch.
“Take it off,” I said.
He reached behind me and unhooked it, and then his palms were sliding up to cup my breasts.
“Do you have any idea what that does to me, watching you respond like this, feeling you shake in my lap?”
“Show me,” I said, and my voice came out breathless and wrecked in a way I couldn’t have hidden if I’d tried.
He pinched gently and I cried out, grinding down against him harder, chasing the friction of my jeans against my clit that was maddening.
I started to move with purpose, rocking against him, feeling the ridge of him press exactly where I needed pressure, and his mouth found my throat and sucked at the sensitive skin below my ear while I tilted my head back to give him access to anything he wanted.
His lips trailed down to my collarbone, then lower, kissing between my breasts before his mouth closed around one nipple.
“Sutton, god, your mouth,” I gasped, and he sucked harder in response, switching to the other breast to bite down gently before soothing the sting with his tongue, and I was grinding against him so hard now that the whole car was rocking slightly with the motion.
“Don’t stop touching me,” I breathed, my knees aching from the cramped position and not caring even slightly because the pressure was coiling tighter with every roll of my hips. “Please, I’m right there, I just need…”
He pinched my nipple at the same moment he thrust his hips up against me, and the combined sensation pushed me over the edge I’d been clinging to.
His arms wrapped around me and held me there while I trembled, and I could still feel him hard beneath me, unsatisfied and throbbing against my thigh.
“What about you,” I managed, still breathing too fast.
“Tonight was about you,” he said, and his voice was strained but his hands on my back were gentle in a way that made something twist in my chest. “I got to watch you come in my lap, got to feel you shaking against me, heard my name in your mouth. Trust me, I’m not complaining about anything.”
I should have climbed off him, fixed my bra, straightened my shirt, put myself back together into someone who had control over her own decisions. Instead I stayed draped over him with his heartbeat pounding against my chest and his arms holding me like he was afraid I might disappear.
Eventually he pressed a kiss to my hair and said, “I should probably get you home before someone calls the cops about the suspicious fogged-up car on the side of Ocean Drive.”
I laughed, surprising myself with the sound, and felt him smile against my hair before I climbed back over the console and into the passenger seat on legs that didn’t quite want to hold me steady.
He put the car in drive and pulled back onto the road, and I stared out the window at the water and tried to remember why I was supposed to be keeping my distance from this.
His hand reached over and found mine in the dark. I let him lace his fingers through mine instead.
He held my hand the rest of the drive with his thumb stroking absently across my knuckles.
The wall was essentially gone now, and I had no idea how to want him and survive it at the same time, no map for this territory where I kept letting him in despite everything I knew about how badly it could end.
He pulled into my driveway and put the car in park but didn’t let go of my hand.
“I’d ask to come in,” he said, “but I know what you’d say, and I’d rather end the night without hearing you tell me no.”
“That’s very strategic of you,” I said. “Quit while you’re ahead.”
“I’m learning,” he said. “Slowly, but I’m learning.”
I looked at him in the dim light, at his profile, at the way his fingers were still wrapped around mine like letting go would cost him.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said. “Even though you manipulated me into it and I’m still not entirely sure I’ve forgiven you for that.”
“Thank you for staying,” he said. “Even though I didn’t give you much choice in the matter.”
I pulled my hand from his, finally, and opened the car door to let the cool night air hit my flushed skin. I shivered at the contrast and stepped out onto the gravel.
“Goodnight, Sutton,” I said.
“Goodnight, Charlotte,” he said.
I walked to my door and let myself inside without looking back, heard his car idle in the driveway for a long moment before he finally pulled away into the night.