Chapter 30
I t was almost laughable, the way the morning had unfolded.
We’d had sex—slow, quiet, maddeningly perfect sex.
The kind that made you ache for a second round even as your limbs stopped working.
Then we’d laid there, tangled and sticky and trying to figure out if we were two people who’d just fallen off a cliff, or two idiots who’d finally stopped pretending there was one.
And then we’d gone to breakfast. Just like normal people.
Jack was already at the kitchen island when we came downstairs. Jazz was pouring coffee. There was sunlight on the butcher block, someone had started the dishwasher, and the house smelled like toast and coffee.
Charlie walked in wearing shorts and my T-shirt. She didn’t ask to borrow it, and I didn’t need her to. It looked better on her anyway. Maybe it was risky, her wearing my clothes, but she could come up with a clever excuse if needed.
“Morning,” I said, and somehow my voice came out even.
Jack looked up. “You sleep okay? ”
“Like a rock,” I lied smoothly, accepting a mug from Jazz and sipping it like I hadn’t just been in his sister an hour ago whispering that I loved her thighs.
Charlie leaned against the counter next to me, casual, unreadable. If you didn’t know better, you’d think she was just tired. Just a girl having a chill summer morning.
But I did know better. And my body still hadn’t fully recovered.
We filled them in on the zoning board stuff.
I walked through the evidence—the shell LLCs, the collusion patterns, the café license loophole.
Jazz asked smart questions. Jack made impressed noises.
Charlie, bless her, managed to play the straight-faced client while I laid out my plan like she wasn’t the reason I’d stopped sleeping and started feeling again.
It was fine. It was professional. It was borderline Oscar-worthy. Until she walked behind me to grab the sugar jar off the counter and grabbed my ass. Full handful. Firm squeeze. Fingernails, even.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t choke. Didn’t drop my mug. But I had to adjust my growing hard-on and that beautiful motherfucker chuckled as she watched me from the corner of her eye.
Jazz and Jack were still seated at the island. They had no visual behind the island. No idea what shenanigans Charlie had just started.
Charlie just walked back to the fridge like she hadn’t broken a single rule of our carefully laid out plan for disguise. Then we both headed over to the breakfast nook. I took a sip of my coffee as she came and sat across from me, sliding a grapefruit half across the table like a peace offering.
But I should have known better—because, next, she slipped her bare foot under the table and dragged it slowly, carefully, up the inside seam of my shorts—her toes skimming dangerously close to my cock, which was already halfway to disaster.
I reached under, ready to swat her away, but the second my hand touched her ankle, she wiggled her toes against me like she dared me to move.
So I didn’t. I just wrapped my hand around her foot and started massaging it like we were the most well-adjusted people on Earth—while she played footsie with my dick.
I’d never had a conversation about zoning law with a boner before, but there’s a first time for everything.
By noon, Jazz and Jack left to run errands—something about wedding favors and paint chips. The moment the front door closed, I turned to Charlie with a look that promised vengeance.
She was already smirking.
“That was unprofessional,” I said.
“Which part?”
“You know which part.”
“Oh, you mean when I respectfully asked for legal counsel and then checked the strength of your glutes?” She sipped her coffee, unbothered. “It was a scientific inquiry.”
“That and the interesting foot massage under the table that has left me emotionally compromised and physically unable to stand up for the foreseeable future—with a severe case of blue balls might I add.”
“Fitzgerald Whitmore III and his blue blooded balls,” she snorted to herself.
“Charlie Winslow, you’re going to pay for this.” I grimaced with mock seriousness. I dragged a hand through my hair, already two seconds from tossing her over the kitchen island and forgetting we were adults with secrets and siblings.
“Not if I make you pay again first,” she said sweetly, and got up to carry her dishes to the sink.
A few hours later, my laptop was open, the screen filled with language about easements and municipal code enforcement, and my phone was tucked between my shoulder and jaw, as my law partner Jason droned on in my ear, outlining the finer points of a zoning clause that needed redlining before tomorrow’s deadline. And I was listening. Sort of.
I had some work that had to be finished before the work week ended, so I’d left Charlie to her own sugary devices and came up to my room to finish the essentials.
Until she appeared.
Charlie Winslow—barefoot, legs bare, wearing one of my button-downs undone just enough to show the sweet curve of one perfect breast, hair wild from the ocean breeze, and eyes gleaming with intent.
I stood with one hand braced on the wooden desk on the side wall of my room, scrolling through the document on my laptop, jaw tight, shirt sleeves rolled halfway. It was clear that I was right in the thick of it—mid work call and scrambling to stay focused.
She didn’t say a word. Just moved behind me like a storm front, silent but heavy with intention. Her hands slid around my waist, palms hot through the cotton of my shirt, then lower—pressing flat to my abdomen as her mouth brushed my shoulder blade through the fabric.
My heart stopped.
The zipper of my pants slid down. No hesitation. No announcement. Just the grind of metal teeth parting beneath her fingers, slow and surgical. Her hand snaked inside my briefs, fingers closing around the thick heat of my cock like she was coming home.
I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose.
Jason continued to talk in my ear. “…and with the amendment, we can argue it falls under nonconforming use. But only if?—”
She tugged my pants and briefs down in one practiced motion, letting them fall and pool around my ankles.
Cool air hit my thighs. My cock bounced forward, already mostly hard from nothing but more than a teasing touch through my clothing.
Now—under her hand—I thickened fast, turning to steel in her grip as she gave one lazy stroke from base to tip, her thumb brushing over the slit on my pink crown.
Then another stroke.
Then she let go.
She walked around me in a nonchalant saunter as if she had all the time in the world, as if she hadn’t just unwrapped me like a Christmas present that she was eager to play with. I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t. I kept my palm flat on the desk, face impassive, blood rushing loudly in my ears.
And then she knelt. Right in front of me, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders, her blue green eyes flicking up to meet mine as her hands returned to my thighs—warm, steady, possessive.
Jason carried on, oblivious to my distraction. “…but if the board doesn’t vote on the amendment by Friday, we’re exposed on the outparcel.”
I muttered a low “Uh-huh,” and Charlie smiled. Slowly. Sinfully.
I leaned forward slightly, hands braced on the desk behind me, arms tense, back arched just enough to angle my cock toward her waiting mouth.
She started slow. Cruel.
One lick. Flat and wide from the base, dragging upward like she was tasting me for texture. She paused at the tip, flicked her tongue around the ridge, then circled the head—soft, swirling movements that made my knees nearly buckle.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
Her tongue flicked the sensitive underside—just beneath the ridge—and my whole body jerked like a live wire. I gritted my teeth and forced my elbows to lock.
“Hold on—” I said into the phone, voice low, tight. “Looking at the doc now.”
Jason kept talking.
Her mouth wrapped around the head, warm and slick and too much all at once. She moaned. Moaned. It vibrated straight down my spine, lit every fuse I’d ever buried. I felt her tongue swirl around me, the soft wet heat of her lips sliding down, inch by inch, until I hit the back of her throat.
Her hands slid up my thighs, nails grazing skin, her lips sealed tight around me, tongue flattened to swallow the length of my cock until I felt her nose press to my pelvis. Her throat flexed. Tight. Warm. Fucking heaven.
I twitched in her mouth. Bit the inside of my cheek.
She looked up at me through her lashes, devil incarnate, and stayed there , throat stuffed full of me, holding eye contact while Jason recited municipal statutes like any of it still mattered.
I groaned—a low, strangled thing I tried to muffle into my shoulder.
Jason paused. “You good?”
My voice came out hoarse. “Yeah. Just—uh. Allergies.”
Her mouth bobbed fast and messy now, saliva dripping down her chin, her tongue dragging under the ridge, her throat swallowing greedily. She made it noisy. Wet. Intentional.
Jason said something else—contract numbers, deliverables, who the fuck knows—but I couldn’t reply. I gave him a single grunt that could’ve meant sure or shoot me.
Then her tongue dragged up the underside of the shaft with one wicked flick and she giggled. Giggled like a tease in the dark. Like she knew what she was doing to me and planned to ruin me for the rest of my goddamn life.
My balls drew tight, cock twitching, thick with pressure.
I wasn’t going to last .
As if she sensed I was nearing my boiling point, she pulled back off my dick, and her hands cupped my balls with reverence. And then she sucked one into her mouth.
My head slammed back. Silent. Burning.
Her tongue was velvet, her mouth hot, wicked. She drew one in, then the other, gently sucking, her fingers stroking my length while her mouth worked beneath. I could feel her tongue circling, teasing, tugging just enough to make me see stars behind my eyes.
I let out one breath—sharp and shaky. Jason paused. “Fitz?”