Chapter 37
I woke to sunlight slanting through the linen curtains, warm and golden as it spilled across the bed, painting the tangle of our limbs in soft light.
The sheets were tossed around our waists, the air thick with the humid, sleepy heat of morning.
For one blissful second, I floated there—bare skin against warm cotton, Fitz’s scent wrapped around me, the world still quiet and safe. I forgot what day it was.
Forgot what it meant. Forgot that goodbye was coming. And then I felt him.
Fitz was pressed against my back, his chest a wide, steady heat against my spine, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his breath brushing my hair where it spilled across the pillow.
One heavy arm was slung low around my waist, his fingers resting possessively on the curve of my stomach, and his cock—thick and hard in his morning haze—was nestled against the swell of my ass, radiating heat like a second heartbeat.
I smiled into the pillow, the ache of it curling deep in my chest even as my body flushed with heat.
Carefully, slowly, I let my hand drift down between us, threading through the soft, rumpled sheets until I found him.
He was heavy in my palm, hot and silken over steel, and when I wrapped my fingers around him, he moaned in my grip.
I guided him between my cheeks, trapping his thick length there, and rolled my hips back just enough to rub him through the soft cleft of my body. The friction was slow, luxurious, maddening, and I felt him shudder behind me, a groan breaking free from deep in his throat.
“Mmm.” His forehead pressed into the back of my neck, his voice roughened by sleep and lust. “Winslow, you’re playing a dangerous game.”
I smiled, slow and secret, rocking back again just enough to feel him throb harder against me. His tip pushed against me but didn’t penetrate. His hand tightened on my hip instinctively, fingers digging into my skin like he was trying to hold himself together.
He groaned low, the sound vibrating against my spine, his lips brushing the bare curve of my shoulder.
“I’d love to give you a little fifth base action when you’re good and ready,” he muttered, his teeth grazing me in a lazy, wicked tease, “but right now I’m too fucking hard and you’re too perfect and I don’t want to hurt you. ”
I turned my head slightly, catching the rough edge of his jaw with my mouth, letting my lips ghost over the scratch of stubble that always made my skin tingle. “Tell me what you want, Charlie,” he whispered into my ear, the low rumble of it sinking straight between my legs.
I bit my lip, my heart hammering hard enough that I could hear it in my ears, feel it pounding against the cage of my ribs. Last night, he had touched me like I was sacred—like worshiping me was the only way he knew how to breathe. He had broken me apart in a way I hadn’t known was possible.
And now—now I wanted something else.
I rolled over to face him, feeling the warm drag of our skin parting, my hair spilling wild across the pillows.
The sheet slipped away, baring my naked body to the air, and Fitz’s eyes dropped instantly, his gaze darkening, heavy-lidded and hungry.
His mouth was slightly parted, his breathing uneven, like he was already halfway gone just from looking at me.
“Last night,” I said, my voice low but sure, “you worshiped me.”
I let my hand trail down his chest, slow and teasing, feeling the way his muscles jumped and tensed under my touch, the way his breath caught like he was fighting the urge to grab me and roll me underneath him.
My fingers danced lower, tracing the hard line of his stomach, the faint trail of hair leading down to where he was thick and waiting for me, flushed dark against the soft skin of his abdomen.
“Now,” I said, my voice dropping into a throaty promise, “I want to love you, since I do, you know—love you. I want to blow your mind.”
He froze, his whole body going taut, and for a second he just stared at me, wide-eyed, his chest rising in shallow, broken pulls of air, the muscles in his arms flexing like it physically hurt him not to reach out and haul me against him.
“Fuck, Charlie,” he said low and quiet, his hand coming up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth in a soft, reverent stroke. “You already have.”
I smiled at him, wicked and full of love, the kind of smile that promised trouble and meant every second of it. “Not today I haven’t,” I whispered, tilting my hips up in invitation. “But I’m about to.”
Before he could find words, before he could even breathe, I pressed my palms to his chest and pushed him back against the pillows.
He let me, his hands dropping to my thighs as I straddled him, rubbing myself over his cock, hot and aching and ready.
I rocked against him slowly, grinding my wet heat over his length, painting him with me, making sure he felt every slick, desperate inch of how badly I wanted him.
He groaned, head tipping back against the pillow, fingers biting into my hips like he needed me to anchor him to the earth. The look on his face—stunned, worshipful, completely fucking undone—was the kind of thing a girl could drown in.
And if I was going to lose him for even a little while, then I was going to make sure he carried me with him—in his skin, in his bones, in the desperate, starving places that would never be satisfied by anyone else.
I smiled wickedly down at him, straddling his hips, feeling the thick, hot length of him nudge up against my pussy. His hands came up automatically, grabbing at my thighs, but I caught them, leaning forward until my breasts brushed his chest.
“No hands for you,” I said, my voice low and commanding. “This is my turn to fuck you silly. Grab the headboard. Now.”
His eyes went wide, breath catching, but he obeyed, reaching back and wrapping those big, elegant hands around the slats of the headboard, the muscles in his arms flexing tight as cable. His chest was rising in shallow, ragged pulls of air, his whole body trembling under me with restraint.
I braced my hands against his chest, feeling the wild thud of his heart under my palms, and lifted my hips.
I let the tip of him push in past the crown and then I sank down slowly, savoring every delicious inch as I sheathed him inside me, filling myself until my ass was flush against his thighs and I could feel the stretch of him pressing deep into places that made my whole body light up.
I stayed there a second, savoring the thick, pulsing pressure of him inside me, before pulling up until just the head of him stretched me wide, then driving back down, grinding my hips in a slow, filthy circle that made him groan through gritted teeth.
The friction was devastating, the thick drag of him along my inner walls making me gasp and clench around him instinctively. His knuckles whitened on the headboard, his thighs trembling beneath me, the cords of his neck standing out as he fought the urge to move.
Grinning, I reached behind me, cupping his balls in my hand, feeling them draw tight against my palm. I tugged lightly, teasing, rolling them between my fingers as I rode him slow and steady, making sure he felt every wicked flick of my hips, every clench of my body dragging him deeper.
“Fuck, Charlie,” he groaned, voice cracking at the edges. “You’ve gotta pace yourself, baby—I could fucking come just looking at you right now.”
I laughed, rocking harder against him, feeling the wet, messy slide of my own arousal coating both of us. “What’s the matter, Whitmore?” I teased, nails scraping lightly down his chest. “Can’t handle a little poetry in motion?”
His head slammed back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut in agony and bliss. “Don’t you fucking start quoting Proust right now, I swear to God.”
I smirked, leaning down until my mouth brushed his, my hips never slowing.
“Fuck Proust,” I whispered. “I’ll quote a real wordsmith. Lil Wayne. He said: ‘Bitch, real G’s move in silence like lasagna’ —and I want you to think about the brilliance of that line while I fuck you like a real G. ”
His face cracked into half a laugh, half a broken prayer, and I smiled as I rocked harder, faster, grinding down to make sure he felt me everywhere—stretching him, wrecking him, owning him.
As I rocked my hips like I was winning a hula hoop contest while I also slid up and down his thick length, Fitz unravelled under me, every muscle straining, every breath ragged, the pulse in his neck hammering wildly.
I rocked harder, grinding my hips down in tight, rolling circles, riding him slow and filthy, savoring the way his cock dragged against every slick, swollen inch of me.
And then, without warning, I pivoted. I lifted off him just enough to turn, swinging my leg over so I faced away from him, bracing my hands on his thighs as I sank back down, taking him deep in a new angle that made both of us gasp.
His groan filled the air behind me as I rode him in reverse, slow and brutal, letting him see everything—the slick, obscene stretch of my body swallowing his cock again and again, the creamy mess we were making between us, the desperate clench of my thighs as I ground down to the base.
“Holy fuck—Charlie—” he choked out, hands still gripping the headboard so tight his knuckles were white. “You’re killing me—” I just smiled, tossing my hair over my shoulder, grinding my ass down against his hips so he could feel every greedy bit of me claiming him.
“Please,” he gasped after a minute, the word broken from somewhere deep inside him. “Baby—please—I’m gonna come—want to kiss you while I do—please?—”
My heart cracked wide open at the sound of it—the rough, desperate way he begged, the way he still thought to ask for something so simple, so reverent even when he was falling apart for me.
I turned around without hesitation, climbing back up his body, sinking back onto him with a long, shuddering moan.
I stretched out fully against him, my breasts pressed tight to his chest, feeling his heart hammering against mine like we were trying to fuse ourselves together from the inside out.
His hands dropped from the headboard the second I was over him, grabbing my ass with both hands, spreading me wide and hauling me down harder onto his cock. His mouth crashed against mine—hot, desperate, claiming—tongue stroking deep as he fucked up into me in ecstasy.
We kissed like drowning people, like starving, like every minute was the last we’d ever get.
And then he came—hard, shuddering, gasping—his whole body jerking under me as he spilled deep inside me, hot and endless, like he could pour his whole fucking soul into me if he just came hard enough.
The feeling of him pulsing inside me, the stretch, the grind of his cock still hammering up into me—it pushed me over the edge right with him. I broke apart with a strangled cry against his lips, my pussy clenching wildly around him, milking every last spasm, every last broken groan from us both.
I stayed draped over him, breathing him in, letting my heart slow against his, letting the gentle glide of his hands over my back anchor me to the moment.
His skin was damp with sweat, our bodies sticky where they were still joined, but I didn’t care.
I pressed my face against the warm curve of his neck, breathing in the salt and heat and the unmistakable scent of him that I already knew I’d ache for when he was gone.
Neither of us said a word for a long moment, just the quiet thud of our hearts against each other filling the space.
Then, low and rough against my hair, he chuckled—a soft sound that vibrated through my ribs.
“I don’t know if the G stands for ‘gangster’ or ‘goddess,’” he murmured, brushing his mouth against my temple, “but you are a real G, babe.”
I laughed, the sound spilling out of me without thinking, light and helpless against the thrum of his body beneath mine.
But even as I pressed my smile into the warm skin of his neck, even as I let myself soak in the feeling of him, the ache was already creeping in.
The hollow place in my chest where goodbye was waiting.
My laugh faded into a sigh before I could stop it, my fingers curling into his ribs like I could hold him tighter, like I could keep time from moving if I just tried hard enough.