Chapter 7 #3
His grip drops to my ass, drinking in all my curves along the way, and my skirt rides up my thighs as he picks me up and sets me on his dresser.
My knees open for him and he steps into the V of space, fingers skimming my thighs as he brings his mouth to my throat.
I suck in a shuddering breath as his lips part and he presses a kiss there.
And another. My skull bumps his mirror as I crane my neck and a sharp moan escapes when he sucks and bites my delicate skin, then swipes his tongue over it to soothe.
He tucks the stray strands of raven brown hair over my shoulder then lets his fingers linger at my collar bone, the only thing between his touch and my skin a creamy white fitted knit top. “You’re so fucking gorgeous it hurts to look at you sometimes.”
I crush my mouth against his again as I fight to hold back the shuddering breath in my chest. He says it hurts to look at me, but sometimes it feels like he’s the only one who does. The only one who really sees me at all.
“What’re we doing?” he murmurs, hand tangled in my hair, our noses pressed together.
“Thought you aced biology.” I huff.
“Not what I meant—”
“Charlie—” His whispered name breaks off in my throat as he looks up and meets my eyes, and fireworks pop in my chest. My thighs tighten around his hips.
I know what he wants: hard lines and clear definitions and a tidy list of control variables he can rely on.
But I can’t give it to him. Not yet. It’s too much.
“You ask a lot of questions, Flower Boy.”
I don’t know what else to say, so instead I show him.
I peel my top over my head and toss it on the floor.
His chest rises and falls, his breathing kicking up a notch as he takes in every new inch of me not covered by my lace bralette like he’s not really sure this is real.
His Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow.
But he’s too damn polite for his own good. Frustration knots low in my belly. Why won’t he touch me? He wasn’t nearly so hesitant with his tongue.
I take his hand and flatten his palm between my breasts, letting him feel my raging heart as I quietly beg, “I want this, Charlie.”
His brows pitch as he slowly shakes his head, but his body betrays him as he crowds closer, thumb sweeping across my skin. “But you’re waiting.”
A lump swells behind my collarbones. Never have I ever had a boy fight so hard for my boundaries, instead of against them.
My smile slants as I cup the back of his neck, lips grazing his as I say, “There’s other stuff we can do.”
The magic words to break the spell.
His mouth’s on mine again, starved for my taste as he jerks my hips forward, closing the last of the space between us.
The dresser shakes beneath my shifting weight, and something crashes to the floor, but neither of us stop to see what.
Damp and desperate, he mutters something like tell me if you want me to stop against my throat as he kisses his way down, licking, sucking, biting.
I nod feverishly as I arch against him, lost in the feel of it all.
“Fuck, Win,” he groans. “I want to get you off so bad.”
My neediness shrinks to the size of a pinhead as his mouth closes around my nipple, sucking it through the thin lace of my bralette.
He lowers the other strap, letting it fall slack on my arm, and cups my exposed breast with his hand, squeezing my other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
In one quick move, he unsnaps the clasp at my back and the flimsy fabric falls away.
His hand disappears beneath my skirt, following my inner thigh all the way to the crease of my hip where I crave his touch most. “Hands okay?” he mutters against the swell of my breast, and I nod.
With dizzying warmth, his lips close around my nipple again, the tip of his tongue teasing and swirling the peaked flesh. “And my mouth?”
Oh god. I melt into a puddle on his dresser as I gasp, “Yes.”
He jerks me up again, palming my ass. I kiss and nibble his neck, stealing reactions of my own and filing away every single strangled sound he makes in my memory, before I’m falling back and his soft mattress catches me.
I ratchet up on my elbows as he hovers over me and I reach between us to tug up his shirt.
He helps me the rest of the way, removing it in one smooth motion from the back of his collar.
I run indulgent fingers along his abs, letting my nails skate across his skin, and he shivers.
I bow under his careful attention, every inch of me desperate to feel every inch of him, and I can’t believe it took us this long to do this.
Dulled by the need aching between my thighs, the reasons I had for keeping him at arm’s length seem inconsequential when he feels so much better up close.
He places the gentlest kiss above my bellybutton, toying with the zipper at the side of my skirt, and pauses.
He brushes the fawn spots to the inside of my knee. “What’s this?”
“Just dance bruises.”
“And you didn’t ask me to kiss them better?” he teases, but I stare at him, perplexed. “Just something my mom used to say when I got hurt as a kid,” he explains.
“Oh.” I’ve never heard that before. Not that I’m surprised. My mother cared more about her own wounds than she ever did mine. “Now I know for next time.”
“Mhmm,” he hums. He presses one, two, three tender kisses on my leg.
One for each tiny bruise.
“You sure about this?” Charlie peers up at me beneath the long curtain of his lashes, hair a mess, and a current jolts up my spine as his free hand links with mine. I nod and his smile is all soft wonder. “How’d we get here?”
My words come out soft, unguarded, maybe even a little bashful. “I kissed you.”
“Right. You did.” He lowers the zipper and I lift my hips as he pulls the fabric down. “You stole my thunder.”
I tilt my head. “You weren’t going to kiss me.”
His fingers hook into the elastic of my underwear as a smirk tilts on his face, and I am made of jelly. “I’ve thought about kissing you every day since we met.” My insides pirouette and his voice drops. “And I almost did earlier. I thought about it, at least—after you gave me that gift.”
“Really?” I whisper.
He keeps his eyes on mine as he lowers the last scrap of clothing from my hips, distracting me from any insecure thought that attempts to spiral in the back of my head.
“You act like you’re so aloof, all sarcasm and deadpan jokes.
And then you go and do stuff like that.” He kisses my inner thigh and slings it over his shoulder.
“I’m the only one who gets your soft side. ”
The cool air of his bedroom meets my exposed center and the breath he exhales is so heavy it weighs over my whole body.
My eyes squeeze shut as I collapse back on the bed and he sinks to his knees on the floor.
Nerves light like kindling in my stomach, burning fast and hot.
I’ve never done this before, though I’ve been curious ever since I learned what a blow job was when I was thirteen and immediately wondered if there was an equivalent for girls, and if so, why did no one talk about it?
Charlie’s warm, wet mouth answers all my curiosities and I suck in a sharp breath.
Oh. My hands fist his comforter, a small cry leaking out as his tongue slides against me.
For a flash of a second, our eyes meet and I melt into a puddle under his ice blue gaze—the hunger brewing there, the satisfaction flecking in his light irises.
My next moan builds deep in my chest as my fingers thread through his hair.
His hold on my hips tightens, bringing me closer to his mouth, and I arch up against him, my body already knowing the choreography to this dance.
Maybe for a night, I’d said.
Charlie’s right. I’m so full of shit.
There’s no way this will be the last time we do this.