Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
A fire lights in my veins, the unavoidable byproduct of our ever-bubbling chemistry, as his mouth catches mine with a fury.
He’s the oxygen to my gasoline and that sweltering heat between our lips is the spark that sends it all into a blaze.
It’s just me and Charlie and every single kiss we’ve missed out on in the last two years.
“You haven’t grown out of me by now?” I pant as his mouth drops to my throat, his tongue slipping against my charged skin.
“I don’t think I could ever grow out of you.” He sears his words like a promise in a line across my collarbone.
His hands slide to my ass and he hoists me up. The room twirls beneath my heavy lids as he sucks on my pulse point and the backs of my sneakers bump the desk cabinet door with a soft thud as he sets me on its surface. The heavy wood doesn’t even groan beneath my weight.
Body curled over me, he growls, right to my heart, “Put me out of my misery, sweetheart.” His hands track up my thighs as his anguished mouth buries against my neck beneath my ear.
“If you’re done with this, done with me, serve me the papers.
Because every day since you told me you weren’t coming back, I’ve asked myself why you haven’t ended this.
” My head tips back as his teeth snag my earlobe and I kick off my shoes.
“If maybe there’s a small part of you who still wants this. ”
“Charlie, I don’t—” The words catch in my throat as tears bead in the corners of my eyes and my hand tangles in his hair, pulling him closer.
“Don’t say it. Please. Not right now.” Sliding up the sides of my waist, his hands loosen my tucked-in shirt. “Can we at least have this?”
“Yes,” I pant.
“You want this?”
“Yes.”
He pulls back enough to meet my eyes, the darkness and want swirling in his making my stomach flip. His lips find mine again, kissing me so gently it aches like torture. I don’t deserve his gentle. I deserve his rage.
Thighs locking around his waist, I mutter, “Don’t go easy on me.”
His mouth pulls into a smile against mine. “I remember what you like.”
His palm splays on the side of my neck, inching up and back as we kiss. With a careful tug, he loosens my hair tie, letting all that wild dark fall. His fingers tangle in my roots, clenching enough to make me whimper as my lips part, inviting him in deeper.
I sneak beneath his shirt to feel skin, raking the tips of my nails down his back.
He groans and I can’t fight my smirk. Guess I remember what he likes too.
His Adam’s apple bobs up, then down and I trace the line with my tongue, reveling in the way it makes him shudder.
He sucks on the sensitive skin where my shoulder meets my neck, the spot that feels like it’s been weathered for centuries into a shape just for him.
It’s so different from what happened in the cafeteria. Hotter. More needy. Neither of us holding back. Nothing can stop this momentum we’ve been building toward all day.
I take off his glasses, fold them, and set them aside, uncovering the Charlie only I get to see.
He’s beautiful like this, his features so heavy with want and nothing obstructing me from studying every inch.
I cup the side of his face, thumb brushing his cheek bone, and he intercepts me, placing open-mouth kisses on the inside of my wrist.
“I want to see you.” Another kiss, his tongue dragging over the heel of my palm, warm and delicious. “Strip for me.”
He edges me off the desk with his free hand then plants both on either side of my hips, caging me in.
We’re standing so close I can’t stop my elbows from grazing against him as I pull my shirt off.
My hands shake as I drop it on the desk off to the side, and Charlie drinks up every new inch of exposed skin.
Without dance keeping me strict, my body’s grown softer in all the ways my heart has not.
What if he doesn’t like it? As I reach for the clasp of my bra, his impatient hands reach for the button on my shorts.
The subtle graze of his knuckles, low across my belly, has my legs turning to jelly beneath me.
When I’m down to my underwear, Charlie brushes a stray tendril of hair over my shoulder. My heart pounds. His palm spreads at the base of my throat, heavy eyes meeting mine. “My beautiful fucking wife,” he growls. Then his mouth crashes against mine.
I melt against him and his thumb sweeps across my tightened nipple, pinches it, rolls it between his fingers.
His hot mouth moves lower, leaving a searing trail in its wake as he sucks on my peaked flesh.
A flick of his tongue, a gentle swirl, enough teeth to make my toes curl.
I lace my fingers in his hair, pulling his head down as I arch my back at the pleasure.
I capture a whimper with my teeth as he teases the band hugging my hips.
Cradling my waist like he’s scared to let me go too far, he shrugs out of his button-up, and uses one hand to spread it over the wooden desk top behind us. With a frantic jerk, he sets me on top of it, hands lingering on my hips as he rests his forehead against mine.
Looping his thumbs around my underwear, he rasps, “I’m so fucking hungry, Winona.”
My insides swoop, so sharp it makes me dizzy.
I suck in a breath, chin lifting, as he kneels between my legs.
He presses a soft kiss to my bad hip, then bands an arm across me to hold me in place.
Warm breath soaks through the thin cotton separating us and I moan as my weight falls back on both hands.
“Hips up,” he instructs, and I obey, as he tugs my underwear off.
The first time his mouth meets my bare center, electricity shoots through me in waves.
It’s so intense, and I’m so sensitive, I have to bite back a breathy laugh as I squirm.
It’s been so long. Languid and indulgent, he reacquaints me with his tongue and I rock my hips against him.
Each slow glide feels more incredible than the last and, god, I can’t help but think he’s somehow even better at this.
A combination of the two years of pent up want and the thick drench of his pure desire sweating between us.
One quick flick of his tongue and I cry out in a whimper.
He groans against me and holds me tighter.
I arch up, getting the angle just so. His lips close around my sensitive clit and as he gently sucks it, his tongue brushing against the ache, I pant out more desperate noises. A low chuckle vibrates against me, shooting tingles up my spine like falling stars, and I clench his hair in my fist.
“Enjoying yourself, Rosenhoth?” I manage to grit out.
An mhmmm hums against me, laced with arrogant amusement that only turns me on more. Pressure builds low in my stomach; I can’t hold off much longer. I don’t want to.
We move together like the waves kiss a shoreline, rolling back and forth in perfect, powerful timing, and the tide crawls higher, and higher, and higher.
My sounds grow shorter, sharper, and my thighs clench tighter around his head as my stomach hollows out with each gasping breath.
Choked and cut-off, my cries echo around the empty room as every good feeling in the world washes over me at once.
Charlie tastes me all the way to the end, his motions slowing and easing up as I shudder from the overwhelming stimulation.
My breath eases, body turning soft and gooey. I slide my fingers through his hair as I softly request, “Come here.”
He wraps his arms around me, cocooning me in our sweaty warmth, and presses his damp mouth to mine.
This is my favorite thing, how we swing from sexy and playful to sweet and gentle without missing a beat.
Somehow he always knows exactly which I need in the moment.
And god, I’ve missed the way he holds me.
We kiss like we’re college kids again—unhurried, with all the time in the world outside of our class schedules.
We melt together with each gentle caress we exchange, and I’m overcome with a desire to never, ever let him go again.
It pinches, right behind my sternum, and then I’m swallowed by the swell of all my regrets.
I kiss him harder, trying to chase that hurt away.
I need him closer.
I reach for his belt, bute stops me. “I don’t have a condom.”
“Jesus,” I huff. “Me either. You think I’d bring one here?” I tuck a kiss beneath his sharp chin. “I still cycle track. I’m good today.”
His jaw feathers beneath my lips and he lets me get in a few more kisses before muttering, “There’s other risks.”
I still as it hits me what he’s quietly asking.
Have I been with another man?
Fresh tears bead at my eyes and I blink them away. I can’t bring myself to look at him, too ashamed that this is what I’ve turned my marriage into. That he has to ask this question at all.
“Charlie,” I whisper. His hands clench around my hips as my throat goes raw. “I—I haven’t been with anyone since you.”
He sucks in a long, sharp breath, but says nothing. Makes no move to proceed. And a new fear blossoms in my chest.
“It’s fine if you . . .” I scramble to save face. To hide how much that would shock me. How much it would wound me to hear—I have no right to that, do I? “I mean, if you’ve been with . . .”
He cradles the back of my skull, angling his head down so his mouth presses to my forehead. I squeeze my eyes shut so hard a twinge of pain builds between them as I fight not to cry. I don’t deserve to. I don’t deserve to.
“Sweetheart, I’m a married man”—his voice roughs around the edges—“and I meant every word I said to you in our vows. I’m not doing this with anyone else. The only woman I want crying out my name is my wife.”