Chapter 31 #2
His hands are so fucking greedy, rounding my curves, circling my ass, squeezing it, stroking up and down my thighs.
His kisses are even worse. So persistent they’re almost punishing as fingers tangle in my hair.
My hips rock against him, fanning this fire burning between us.
Pressing his nose against my jaw, he nudges me, and as I lift up, his lips carve a path down my chest. He catches my nipple in his mouth, swirling, sucking, and god—he makes me sound so fucking desperate as I dig my hand into his hair.
“I missed you so much,” he murmurs to my heart.
Arcing my thumb around his ear, I look down at him and whisper, “I love you, Charlie.”
His hand comes to the back of my head, cradling me as he smiles. “You’ve always been my favorite storm to chase.”
I huff a laugh. “I think it’s about time we enjoy the sunshine a little.”
Charlie draws me to his mouth again and kisses me in a way I think I’ll feel forever. His tongue, and teeth, and the vibration of a moan in the back of his throat—all etching into me with intensity.
His hands wrap around the backs of my thighs and he urges me forward, gaze darkening. “Come here, sweetheart. You know how I want you.”
Just the way he’s looking at me is enough to send me spinning.
Grabbing the headboard, I pull myself up and plant my knees on either side of his head.
The ache low in my belly tightens as he loops his arms beneath me and back around my hips, fingers digging into my ass.
With one strong tug, he brings me down to his face.
Charlie drags his tongue across me, slow and torturous as he groans.
I shiver at his exquisite warmth, rolling into the feeling.
He works me, leisurely and teasing with each gentle stroke, and a soft moan pitches in my throat as I clutch the wood headboard tighter.
From above, I watch him—the way his brow divots with his focus, his enjoyment.
I brush my thumb next to the black-stitched split on his forehead, knot my hand in his hair.
A sharp gasp cracks in my throat as he sucks my sensitive flesh.
My breathing kicks up, my mouth falling open on another whimper, my tipping hips demanding more from him.
And he gives it all. Lashing against me harder, faster.
One finger pushes inside of me, then another.
I arch and bend and pant his name and press so fully against him I’m not even sure he can breathe anymore. But neither of us stop.
The coiled tension behind my hipbones winds itself tighter and tighter as I moan.
And then—my thighs clench around his head.
My fists tighten in his hair and I cry out, but he still doesn’t stop.
Then everything loosens—all at once. I prop an arm on the headboard, sinking my forehead against it as I try to catch my breath.
But the asshole keeps going, grazing me with featherlight pressure that’s still enough to twist up pathetic little whimpers in my throat. It’s so good it hurts.
“Charlie—” I whine, jerking my hips up when the sensation becomes too much.
“You can take it, Winona,” he growls. “Just give me one more.” And he pulls me down on his face again.
I writhe and squirm against his exquisite, merciless mouth.
It’s too much. It’s just right. His arms around me tighten, locking me in place, forcing me to take it.
Knowing it’s what I need. Another wave crashes over me, sending sparks up my spine as I cry out, muffling the sound against my shoulder.
My whole body goes limp, every inch of me tingling.
Charlie kisses my quivering inner thighs. “I knew you could do it.”
I prowl back down his bruised body, languid as a cat that’s been lying in the sun, and nip at his satisfied smirk on the way.
His hooded gaze watches as I position myself across his lap, up on my knees.
I reach down and wrap my hand around him and he grips my hips as I sink down, lashes fluttering at the sensation.
I’m the one on top and yet he’s the one controlling my every move, incrementally guiding me lower and lower as I clench around him.
My mouth falls open in an “O” when we’re finally fully joined.
As I set the tempo, gingerly at first to test how much this will hurt him, Charlie worships my body, hands stroking reverently over my curves, my face, my breasts, through my drying hair.
He pulls me down as my hips work slowly against him and kisses me, whispers how I good I feel into my ear like a prayer.
It’s a special thing, being so full of him and knowing we’ll both be there to catch each other when we land.
No tense conversations. No hard questions.
Just my sweaty body panting in his arms.
It makes it so much easier to let go. To revel in his desperate moans, the sweat shimmering on his battered skin.
The striking veins on his forearms as he holds me.
The way he draws me so close I can’t help but settle some of my weight on him, and despite the pain, he holds me anyway.
The way his relentless hips wrestle me for control, sharp sounds breaking off in his throat.
I feel every thick, pulsing inch of him, hear every rasping syllable of his low “Fuck, Winnie.” Smell the citrus of his shampoo.
And it feels like coming home. Right here.
To the person I belong to. It’s not a question—Charlie carries a piece of me inside him.
It’s so fucking decadent, our push and pull as our bodies collide.
How rich to ache like this. How indulgent to be so in love.
I chase after the tightening bowstring in my core, riding him in fluid, sweeping movements.
Winding loose tendrils of hair around his hand, Charlie tugs me to his mouth, like he’s starving for my moans.
It tips me to the perfect angle, sparking a delicious pleasure against my clit.
One strong hand moves to the small of my back, grinding me down harder, and I choke out a cry.
I’m an unrestrained mess in his arms, kissing, licking, biting every inch of skin I can reach as he drives up into me faster.
My lip catches and curls along his jawline as he murmurs encouragement and praise into my ear—Just like that sweetheart, you’re doing so well.
It’s sloppy and clumsy and so fucking hot, but what makes me lose it is watching Charlie’s restraint stutter and slip before he even has a chance to warn me.
Like he couldn’t hold on a single second longer.
He fists a handful of my hair, squeezing until it stings as his body goes rigid, every muscle pulling taught.
He takes in the sharpest breath I’ve heard all night, hissing—I can’t imagine how much it hurts, tensing like that—and as he moans on his exhale, a shiver races up my spine.
My toes curl. He jerks up beneath me, giving me a piece of himself, and I shatter into stardust right behind him.
The breathless come down is the sweetest part—the way Charlie kisses me gently on the lips and wraps his tired arms around me as we stay joined. Still hovering my weight off his ribcage, I bring my hand to his chest, the delicate pink artifact of our past flowing crooked over my knuckles.
“I think we checked off everything on your list,” I whisper, smiling.
“And more.” He lifts my hand and kisses the ribbon ring.
I graze my fingers along his jaw. “You really think we can do this, Flower Boy?”
“I may be a skeptic about most things in life, but if there is one thing I have blind, unwavering faith in, it’s us.”
Before we emerge from the bedroom, I educate Charlie on my method of making enough noise to spook River and Payton into decency before entering a room where they’re alone together. A failsafe for avoiding awkward moments.
There’s twenty minutes left on the movie when I reheat a few slices of pizza for me and Charlie.
We eat standing up at the island, and River happens to look over his shoulder right as I lean over and kiss Charlie on the cheek.
My brother’s face twists in disgust, as subtle as a teenager can be. Meaning: not at all.
“You ready for this life?” I ask Charlie, head tilting. “Splitting a pizza for dinner with River and his girlfriend. Sneaking away for a moment alone together. Watching him roll his eyes every time we kiss.”
“I think so.” He smiles softly and grabs my hand. “Feels right. This place always seemed a little big for just the two of us”—he glances back at my brother, his arm slung around Payton’s shoulders—“and he seems like a good kid.”
“He is.”
He’s seventeen. He holds the world in the palm of his hand, and he doesn’t even know it.
He’s here. And god, I’m so grateful for it.
When he argues with me, when he insists I’m wrong about something I’m not, when we couldn’t look each other in the eye for days after I walked in on him with his hand down Payton’s sweats over winter break.
It’s all worth it because it means he’s here.
And it feels silly to think, but when I look at him, I think maybe .
. . maybe I can do this. If River can bring himself back from the precipice of the worst place on earth to sit here right now, leaning over to whisper something in Payton’s ear that makes her laugh, then I can fix my marriage.
All the times I’ve overheard him tell Payton he’s sorry, or he asks her to be patient because he’s had a rough day, glimmer like hopeful beacons across a shore.
Like striped sunlight flooding through barred prison windows.
He’s not perfect, but he’s good. And he tries every day.
I’m not perfect. I never will be.
But my husband loves me exactly as I am—flawed, vulnerable, completely his. Some of our days will be hard, some will be easy. But together, we’ll wake up tomorrow and choose to keep fighting.
There’s no doubt in my mind we’ll win.