31. Sweet & Sour #2
“That nobody’s going to check unless we set the restaurant on fire. Or would you rather go to my place and hide in the closet again? Oh! Shall we join your ex at yours?”
She makes a good point.
“You know, I’m getting tired of you saying no to me.” Her lips graze my jaw as her hands fumble with my belt. “I think it’s time you beg...and I say no.”
My belt comes off and my breath hitches as she brushes against me, her touch devastating every ounce of willpower left in me.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Shh,” she purrs against the shell of my ear. “Just let go.”
She unbuttons my jeans, and I should stop her, I really should. But her touch, her scent, the heat rolling off her body—it’s too much. I’m fucking exhausted of trying and failing to resist her.
The moment her fingers slip beneath my waistband, my restraint snaps.
With a low growl, I spin us around and guide her back until she’s pressed against the counter. She gasps, but it melts into a delighted laugh as I pull her up and settle her on the cold stainless steel.
“You win,” I murmur against her lips.
She grins, fingers tangling in my hair. “Of course I do.” She runs her fingers from my balls to my cock. “Now beg me, Chef.”
Beg her. I don’t even know where to start. Beg her to make me come again? Beg her to let me feast on her one more time? Beg her to break her last rule for me?
“Beg me, Aaron,” she insists, stroking me fast, then stopping before I can truly enjoy it.
“Please . . .” I whisper, watching her.
Please what?
I look down at her, at the flickering glow catching in the copper and crimson of her hair and setting it ablaze. The freckles dusting her nose and cheeks look like stars scattered across a night sky.
She’s so beautiful I feel like I’m falling and I’ll never hit the ground, like she’s the one thing I want to chase for the rest of my life.
My heart stammers. Maybe it can’t take this much beauty all at once. But as I look at her plump, delicious lips, I know exactly what I want to beg her for. “Please...let me kiss you again.”
She blinks, and there’s a moment—the briefest instant—where she doesn’t look flirty, or irreverent, or turned on. Where she looks small, and fragile. And I want to tell her I’ll take care of her, make her promises I intend to keep.
But her vulnerability flicks away as quickly as it showed up. Instead, her grip on my hair tightens, and she pulls me closer, lips inches away. “Fuck kissing.” She uses her other hand to rub the head of my cock against her panties. Her wet— drenched —panties. “Ask me what you really want.”
Shivers run up my spine and down my arms, making my body shake. I need to feel her around me. Need to sink inside her. Need her .
“Let me fuck you.”
She smiles wickedly. “ No .”
“Please.” My voice stutters when she keeps dragging my cock up and down her slit. “ Please , Charlotte. I need you.”
She giggles, though it comes out breathy. “No.”
Oh fuck, I’m going to lose my mind.
She pulls her panties to one side, and the moment she presses my cock against her wet folds, I drop my head against her chest, biting down on her dress to keep myself from making noise.
She feels like heaven. No, fuck that—she feels like sin.
Wet and hot, even just against the outside of her.
My hips buck forward instinctively, my cock sliding through her slickness, the head brushing against her clit before dragging back down.
The sensation is torture and ecstasy all at once, and I moan against her chest, my breaths uneven.
“Do you like that, Chef?” she teases. Her chest rises sharply against my mouth, her nipples pebbling beneath the thin fabric of her dress.
“Fuck,” I manage, pressing myself against her again. “You’re killing me.”
“Bet it’d feel even better inside, wouldn’t it?”
“ Please ,” I whimper, grinding against her again with a wet noise. “Please, Charlotte, let me fuck you.”
“No,” she breathes, but her voice is shaky as her nails drag down my arms, leaving faint red trails in their wake.
I’m fucking losing it. There’s something wrong with me—something broken and fucked-up—because I love this. I love when she denies me, when she makes me beg. I want her to keep saying no, to keep me on the edge, to keep me desperate and fucking hungry .
But I also can’t take one more second of it.
“Feels so, hmm...” I lock eyes with her. Her pupils are black obsidian, her lips parted as she pants. “You’re so fucking wet.” My hips snap forward again. “You want me as bad as I want you.”
“Maybe,” she says, her thighs squeezing me.
I lean forward, my mouth hovering over hers. “Say it,” I demand. “Say you want me to fuck you.”
She bites her lip, weakly shaking her head. “No.”
I moan before capturing her lips in a searing kiss, my tongue plunging into her mouth as my hips move against hers again and again, driving us both closer to the edge.
She pulls away from the kiss and breathes her next words. “Have you been checked recently?”
“Hmm?”
“For STDs. Have you been checked?”
Is she going to let me fuck her? “I—y-yes, but I have a condom.”
“I’ve been tested too, and trust me, I’m better protected than Fort Knox.” Her hand moves between us, and she gives my cock a tug before letting the tip sink inside her.
“Ohh...” My eyes roll to the back of my head, every single muscle tensing up.
Instinctively, I push forward, but her hand keeps me in place, only the head inside her tight hole. Her walls close around me, squeezing me in the best possible way.
“Please, fuck...” I want to push inside her so badly I’d kill for it. I’d set the world on fire just for a taste. I’d do anything—everything. “Charlotte, baby, please, you feel—you fucking...god.”
Her breathless chuckles vibrate against my lips, then her hand abandons my erection, her arm looping around my neck.
Does that mean . . .
“Fuck me, Chef.”
I meet her warm gaze, trying to reach her through the fog of arousal between us. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
The tip of her nose brushes mine. “Fuck. Me. Chef.”
God, yes . I push into her slowly, watching as her eyes close and her mouth falls open. She’s so tight and wet around me—the sensation is almost unbearable.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice strained with the effort to maintain control.
Her head tilts back, exposing the delicate curve of her throat, and I can’t help but press my lips there. She grips my shoulder, her voice barely a whisper as she says, “More.”
I oblige, pushing deeper until I’m fully inside of her, my balls pressed against her slick skin. I take a moment to savor the feeling before I start moving, building up a rhythm that has us both moaning and gasping for air.
“Fuck,” I hiss through my teeth as she clenches around me. “You were made for me, Charlotte. I was made for this.”
Her response is lost in a moan as I start to move faster, my hips snapping against hers. The scent of her skin, the taste of her lips, the way she gasps my name like it’s the only word she knows—it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.
“Can’t speak, baby?” I muse as I interrupt my rhythm to sink completely into her. It feels so good to see her lose control. “Use your words.”
“Hmm... ‘aron ” Her eyes cross even as she tries to find my gaze. She’s so fucking stunning, I never want to look at anyone else. I never want to do this with anyone but her.
It hits me when she bites her bottom lip and manages to keep her eyes on me for a couple of seconds.
I think I’m in love with her.
No, I know I’m in love with her.
“Mine.” I grind against her. “Say it.”
“I’m yours, Chef.”
Yes, she fucking is.
Her moans turn loud and desperate as I pound into her over and over again. The sound of our bodies slamming together echoes off the kitchen walls, mingling with the slick sound of me sliding in and out of her drenched pussy.
“I’m not stopping until you’re shaking,” I say, every flutter of her walls around me making me more and more daring. “Until you’re wrecked, Charlotte.”
She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders like she’s trying to claw her way inside me.
“You’re going to take it, aren’t you?” I push her legs up, her knees pressed to her chest, and bottom out inside her. The new position is even better, and her back arches off the counter as I hit that sweet spot inside her.
“Y-yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Chef.”
So fucking hot. My climax is building, coiling in my stomach as she tightens around me, and I won’t last much longer. She said no man has ever made her come this way, but I’m also the only man she kisses, the only one she dates, and I’m nothing if not motivated.
I reach down between us to rub circles on her clit with my thumb, and her eyes widen, her breath caught in her throat at the added stimulation. When her walls clench tightly around me, I can tell she’s close too.
“Breathe, baby,” I growl. “Breathe while you come all over my cock.”
A long exhale that turns into a loud whine. “I’m coming. Aaron—I’m coming, I’m—” she sobs, and once she sucks me in deeper, I’m done for. Watching her come around my cock is pure poetry, a piece of art, a thing of true beauty. I can’t stop staring, and the heat feels like it might rip me apart.
My hips thrust erratically, every muscle in my body tensing as I empty myself inside her and grunt out her name again and again.
I collapse on top of her with a long groan, unable to hold myself up any longer.
Fuck.
Fuck, this is it. She is it .
I keep my forehead against her chest, lips kissing whatever skin I find in my haze. It’s not enough, so I reach up with both hands, tracing my fingers down her arms.
“You good?”
“Uh-huh,” she says in a breathy voice.
“Sure?”
“I love you,” she says, her hand buried in my hair.
Did she just . . . say she loves me?
I look up and she swallows, her lashes fluttering. “I do. And I don’t need you to say it back. I just want you to know that I’m in love with you. You made it really easy, even for me.”
Again, my heart stutters.
She said she loves me.
She said it more than once.
I straighten, my cock sliding out of her.
Eyes on mine, she pulls herself up too. “Did I freak you out?”
“N-no, I . . .”
“Aaron.”
My heart lurches as I turn toward the kitchen door where Ian stands, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. His eyes pin me in place.
Holy shit. Why is he here? When did he come back?
“I—Ian.”
I’m already shielding Charlotte with my body but I shift anyway, angling myself to better block his view as she frantically yanks down her skirt. My pulse pounds so hard I swear it rattles my ribs.
“My wife is fifteen seconds behind me,” he warns, his voice a low, urgent growl. “So I strongly suggest you buckle your pants and get your friend off the counter.” His gaze flicks to the floor—Charlotte’s underwear, stark against the tile. His nostrils flare. “Right now.”