3. Charlotte #2
“You used to twist your fingers together.” He sets the glass down on the counter without looking away from me. “Every single time I walked near your locker.”
The air goes out of the room. He noticed. All those years ago, all those hallway glances I thought were happening entirely inside my own head. He remembers it specifically enough to describe it back to me all these years later standing in my kitchen.
This isn't an embarrassing teenage crush on a boy who barely knew I existed. This is something else. Something that apparently existed on both sides the entire time.
“Why were you always coming near my locker?” I ask, because I need to hear him say it.
He takes a step closer.
“You really don't know?”
I swallow hard and don't answer, because I don't trust my voice right now.
We stand there, closer than we should be, close enough that I have to tip my head back slightly to keep looking at him. My heart is doing something erratic and embarrassing.
“Tell me to back up, Charlotte.”
I stand there staring up at him, my heart beating so hard I’m sure he can hear it. His hand comes up slowly, giving me every opportunity to move away, and settles along my jaw. When his thumb brushes over my cheek, a shiver runs through me.
“Charlotte.”
The way he says my name makes my stomach tighten.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and his lips barely graze mine. I lean forward without meaning to, chasing his lips, and a growl rumbles in his throat.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this.”
My knees actually weaken. Before I can say anything, he catches my bottom lip between his teeth and gives it a soft tug. The sensation shoots through me, and then his mouth is gone again.
He trails his lips across the corner of my mouth and along my cheek, slow enough that I feel every warm brush of them against my skin.
I’m dizzy with it. My fingers curl into the front of his shirt. Then he kisses me, hard and hungry, and every thought in my head disappears.
His hand slides into my hair and closes around the back of my head, holding me exactly where he wants me as his mouth moves over mine.
I have no idea what to do with my hands. His shoulders. His chest. The back of his neck. I want to touch all of him at once.
His arm locks around my waist and suddenly there isn't an inch of space between us. I feel all of him against me, and the realization that Ryder Kane wants me this badly sends a rush of heat through my entire body.
A moan slips out of me. He stops.
His mouth stays against mine, his breathing rough as his fingers tighten in my hair.
“Do that again.”
My stomach flips. “What?”
“That sound.” His teeth catch my bottom lip again. “I want to hear it again.”
His mouth is on mine before I can answer, kissing me harder this time, and I give him exactly what he asked for. His answering growl vibrates against my lips.
“Fuck, Charlotte.”
Hearing my name in that rough, wrecked voice nearly finishes me.
I press closer, and he backs me against the counter, one hand braced beside me while the other stays buried in my hair. His mouth leaves mine just long enough for me to drag in a breath before he kisses the corner of my mouth, then my jaw.
“Still nervous around me?” he growls against my skin.
“Yes.”
“At least you're finally admitting it.”
His mouth brushes the spot beneath my ear as his hand slips from my hair and traces slowly down the side of my neck.
“What about when I touch you here? Does this make you nervous?”
His fingertips skim my collarbone, and I shiver.
“Yes.”
“Here?”
His hand moves lower, over the fabric of my shirt, and my breath catches. He watches my face the entire time, like every reaction belongs to him now.
His palm settles over my breast, tracing the shape through the fabric, thumb dragging slow circles around the peak until my nipple tightens.
“Ryder.”
“That a yes?”
I nod.
“Say it.”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” His mouth curves against mine before he kisses me again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the permission.
Then he pinches my nipple, just enough pressure through my shirt to make my knees buckle. A spark shoots straight between my legs. I gasp into his mouth.
“Fuck, look at that,” he groans against my lips. “You like it when I touch you like this?”
I can only manage another shaky “Yes.”
He does it again, rolling the peak between his fingers, then switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. “So fucking perfect.”
His hand leaves my breast and slides down my stomach. He stops at the waistband of my jeans, teasing the edge of the button.
“And here?”
I suck in a breath. He doesn’t move until I answer.
“Yes.”
The button pops open under his fingers. The zipper follows with a soft hiss. He spreads the denim just enough to slip his hand inside, palm flat against the front of my underwear.
“Have you been thinking about me?”
I don’t answer, but my hips twitch forward. He starts rubbing slow circles over my clit through the damp fabric. The friction drives me absolutely crazy. My head tips back against the cabinet. A broken sound slips out of me.
“That’s it. Let me hear you.”
I’m panting now, fingers fisted in his shirt.
He tucks two fingers under the edge of my panties. The first contact makes me jolt. He traces the length of my pussy with the pad of one finger.
“So fucking soft. So ready.” He parts me gently, dragging his fingertip through the wetness before circling my entrance without pushing inside. His thumb finds my clit again, rubbing firm circles while his other fingers keep teasing.
“You’re shaking,” he growls against my ear. “You gonna come on my hand the first time I touch you?”
I can’t form words. I don’t even know who I am right now. I just nod, desperately chasing his hand for a release.
“Say it. Tell me you want my fingers inside this pretty cunt.”
“I… yes. Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please touch me. Ryder, please.”
His mouth crashes back onto mine at the same moment two thick fingers push into me and every thought in my head disappears.
He curls his fingers and starts fucking me with them in hard strokes. He pins me harder against the counter with his hips, keeping me upright while his hand works between my legs.
“Look at you. Taking my fingers so fucking well already.” He thrusts harder, faster, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit with every stroke.
“You come back to this town and what? Did you think you’d end up with my fingers in your pussy?
Leaning against your counter while I fuck you open like this? ”
Another moan tears out of me. I’m dizzy with it, the world narrowing to the thick stretch of his fingers and the filth of his words. All of my problems outside this kitchen feel distant and unreal.
He adds a third finger, and I cry out, head tipping back. He chases my mouth, biting my lower lip as he keeps pumping his fingers into me.
“That’s it. Let me feel how wet you get when I talk to you like this. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed to get fucked by my hand until you can’t think about anything but how good it feels.”
I’m shaking. My hips rock to meet every thrust of his hand. The climax is already building too fast until I’m almost scared of how much I want it.
“Ryder…”
“I know. I can feel you clamping down on me. You’re gonna come all over my fingers, aren’t you? You can’t help yourself.”
He curls them harder while his palm keeps grinding against my clit. The dual pressure is devastating. My vision blurs. I’m clinging to his shirt, to his shoulders, to anything that might keep me from dissolving completely.
Some distant part of me knows this is dangerous because it already feels addictive. The way he watches every flicker of pleasure on my face and the way he talks to me like he owns the right to ruin me.
But right now I don’t care.
“Come for me,” he orders. “Come on my fingers so I can feel exactly how bad you’ve needed this.”
The command is what does it. My whole body seizes. Pleasure crashes through me so hard my legs give out completely. He holds me up, fingers still moving, working me through every wave until I’m crying out against his mouth and the only word left in my head is his name.
He keeps his fingers inside me until the last tremble fades, then slowly pulls them free. The sudden emptiness makes me whimper. His mouth finds mine again, like he’s sealing whatever just happened between us.
Then he steps back.
He zips my jeans and buttons them with the same unhurried precision he used to take them apart. My legs are still shaking. I have to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright. He watches me with those dark green eyes while he brings his hand to his mouth.
Two fingers, still shiny and wet, disappear between his lips. He sucks them clean, never looking away from me. A low, satisfied sound leaves his throat like he’s tasting something he already knows he’ll want more of.
“Back to work,” he says.
He turns and walks out of the kitchen without another word. I hear his boots on the stairs a few seconds later, heading straight back up to the ruined bathroom like nothing happened.
I stand there, still throbbing. The counter is the only thing keeping me vertical.
What the hell was that?
What am I supposed to say when he comes back downstairs? Thanks for the orgasm, the drywall’s that way?
I’m still trying to catch my breath and he’s already upstairs measuring something like none of it happened.
I press my fingers against the cool granite and force myself to inhale.
It doesn’t help.