Charlotte #2
We make our way upstairs without turning on any lights. My bedroom door is half open. The moon is bright enough through the window that I can see the outline of the bed, the crumpled quilt, the pillow I forgot to straighten this morning. Ryder’s hands settle at my waist as we cross the threshold.
He turns me gently so my back is to the bed and keeps kissing me as his fingers find the hem of my sweater. He pulls it up and over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him before his mouth finds mine again.
His hands slide down my sides to the waistband of my jeans. He unbuttons them, eases them over my hips, then crouches to help me step out of them.
When he straightens, I’m standing in front of him in nothing but my bra and underwear.
His gaze drags over my body, and the heat in his expression makes my pulse jump.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says.
I reach for the hem of his shirt. He lets me pull it over his head. My palms slide over the warm plane of his chest. He shivers when my fingertips trace it. Then he’s kissing me again, walking me backward until the backs of my knees hit the mattress.
We go down together. He braces his weight on one forearm, and the other hand works the clasp of my bra. When it comes free he tosses it aside and lowers his mouth to my breast. His tongue circles the peak, then he draws it between his lips and sucks. I arch into him, fingers sliding into his hair.
He takes his time. Moves from one breast to the other, then trails open-mouthed kisses down my stomach. When he hooks his fingers in the sides of my underwear I lift my hips so he can slide them off. He settles between my thighs and just looks at me for a long moment.
“I could stay right here forever,” he groans. “Just looking at you.”
Then his mouth is on me, licking me with long, slow strokes, learning what makes my breath catch and makes my hips lift off the bed. When he seals his lips around my clit and sucks, my hands fist in the sheets.
I’m already close when he slides two fingers inside me. The stretch is perfect. He curls them while his tongue keeps working, and it sends me over the edge with a soft cry.
When he rises over me again, his mouth finds mine.
I taste myself on his tongue. He kicks off his jeans and boxers, and then there’s nothing between us.
The head of his cock brushes against me.
He doesn’t push in right away. He just rocks against me, letting the friction build until I’m lifting my hips in silent request.
He sinks into me slowly, eyes locked on mine the entire time. When he’s fully inside, he stays still for a moment, breathing with me. The fullness is overwhelming in the best way. I wrap my legs around his waist and he starts to move.
The rhythm is different from last night. Every stroke is slow and intentional, like he’s trying to memorize the way I feel around him. His hand finds mine and threads our fingers together against the pillow. The other braces beside my head so he can watch my face.
“You feel perfect,” he says. “So fucking perfect.”
I turn my head and press a kiss to the inside of his wrist. He makes a low sound and thrusts a little harder, still controlled but with more heat behind it. The shift makes me gasp. He does it again, angling so he drags against the spot that makes my vision blur.
“That’s it. Let me feel you.”
My free hand slides down his back, his muscles shifting beneath my palm with every movement. I hold on tighter as the pleasure starts building again, stealing my breath.
“Come for me,” he says against my mouth. “I want to feel it.”
The words push me over. I come with his name on my lips, body tightening around him in waves. His thrusts deepen. His breathing turns ragged. I can feel how close he is. He stills suddenly, buried deep, and looks down at me with an expression I haven’t seen on him before.
“You’re trouble,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because I’m falling for you.”
My heart stutters. Before I can answer he starts moving again. I pull him down into a kiss to bury everything I haven’t figured out how to say yet.
When he comes, it’s with a groan against my mouth, hips pressed tight to mine, pulsing inside me. I hold him through it, legs still wrapped around him, hands stroking slowly up and down his back.
We stay like that for a long time afterward. His weight is a comfortable pressure, his breath gradually steadying against my collarbone. Eventually he shifts just enough to keep from crushing me, and one of his hands finds mine, lacing our fingers together on the pillow beside my head.
I turn toward him, but I don’t know what to say. The words are there. I can feel them sitting in my throat. He watches me, his thumb moving over the back of my hand.
I think about how quickly he’s gotten under my skin. How different I feel when he’s here. How somehow, in the middle of everything falling apart, being with him feels like the one thing that’s together.
“I’m falling for you too.”
Something shifts in his expression, and suddenly I feel exposed. So I do the only thing I can think to do.
I lean in and kiss him.
He kisses me back, and for the first time in months, my heart doesn’t ache.