Page 43 of Business Casual
“Glad I could meet your expectations.” I prop one foot up on the edge of the bed and reach for the top of my tights. Charlie sits up.
“Don’t,” he says.
My hands still. “Don’t, what?”
He drags his hand down his jaw, palm working at the scruff he’s started sporting since he started farm life. I like it. It suits him.
I want to feel it between my legs.
“Leave the tights on,” he says, voice low. His eyes dance their way up my body until they hold mine. “Please,” he adds.
“So polite.” I leave them where they are and crawl back on the bed. Charlie watches me move up his body. He curls his hands around my hips when I finally settle in his lap, thumbs tracing indistinct shapes against my waist. I peck a kiss on his waiting lips. “Such a good boy.”
Charlie makes a low rumbling sound, the hands on my hips clenching tighter. “Nova. You need to tell me what you want.”
My lips brush over his again. “Or what?”
“I don’t know,” he breathes against me, eyes shut tight. I like this unraveled version of Charlie so very much. “I didn’t really think through the second part of that statement.”
“How about this?” I wrap my fingers around his wrists and guide his hands up to my breasts. I place them there, over my lace bra. He peeks open one eye, and then the other. I smile at him. “Because you like my rose.”
“I love your rose,” he tells me. “I might love these more though.”He squeezes my breasts, testing their weight, his thumbs rubbing circles over my nipples through the material of my bra. My back arches and he drops his mouth to my neck. “That silver dress almost killed me, Nova.”
I laugh and shift in his lap, chasing the friction. There’s an ache low in my belly. A thrumming right beneath my skin. “You already know how I feel about the suspenders.”
“Should I have brought them?”
Maybe next time, I almost say, but I bite the words back. There won’t be a next time. There will be only this time. Just once, to get it out of our systems. Then we can go back to spreadsheets and taxes and meaningless flirtations over cider while Montgomery and Gus bicker about pumpkin displays.
But I don’t want to think about that now. I only want to think about Charlie’s fingers urging the strap of my bra over my shoulder, carefully peeling the lace cup down until there’s nothing between his mouth and my skin. He presses a kiss to the rose between my breasts, licks a hot stripe across it, and then pulls my nipple into his mouth. My body shivers and my hips press down, the zipper of his half-open pants biting into the soft skin of my thighs.
“Charlie,” I whisper.
He doesn’t bother pulling down my bra on the other side, just catches my nipple with his teeth through the gossamer material. Impatient. I grind down on him, hips circling.
“I don’t think you need direction,” I say, sounding winded. My room is silent except for the wet sounds of his mouth, my panting breaths, the soft swish of my thigh highs against the comforter as I try to climb higher on his lap. I want to give him more of me. I want his big body to spread my thighs wider. Charlie helps, his mouth still working at my breast while his hand guides my hips in a smooth rhythm.
“Take off your pants,” I breathe out, hand slipping in his open fly. I curl my hand around him as best I can with the angle and his entirebody goes rigid before melting into smooth, languid lines. He watches me with heavy eyes as I stroke him once. Twice.
“It’s hard to take off my pants when you’re doing that.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
He presses his hips into my touch. “I didn’t say that.”
I could watch him like this forever, I decide. Chest heaving, hair sticking up every which way. Cheeks flushed pink and his hands clenched into fists on top of my thighs. He moves with me, body chasing mine when I pull away, relaxing back into the pillows when I squeeze.
I rub my thumb over the tip of his cock and his body jolts. He tips his head back into the pillows, eyes closed. His eyelashes are a dark fan against the slope of his cheekbones. If I were painting him, he’d be streaks of purple in the muted moonlight. Loops of lavender in between.
“No more teasing,” he says from between clenched teeth.
I give him another long stroke with my hand. “I believe it’s called foreplay, Charlie.”
His eyes blink open, and he leverages himself up beneath me until I’m flipped back, a squeak of surprise that I’m not entirely proud of tossed over his shoulder. He grips my thigh and tugs it wide, his hips slotting in between. He grinds against me and I grasp at his shoulder blades.
I feel the rumble of his chuckle against my breasts, his breath a hot puff against my neck. He leans up and sucks a kiss right below my ear, sending shockwaves all the way down to the place between my thighs where he’s hard and heavy against me.
He props himself above me with the palms of his hands, arms flexing, his forehead pressed to mine, face angled down so he can watch our bodies move together. I look too, a moan caught in the back of my throat when I see the way his body looks pressing mine down into the mattress. The way my knees hug his hips, my skin flushed. All my ink pressed up against his pale, smooth skin.
