Page 42 of Business Casual
“Oh. Thank you.”
He huffs a laugh. “See? That’s what I mean.” His hand drifts to the other side of my skirt, lifting it until he can see the heavy storm cloud inked on my opposite thigh. A crescent moon peeking out from behind. “I don’t think you’ve ever agreed with me on anything.”
“Well—” I lose my train of thought, focused instead on the way he’s inching my skirt even higher. He tucks it up until it’s a black bandaround my waist, pretty beige underwear to match my pretty beige bra. Butterflies here too.
Charlie sighs like he’s endured something.
“I like your butterflies,” he says, voice rough.
“So you’ve said.”
“Have I?” he asks, his eyes not moving away from the way the lace stretches over my skin. “It bears repeating.”
I toy with the edge of my high-cut underwear. “They were very expensive.”
“A worthwhile investment.”
I grin up at him. “Thank you. I think so too.”
He blinks down at me and his hand curls around my thigh, squeezing once. “Do you usually wear pretty underwear like this?”
I nod. “Yeah. Usually.”
I like the way it makes me feel. I like putting on something just for myself. I like the dainty fabrics and the different colors. I like looking at myself in the mirror when I get dressed and seeing the lace draped over my intricate designs. It makes me feel powerful. It makes me feel strong.
Charlie makes a sound. “I’m going to have a hard time with that.”
I glance at his pants and the thick, hard line of his cock pressing against his fly. “It looks like you’re having a very hard time.”
He ignores me, his grip abandoning my thigh for the hem of my sweater instead, slipping beneath to curl around the bottom of my rib cage. He squeezes once. “Knowing that you like to wear stuff like this underneath your clothes, thinking about it, wondering what it might look like—” He breathes in deep through his nose. “It’ll be a miracle if I focus on anything else ever again.”
I tip my chin. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“I’m not,” he replies without a lick of hesitation. His eyes flick to mine and hold. We stare at each other in the stillness of my bedroom, and I’m delighted by how easy this is, how good it feels, havingCharlie like this. A half smile tugs at one side of his mouth. I think he feels it too. “All right, Nova girl. How do you want me?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Do you need instruction?”
He shrugs and starts undoing the buttons of his shirt, fingers working nimbly against the light blue material. “I don’t need it, but I like it. I’d like to hear you tell me what you want.”
A surge of heat bursts like a rocket in the middle of my chest. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a partner willingly hand over control before.
Charlie pulls off his shirt with a roll of his shoulders, his torso flexing as he tosses it to a far-off corner of my room. I sit up beneath him on my elbows so I can get a better look. I’ve always known he was strong. Those suits he wears are tailored perfectly to his body, hugging the curve of his biceps and the span of his shoulders. But his body is…it’s something else, seeing it like this.
He’s all smooth, unblemished skin. A dusting of dark hair in the middle of his chest down to his belly button. His belt is undone, his pants hanging low on his hips, a cut line of muscle angling in. I run my fingers there, back and forth—until he tips his head back and grunts up at the ceiling, his throat working in a heavy swallow.
“What if I just wanted you to watch?” I sit up farther to drop a kiss to the center of his chest, then rest my chin there, staring up at him. He drops his head back to look at me. “Would that be okay?”
His eyes flash. Lightning in a storm. “That would be very okay.” He scoops all of my hair up in his hand and then releases it, watching the strands fall over his fingers. “Is that what you want? Do you wanna show me how you like it first?”
The idea has its merits. I’d love to test all that meticulous control of his. But I think I want something else more.
I tap his thigh and slip from the bed, pointing at the headboard until he follows my wordless command with a gruff chuckle. He crawls his way up there, hair a ridiculous mess, shoulders flexing. Hecollapses into my pillows, legs sprawled, looking like every indecent thought I’ve ever had. He flicks open the top button of his pants and tucks his arm behind his head.
“This is more in line with what I expected,” he says.
“What?” I shimmy out of my skirt and toss it in the same direction as his shirt.
“You, bossing me around.” He watches with interest as my hands curl in the hem of my sweater. I tug it over my head.
