Page 82 of Business Casual
“We’ll see.” He pinches my nipple and my body bows over his. It’s somehow better than I remember, being with Charlie like this. Everything feels amplified, electric. His arm curls around my waist, and he tips me to the side, pressing me down into the cushions of the couch. His hands fumble with the button of my jeans and then he’s tugging them off in three rough yanks, my body moving down the couch with every pull.
“Someone is eager.” I laugh.
“Don’t act like you haven’t been aching for it since I kissed you in the alley,” he replies, face set in stern concentration, jeans tossedsomewhere over his shoulder. He curls his hands around my ankles and drags his palms up, over my calves, behind my knees to the insides of my thighs. He traces all my tattoos with his eyes and then his fingers, gentle, soothing strokes that have me wiggling beneath him. I’m being memorized. Appreciated. Devoured.
His touch firms, and he lifts my leg, hooking my foot over the back of the couch. I lie there beneath him and let him move me how he likes.
“Did you think about touching me like this too?” I whisper, heart thumping wildly in my chest. The pressure between my legs is unbearable. I’ll be lucky if I last a minute.
Maybe less than that when I figure out what he intends to do. Charlie lowers himself over me, tucking his broad shoulders between my thighs. His long body stretches out across the couch, and he drags a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue to the inside of my knee.
“I’ve been thinking about this more than anything else.”
And then he sets his mouth to me over the lace of my underwear. He keeps one hand splayed low against my belly and the other on the inside of my thigh, holding me still. I expected something fast, desperate, just as messy and unhinged as our kisses while we stumbled down the hallway. But he’s slow and methodical, absolutely decadent in his thorough appreciation. The lace makes everything feel rougher, the scratch of the material and the heat of his tongue. I’ve never been consumed like this before. Never been so carefully worked over, every single minute movement of Charlie between my thighs intended to drive me higher.
And he does. Higher and higher even as I try to grasp at the edges of my control. He kisses me through the lace, and I watch him move over me, the hand on my thigh squeezing like he wants to hold as much of me as possible. His dark hair brushes against my belly, and I groan, sapphire blue eyes blinking up to mine while his mouth works me over. I make another choked sound, and he leans back, grinning into my leg.
“How’re you doing, Nova girl?” His thumb works me while his mouth sucks a mark against the inside of my thigh, right next to an inked cluster of lavender. “Hanging in there? I haven’t had my mouth on you for very long.”
“I feel like I’m, oh—” I drop my head back against the couch and roll my hips into his hand, chasing that delicious tension. I’m definitely going to come faster. I’m already on the very edge, my leg trembling where he’s hooked it over the back of the couch. “I can take it,” I wheeze out.
“Yeah, you can.” Charlie makes a pleased sound, working his mouth back up my leg to where his hand is still rubbing roughly through the lace of my underwear. He presses a kiss to the tiny bow on the front that matches the tiny bows on my bra.
“And I’m sure you’ll make up some time,” he grits out, voice low. His hand leaves my thigh, and I glance down my body, watching as he adjusts the front of his briefs. He strokes himself once and his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. He opens his eyes and gives me a half smile. “Yeah. You’re not lagging nearly as much as you think.”
“That’s good.”
I don’t really care. I just want more of this weightless, breathless feeling. I am boneless with want, all of my anxieties somewhere else entirely. It’s just me and Charlie and all the things he makes me feel.
He seems to agree because he presses his mouth to me again without another word, his gentle, teasing rhythm slipping into something rough and desperate. He winds me up higher and higher, one hand sliding over my torso to my chest. He strokes his thumb over my rose, then grabs me roughly, pinching my nipple with two fingers. The bright burst of pain and the rough press of his mouth are enough to have me stumbling to the edge, the low grunt that vibrates between my legs sending me over it. Heat tugs at everything, a blissful pulse that rolls and rolls and rolls. I have to close my eyes against it. Have to curl both hands around the pillow by my head and squeeze so I’m not swept away.
Hands tug at my hips as Charlie rolls me over on my hands and knees. I go willingly, legs shaking and hair in my face. My body is suffused with tiny pinpricks of light. A sunbeam shot through cracked glass, rainbows spinning out across the room.
I vaguely register the sound of foil ripping, the shuffle of fabric being moved out of the way. Charlie tugs my underwear to the side and holds it there with his thumb, then pushes into me with a groaning, growling burst of breath.
“Fuck,” he says. He holds himself still against me, his hands tight around my hips. “Fuck,” he says again.
I’m all sensation. A blissed-out, half-delirious laugh tumbles out of me. He feels so good. Exactly right. Exactly what I’ve been needing. I reach back and grab his hand on my hip, needing to feel him. Needing to be connected to something while all of this golden light rushes through my body. His hand squeezes mine.
“You’re gonna win, Nova girl,” he breathes, his body moving against mine. He threads our fingers together at my hip and holds me tighter. “Fuck, you feel so good. And you look—”
His hand sweeps down my side, over the tattoos painted along my rib cage.
“You look so pretty I think I’m having a heart attack,” he mumbles. He pulls out of me, groans, and then pushes back in half a second later. If he was trying to hold himself back, he’s not doing a very good job of it. “You’re definitely going to win. I’m going to last ten seconds, max.”
Another laugh wheezes into a whine when he picks up his pace. I don’t care who wins this stupid contest. “I think we’ve both won, don’t you?”
He doesn’t answer me with words. He just moves his body into mine, a smooth rolling rhythm that picks up speed and ferocity as the thread of his composure begins to unravel. He slaps one hand on the inside of my thigh, the snap of it urging my legs wider. I fall fartherinto the couch with a groan, my bare breasts rubbing against the soft material with every thrust.
I feel myself start to climb again and Charlie curses behind me, something pained and hungry, his hips abandoning their rhythm for something wilder, uncontrolled. My orgasm is sweet and surprising when it grabs me again, low tremors making me tremble in his arms, one of my knees giving out and sending us both tumbling to the couch.
I laugh and screech, body flailing, but Charlie yanks me up to him with my back to his chest, chasing his pleasure and drawing out my own. The angle makes him slide deeper, my legs spread wide over his. I throw my head back over his shoulder, and he cups his hand at the base of my throat, holding me to him, his breathing harsh in my ear. I’m surrounded by him in the best of ways, held safe and tight in the cage of his arms. I stroke my fingers across his forearm and encourage his fingers to press harder against my throat, and his body goes rigid against mine. He makes a sound against my ear, thumb tracing lightly over my pulse point. Relief. Disbelief. Bone-deep pleasure.
We collapse, Charlie half on top of me. His body is overly warm, and my underwear is a twisted mess, cutting into my hip. My left leg is almost completely numb.
I am quiet and thoroughly, wonderfully undone.
Charlie lifts his arm from around my waist and I grunt my displeasure. He snickers and brushes a quick kiss against the back of my neck.
