Page 19 of Floored (Frenched 3)
I pressed my lips together and ‘fessed up. “No. Not that I’m dating.”
There was a pause then, during which the air between us took on a crackling new charge. Because of the storm, the lights in my kitchen were burning low.
Either that or Charlie and I were sucking up all the electricity in the room.
“I made him up,” I said, eyes on my lap, “so that I wouldn’t seem so pathetic.”
“Erin. You’re not pathetic. You’re…”
I looked up, waiting for him to go on, but he couldn’t seem to come up with a word. “What? What am I?”
Just then the power went out entirely, and I sucked in my breath.
When it came on a second later, Charlie was looking at me very intently, his arms crossed. “You’re perfect. Just like you always were.”
He thinks I’m perfect and boring. I made a face and tipped back the rest of my beer, setting the bottle beside me. “Stop it. I’m not perfect. I’m not what you think.”
Charlie tilted his head. “No?”
I licked my lips. “You think I’m a joke. The Teacher’s Pet. The Homecoming Queen. The Goody Two Shoes who likes everything just so, everything neat and clean. Well, I don’t, you know. Like everything clean.”
Charlie said nothing at first. But his stillness told me he was intrigued. A lovely little ache blossomed between my legs.
“You like some things dirty. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes,” I whispered, butterflies rioting in my belly.
“I’m not sure you do.”
“Try me.”
Slowly, he came off the counter. Bracing my hands behind my hips, I opened my knees, and he stepped between them, sliding his hands up the tops of my thighs. He was so tall, I had to tilt my head back to look at him. Up close his chest was even more imposing, and his shoulders seemed to dwarf mine. Gooseflesh rippled down my arms, and my breaths came fast.
By contrast, Charlie seemed completely in control. His breathing was slow and measured, his hands moving over my hips and beneath my sweatshirt. His eyes stayed locked on mine as his palms slid up the sides of my ribcage and back down, spanning my waist. “Such a tiny little thing.”
“Scared you’ll break me?”
“Yes.” In the near dark, his blue eyes looked black.
“Do it.”
In less than a second, Charlie pulled off three moves that had me gasping for air—he yanked me to my feet, turned me around, and kicked my heels apart so my legs were spread and I was bent over the island, arms pinned behind my back. His legs pressed the backs of my thighs, and his hips pushed against my ass.
He was hard.
The power went out completely.
Oh my fucking God.
Panting, I lay my cheek on the cool marble, unsure of what to do next. Between my ears, the message was this is scary. Between my legs, it was this is hot.
“No, don’t give up. Fight me. Come on. Struggle.” His voice was different now—deeper, quieter even, yet more intimidating.
Adrenaline coursed through my body, my heart pounding with fear, with arousal, with shock. I tried moving my arms—he pulled them tighter, clamped my wrists harder. I tried moving my legs—he pinned my hips against the marble, his erection pushing firmly into my flesh. I flexed my fingers—he laughed softly.
“That’s it. Try everything. Scream if you like.”
I couldn’t scream even if I wanted to. It felt like the darkness had weight, like it was bearing down on my back with a force stronger than gravity. Breathing required all the lung strength I had, and I wasn’t even sure I could keep that up.
