Charlie’s tongue stroked mine, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, linking my ankles behind him. Hitching me higher on his body, he set me up on the island and shed his coat and sweater, dropping them to the floor. I wrested my cardigan from my arms and had my fingers at the bottom of my blouse, ready to whip it over my head, when common sense kicked in.
“Wait a minute.” I shoved Charlie in the chest, and even though it was like a ladybug trying to budge a giant sequoia, he was gentlemanly enough to take a step back. “No.”
His eyebrows raised. “No?”
I hopped off the island. “No. You said last night we were just going to be friends.” I struggled to breathe—it was like he’d knocked the wind out of me.
“We are friends.”
“Then what is this?” I gestured to the clothing on my kitchen floor.
“You don’t want this?”
“I didn’t say that.”
A pause. And since he wasn’t that much of a gentleman, I knew what I had to do.
I took off running.
He chased me through the dining room and front room to the bottom of the staircase, where he finally snared me with an arm around my waist. I did my best to try to scramble up the steps, but it was like spinning tires in the snow. Charlie easily overpowered me, subduing me with his strength, his will, his size. He spun me around to face him and set me down on the stairs, looming over me, one hand braced on a step above my head. I’d left one little light on in the front hall, a wall sconce that burned low, leaving half his face in shadow.
I glared up at him, breathing hard. Then I grabbed his head and pulled his lips to mine, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. My heart thumped with alternating beats of anger and arousal. How dare he show up like this? How dare he tell me he couldn’t stop thinking about me? How dare he chase me and throw me down like I was his plaything?
Confession: I loved it. Loved the antagonism between us, the hunt, the capture, the game. Loved that the spark between us hadn’t died. In a twisted way, I even loved the contention in my own head, my conscience arguing with my id.
This is wrong.
Please. Can you not?
You need to stop.
No fucking way. This is happening.
Tell him to leave.
I can’t talk right now.
Tell him you don’t want this. You’re not like this.
But I do. I am.
He’s using you.
Fuck off. We’re using each other.
This isn’t one of your fantasies, Erin. It’s real.
That’s why it’s so good.
But someone will get hurt. It’s inevitable.
I let go of his head and opened my mouth, words of defiance on my tongue. He placed a hand on my breast, squeezing it hard, claiming it, daring me to refuse him. It felt so good, I hesitated. Closed my eyes. Arched my back.
He put his finger over my lips, and I understood without being told, without even looking at him, what he was saying. Don’t speak. Just let me.
Oh God, I wanted to let him. I wanted to let myself. There were so many reasons to put a stop to this, and only one reason to keep going.
But it was a really, really good reason.
I opened my eyes, staying perfectly still except for my chest, which rose and fell with each arduous breath. Then I opened my knees.
Charlie took his finger off my lips and placed his hand between my legs, rubbing me through the denim. My panties grew damp. He lowered his head between my thighs and put his mouth on me over my jeans, giving me just enough heat and pressure to make me want to yank his hair out and scream. I tilted my hips, spread my knees wider, anything to increase the contact. Finally, he lifted his head and reached for the button.
I was wearing my skinniest jeans, and usually it takes me a minute to peel them off, but Charlie tore them from my legs in seconds, taking my panties with them. Spreading my thighs apart with his hands, he teased me by licking up one side of my pussy, then the other, avoiding the one spot I was desperate for him to touch. My legs trembled with the ache, my hands itched with the urge to grab his head and pull it tight to my body. I gripped the edge of the stair beneath my hips. Biting my lip to keep from cursing, I watched him turn his face into one pale upper thigh. Kiss, kiss, bite.
I cried out at the pain but he simply switched to the other thigh—this time I was ready. Kiss, kiss—I held my breath, bracing myself for the sting of his teeth closing over soft flesh—kiss.
Exhaling in relief, I nearly shed tears when he finally licked up through my center, circling the tip of his tongue around my clit before closing his lips over it. He nibbled and sucked, swirled and flicked.
Then he slid two fingers into my hot, wet center, pressing upward toward a place that made my insides tighten instinctively around his hand and my thigh muscles twitch.
Jesus, he was so good, too good to last. The tightness spiraled inward at my core, gathering strength, a vortex pulling tighter and tighter. I grabbed one banister post and flattened my palm on the opposite wall as the pressure grew unbearable, a high-pitched cry escaping me when it burst into pleasure. When the tremors ceased, Charlie withdrew his fingers from my body and brought them to my mouth, smearing the silky wetness over my lips.
“Charlie,” I panted.
“You want something from me?” he asked darkly. “You have to ask for it.”
Anger pierced my desire—he’d come here wanting this, and I’d said no. Now he wanted me to ask for it? But part of me loved it, loved the control he took, loved the way he tested my limits and made me want to test his.