Page 59 of Saved from Deception

She gives me a tiny smirk and moves her hand up and down, caressing, adding a little pressure, trailing her fingers around the head, collecting the dampness and stroking it down my length. I surge into her hand, my hips jerking toward her instinctively.

“Charlie,” I hiss out, as her thumb twirls around the tip, lazily teasing.

“Rylan.” She meets my gaze, her eyes dark with desire.

“You’re so beautiful.” Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and her perfect breasts are heaving right in front of me—I dip my head and capture one nipple, then the other, sucking at them through the fabric. Charlie arches back, pushing her breast into my mouth, and I give her nipple the tiniest tweak.

“Ry.” Charlie moans my name this time. “I need you.”

I lift my head from her breast, taking her mouth again. Kissing her, nipping at her lower lip, trailing little love bites down her neck. Her hips are thrusting against mine and the heat from her core is searing into me.

“I should take a shower,” I murmur, teasing. One thing I learned about Charlie is she likes the banter, the little give and take, and I’m happy to give it to her.

“No.” It’s a cute little growl. “Now.”

Who am I to deny what she wants?

So I yank my shorts off, glad for a lack of zippers and buttons and anything confining. Charlie’s in a dress so I lift her skirt and pull off her panties—white lace this time, I almost swallow my tongue from the sight of them—sliding my fingers along her damp folds and dipping inside them.

She’s wet and ready, opening like a flower for me. I sink one finger in, then two, pumping them in and out while her inner walls clutch at me.

“Ry, I need to feel you inside me.” Charlie locks eyes with me, her delicate features cut glass, her hunger for me etched across her face. “I feel so empty without you.”

Fuck. This woman.

Moving my fingers, I take one look at Charlie, so gorgeous and spread open and waiting for me. Then I plunge into her, one thrust and I’m in to the hilt, perfection surrounding me.

Only with Charlie.

She’s everything. The glide of her slick heat, the fluttering of her inner walls, pulling almost all the way out and then filling her completely.

I lean Charlie back, supporting her, tilting her hips so I can go even deeper. It’s fast and intense and each time I thrust into her, I’m bottoming out. She’s not just moaning now, but letting out little guttural cries of pleasure and we collide together in this perfect completion.

When I press my fingers at that sensitive bud, rubbing faster and harder, Charlie’s hips jolt off the counter, and she whimpers, “Ry, I’m so close.”

One more flick of my finger, another thrust, and she goes careening over the edge, grabbing my arms, her nails digging into my skin. It’s so intense, the heat, all her inner muscles squeezing at me, the sound of her primal cry of ecstasy, the sight of her—flushed and satisfied and mine—that I leap over the edge along with her.

Charlie lays back on the counter and smiles languidly at me, even as her inner walls are still fluttering. I take a few seconds to breathe, to feel the aftershocks rippling through my body, before reluctantly pulling away.

She makes a little irritated noise at me, but I quickly dispose of the protection and come right back to her, lifting her into my arms. The kitchen island might have been fine for what we just did, but I’m not cuddling with her on the counter.

I deposit Charlie on the bed and peel off her dress before joining her. She snuggles against my side with a little sigh, draping one leg over mine. Her hair trails across the mattress, a river of mahogany and chestnut.

And her face—so damn beautiful. Not just what she looks like, but how she looks at me. She looks at me with all the emotions I’ve been too afraid to say.

Maybe we’ve both been too afraid.

“I love you.” It just comes out. No romance, no preface, just a simple, unplanned, unromantic statement.

“What?” Charlie turns on her side, staring at me with big eyes.

“I love you.” Sighing, I stroke her cheek and try again. “I meant to say it so much better than that. I’ve been in love with you, but every time I got ready to tell you, I chickened out. And this wasn’t the way I imagined I’d say it.”

One eyebrow arches up. “How were you going to say it?” The corner of her mouth twitches.

“With lots of compliments. I’d tell you how beautiful I think you are. How smart and funny and considerate, and how you make me happier than I’ve been in my entire life. I’d tell you how much better you make me.”

Trailing my finger along her jaw, I say, “I’d tell you how I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. And how honored I am that you’d fight for me. How I feel lucky every day that I met you. How much I absolutely love you.”

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