Page 80 of Never Kiss and Tell

“Tell me, princess, or you won’t get what you want.”

Tears stream down my cheeks, an ache settling between my thighs.

“Charlie,” I groan, my voice muffled from the hair in my face.

“Bailey,” he warns, tightening his grip on my hip until I’m sure I’ll have imprints of his fingers on my skin forever.

God, I’ll hate myself in the morning for saying this.

“Because you can bring her home and I can’t even finish a date because all I’m thinking about is you.” Tremors shake my hands and my knees quiver embarrassingly. Worst of all is the pit forming in the bottom of my stomach.

“Good girl,” Charlie murmurs, his voice uneven. Finally, he brings his fingers back to my clit and fucks me so fast and hard, I fear I might black out. He doesn’t stop until I’m coming so hard that I can’t see straight, don’t remember my name and my legs give out underneath me.

Abruptly, he flips me onto my back and presses my legs open. Instead of sliding back inside me, his lips crash against mine with a low growl. I wrap my arms around his back, my nails digging into the skin at the top of his spine.

“Spread your pussy for me, baby,” he murmurs against my lips, taking my hand in his and guiding it down to my entrance.I do as he says, spreading myself open even though it’s difficult from how wet I am. Charlie looks down and we both watch as he slowly sinks inside me. “Fuck.”

I can feel him slipping past my fingers, driving in and out of me until I can’t fit my hand between us. I run my hands all over him because I may never get the chance again. Tight biceps, the veins in his forearms, and the strength in his shoulders…

“Let me tell you why I brought her home,” Charlie grits, his lips hovering over mine. He doesn’t slow down, instead taking my hands in his and pinning them to the bed on either side of my head. “Because she’s the exact fucking opposite of you and it was all I could do to keep from dragging you out of that fucking restaurant.”

I roll my hips into him, wrapping my legs around his back as the things he says to me play war with my heart. I shouldn’t feel this way. This is too much. Unnatural. I don’t even like Charlie. Why does it mean so much to hear him saying these things to me?

“Don’t let me catch him around here again,” he grits, enunciating each word with a thrust. “Understand?”

He looks like a man on the brink of losing his mind. His hair is falling in his face, sweat dampens his skin, and his jaw is clenched tightly. I fully believe what Charlie is insinuating. He’ll beat Peter if he shows back up here and even if I don’t like Peter, I don’t want him hurt. I also don’t want Charlie back in jail.

“Y—Yes,” I stammer, my pussy tightening and another orgasm building inside me.

“You want to come on my cock, baby?” he asks, kissing meroughly.

“Yes,” I breathe, tightening my legs around his hips.

He molds his front to me, rubbing his groin over my clit until a hurricane rips through me, leaving nothing in its wake. I scream, my body vibrating uncontrollably as pleasure radiates through me.

“Fuck, baby,” Charlie grits, fucking me faster. “Milk my fucking cock,” he grits, pummeling into me with an animalistic growl. Finally, he comes with a deep grunt, thrusting into me one last time before he shoots inside me, filling me until it streams down my legs.

“Shit,” Charlie groans, falling onto the bed beside me. His breathing is heavy and fast, matching the pounding of my heart in my chest.

I allow myself to catch my breath, staring up at the ceiling. God, that was . . . that was intense.

When Charlie doesn’t say anything, I know it’s time for me to leave.

Slowly, I slip from the bed, wincing uncomfortably as my legs struggle to regain their composure.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Charlie asks, his voice clipped.

“To bed,” I murmur, refusing to look at him. God, why did I say all those things?

“Bailey,” Charlie says, reaching out and grabbing my hand. He tugs me back to the bed and wraps an arm around me to lay me back.

“I’m fine, Charlie.”

“You aren’t,” he murmurs, rising and going into therestroom. A moment later, he comes out with a wash rag and cleans between my legs. It’s embarrassing, but sweet.

“I thought you said no romance,” I joke, attempting to lighten the mood, but neither of us is complying. I imagine his head is just as fucked as mine.

“I don’t do romance, Bailey,” he murmurs, discarding of the rag in the clothes hamper and climbing back into bed beside me. He tugs the covers up and snakes his arm under me. I let him pull me into his chest because it’s comforting and I think, deep down, a part of him wants this too. Someone to just be with for the night and not have to worry about them in the morning.

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