Page 82 of Mr. Charming

She nods, and I bring her mouth to mine again, sliding my tongue into her mouth. She meets me stroke for stroke, the intensity growing too fast. I want us to remember this moment.

I slow the kiss and make a path down her jaw. She lifts her head, tilting back, giving me access to whatever I want. God, how long have I waited for this moment? How many times did I dream of having her in my arms again? I can barely believe this is real.

“Can I take you to your bedroom?”

Her eyes soften, and she climbs off my lap, offering me her hand. I rise off the couch with her help, and she leads me down the small hallway to a bedroom with a queen bed, two nightstands, and a dresser. This space isn’t her. There’s no color or art on the walls. Everything is white, chrome, and blah.

“It’s not the most comfortable,” she says, looking at the bed.

I tug her to me, and she tilts her head to look up at me. “Babe, I’d make love to you on a porcupine.”

She laughs, and it’s one of my favorite parts of us, making her laugh. “I don’t think the porcupine would like it very much.”

“You don’t think he’s into threesomes?”

She shakes her head. “Shut up and kiss me again.”

“Just remember, you asked for it.”

I swallow her laugh with my tongue, and she jumps into my arms.

I’m not sure how I got so lucky for her to let me in again, but I’m not wasting any time dwelling on it because she’s finally here in the flesh with me. And I plan to fully enjoy it.

Thirty-Eight

Tedi

Tweetie doesn’t take long to get me on the mattress, and as I lie beneath him, my fingers tangle in his wavy blond hair. His weight presses me into the mattress, solid and familiar, and despite everything—the years, the distance, the heartbreak—I still fit against him perfectly, like I always have.

We pause, breathless, just long enough to stare at each other.

A slow smile tugs at my lips. “Are we accepting that we have zero self-control?”

He smirks, his calloused palm sliding up my thigh. “I like to think it’s more that we’re romantically fated.”

I laugh. “So, our story will be you tripped over your own shoes and fell on top of me?”

“And you couldn’t resist me as soon as you felt my impressive length snug against your stomach.”

I give him a look. “Impressive?”

He grins like the cocky bastard he is. “Don’t deny it. I bet you haven’t had anything close since.”

He’s right. Tweetie is definitely gifted in that department, both in the equipment and how he uses it.

His hand skims under my shirt, fingers grazing my skin, and suddenly, the teasing isn’t so playful anymore. His touch slows, as if he’s memorizing my body all over again. “I missed you,” he says, his voice raw and quiet.

My heart clenches. The air between us shifts, the weight of everything we haven’t said, everything we still feel encroaching on us. I swallow hard, tracing my fingers along his sharp jawline. “I missed you too.”

And then he kisses me deep and slow, stealing my breath the way he always has. His hands roam over me, strong and sure, as though I’m a map he’s studied all his life. The heat between us flares, electric and familiar, as if no time has passed.

I’m lost in him. Lost in his mouth and his taste and his touch. How have I gone this long without this? He’s pushing my arms up, stripping off my shirt while my hands run up his back to get his shirt off at the same time.

Thump.

We both freeze.

“Did something just fall?” I ask, lips still against his.

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