Page 26 of Counterpoint and Harmony

“Yeah. I get that. I love performing.”

Her throaty chuckle sends blood rushing south, and I shift, trying to ignore the effect she has on me.

She’s ducked her head again, but she looks up at me through her eyelashes, a smile playing over her lips, coquettish and seductive, though I’m not sure she’s doing it on purpose. “Yeah. My audiences are a lot different than yours.”

I shrug, smiling back, unable to stop my fingers from reaching out to brush against her shoulder. “Still performing.”

She stills under my touch, and her eyes dart to mine, holding them. “Yeah,” she breathes, visibly swallowing before she continues. “Yeah, it is still performing.” And then she leans into my touch.

I turn my palm so that I can caress her, my hand sliding down her arm, then back up, over her shoulder to her neck, her cheek, my thumb brushing over her parted lips.

Her breath leaves her in a whoosh. “What are you doing, Damian?”

I shake my head, brushing my thumb across her lips again. “I’m not really sure.”

She closes her eyes and presses her cheek into my hand before looking at me again. “You said—I thought—I didn’t—“

“Shhh.” I kind of like seeing Charlie flustered and tongue-tied. She’s usually so poised and pulled together. About now is when her mask would slam into place, closing me out.

Instead she stares at me with something like wonder in her eyes, her pupils large, leaving only a thin band of silver-blue surrounded by an even thinner ring of navy.

I lean closer, staring into her eyes. “I’ve always loved your eyes,” I whisper.

“Thank you.”

Our faces are moving closer together. I’m aware of it happening, but I’m not sure if I’m the one moving now or if she is. Or maybe we both are.

Either way, when our lips come together, it feels inevitable. Like everything before this, our texts, our phone calls, our conversation tonight, all of it was leading to this moment.

First it’s a gentle press of lips against lips. But when I slide the tip of my tongue along the seam of her mouth, she opens for me with a gasp and surges against me, climbing into my lap and wrapping her arms around me, her tongue dueling with mine.

I welcome her, shifting so she can straddle me comfortably, my hands sliding around her, gripping her ass, pulling her tightly against me. She rocks her hips, grinding onto my dick that went from a semi to full hardness the moment she opened her mouth.

We devour each other, her hands tangling in my hair and pulling it free of my ponytail, cupping my cheeks, sliding down my back, like she wants to touch me everywhere and can’t get enough.

I know exactly how she feels, because I want her the same way. I want to touch her everywhere. My fingers find the hem of her shirt and slip beneath it, sliding up until I find her satiny smooth skin, letting out a low groan when I make contact.

Making that sound—or maybe it’s my fingers on her bare skin—breaks the spell, and she pulls back, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stares down into my face, her hands gripping the hair on each side of my head.

“What are you doing, Damian?” she asks again.

I shake my head as much as I can with the way she’s holding me. “I don’t really know. I didn’t plan this.”

“Me either.”

At my quirked eyebrow and skeptical face, she lets out a huff of laughter and slides off my lap. I immediately miss the warm, soft weight of her, and keep my hand on her leg, unwilling to break contact or let her get away entirely.

She gives me a pointed look. “Okay, yes, I orchestrated our visit. But I didn’t plan on that. I just …” Her face softens as her eyes roam over me. “I just wanted to see you, talk to you in person instead of on the phone.”

My mouth pulls to the side. “I can’t remember ever spending time alone just talking where it didn’t end in at least a make-out session.”

She laughs and runs her hands through her hair. “I guess that’s true. Still, though. We aren’t together anymore. You made it clear that you didn’t want that. So …”

After waiting a beat, holding her gaze, she doesn’t continue. “So?” I prompt

She shrugs. “So I don’t know what this means. I don’t know what to do with what just happened.”

I sigh, sliding my hand up and down her leg and giving it a squeeze. “I don’t know either. I just know that ever since you left, I’ve missed you. The place in my life where you belong aches without you. I keep waiting for it to get better, to at least lessen in intensity, but it hasn’t. And now that we’re talking again …”

“It never will,” she finishes for me, her voice hushed, barely audible.

“No. It never will.”

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