Page 87 of Charmed, I'm Sure
“Magnolia.”
The way he ground out my name had my heart pounding. His gaze flicked between my face and the place where our bodies pressed together, raw and hungry. It was intoxicating—empowering—and I wanted to see how far he’d let me push him, how long it would take for his restraint to snap.
Lifting his chin with my finger, I held his gaze as I worked my hips in slow, deliberate circles. The fabric of my panties dragged against me with every roll, sending shivers of pleasure through my body. I could feel him twitch against me, and the sensation only stoked the fire.
A muscle in his jaw jumped, his breaths coming in heavy exhales like it took every ounce of control he had not to take me right there. His fingers flexed against my thighs before sliding around to my behind to guide my movements.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked, voice strained.
“No,” I replied, feigning innocence. “Just seeing what it takes to unravel you.”
I sounded far more confident than I felt, but his villainous, panty-melting smirk made my boldness falter. My whole body thrummed with heat. If he so much as breathed on me, I might combust.
Without warning, he sat up, pulling me flush against him. One strong hand slid around the back of my neck, his whispered words tickling my ear.
“Two can play at that game, cher. And I’m very competitive.”
Oh, shit.
Taylor pulled me into a kiss that could only be described as punishing—one that promised my lips would be red and swollen by morning. His arms slid beneath my thighs, lifting me effortlessly as he stood. Mother above, that was an amazing feeling.
A moan escaped as his grip tightened on my ass, my legs locking instinctively around his waist. His lips never left mine as he carried me through the house, weaving between the maze of boxes.
When we reached the master bedroom, he set me gently on the bed. The kiss broke only long enough for him to strip my shirt over my head. I tugged at the last buttons of his dress shirt as he shucked it off, and for a moment, I just stared.
Sweet baby cheeses. I’d almost forgotten what shirtless Taylor looked like.
His chest was all sharp lines and lean muscle, with just enough softness to make snuggling feel like heaven instead of curling against a brick wall. The urge to run my tongue down the groove between his pecs was almost overwhelming.
Clad in only a matching black bra and panties—yay for wearing coordinating underwear for once—my thigh-high stockings, and boots, I watched as he took a step back. His gaze raked over me like a manstarved, his fingers working his belt free from the loops with deliberate slowness.
My breath came in shallow pants, my body trembling with anticipation as I waited for him to release the kraken. I was soaked, my panties clinging to me uncomfortably. Watching him saunter forward, all swagger and intent, made heat rise from my cheeks down to my chest.
“You know,” I squeaked, swallowing thickly, “I could help with that.”
“Oh, I know you can,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. “And you will. But as I said, two can play this game. And, baby, it’s my turn.”
Holy forking shirt balls, Batman. I was sweating.
Figuratively, of course. Women don’t sweat—we glisten. And I was glistening like a damn Washington vampire in the sunshine.
Taylor didn’t just walk to me. He prowled. Each step was purposeful, like a predator cornering its prey. I couldn’t help the shiver that ran down my spine.
His hands moved to my boots, slipping them off with ease. He trailed his fingers up my calves, his touch featherlight, until one hand hooked behind my knee. He hitched it over his hip as he knelt on the bed, his other hand cupping my cheek with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity in his eyes.
His lips brushed against mine, soft and unhurried, parting them just enough to allow his tongue to slide in and coax mine into a dance. Every move was delicate, deliberate, and maddeningly restrained.
It was driving me insane.
“Taylor,” I whimpered, arching beneath him as he moved his lips along my jaw.
“What do you need, Magnolia?”
The gravel in his voice sent shivers cascading down my spine, pooling heat low in my belly.
“I need you to touch me. Fuck me. Something. I’m dying here,” I groaned, raking my nails down the muscles of his back.
The bastard smirked—actuallysmirked—against my neck before pulling away and piercing me with his Southern sky blues. “Tell me exactly what you want, cher.”
