Page 73 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
My tongue invades her mouth, seeking, tasting, exploring because she holds all the truths I’ve been searching for my entire life. She pieces me together in a way that makes words likenormalanddifferentflee my vocabulary. Her touch makes me feel so fucking powerful I know I could do anything from stop wars to move mountains with her by my side.
Charlotte’s teeth sink into my bottom lip, and she tugs, a low, sexy moan escaping her throat when I press her against the cool tile and hold her there with my hips.
She’s sick. She’s sick. She’s sick,.my narrator weakly announces, unsure if he wants to be a traitor or a participant.
A shuddering breath courses through me as I shiver and pull my lips away from hers. Foreheads pressed together, we gasp for the same air, but her body refuses to remain still. Her hips roll against mine, and she arches her back a fraction of an inch, pressing her chest closer.
“You’re sick.”
“I’m not. I’m so, so much better.”
“Sweet little liar.”
“Fine, I’ve been sick, but I swear, I am better. I need this, I want this. I want you to touch me, and if you say you don’t want that too, I’m going to die of embarrassment. So if that’s the case, please walk out of this room and down the stairs so I can handle the shame in private.”
“You’re delusional.” She has no idea how badly I want her. My hands want to take her words at face value, even though I’ve been witness to her illness. I know I should back off and let her rest. She’s not one hundred percent yet.
“And you’re freaking irritating.”
My chest lights up with happiness again. “You’re not the first person to tell me I’m irritating, and you certainly won’t be the last. But I can for sure say you’re the only one who makes me want to make you eat your words by fucking you hard and fast against a shower wall.” Even as I tease her about being my liar, she’s never truly lied about something important.
“Yes, please.” Her lashes flutter against the creamy skin of her cheeks.
She’s perfect.
I’ve always dominated in the bedroom. Women can be unpredictable, and roaming hands make my dick deflate.
Around Charlotte, my dominant nature growls with a possessiveness that’s unlike any other experience. Her wandering touch isn’t an irritant against my skin—it’s a torture of pleasure I can’t get enough of.
I might even enjoy her unpredictable nature—the way her hands mold to my form as though she’s a part of me. I want to bury my cock between her legs and never leave.
“You make it nearly impossible to do the right thing here,” I say.
She glides her hands down my back and slips them beneath the elastic holding my sweatpants up.
My hips involuntarily rock into her, causing a harmony of our moans to meld together.
She slips lower, pushing down my pants as she goes.
“Charlotte,” I growl against her skin. I’m not sure when my lips landed on her slender neck, but she holds me to her like glue without ever touching my head.
“I promise you I’m okay, and I promise I want you. Do you—do you want me?” When her hands freeze on my backside, I lift her face to mine.
“Always. I will always want you.”
“You can’t make that promise, Thane, but if you want me now, here?—”
“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do, sweetheart. It will only make me dig my heels in deeper, and I’m already in so deep with you that no number of life preservers will ever be able to drag me to the surface.”
No more talking. No more questions or fears. She wants me. She wants me, and I’ve always taken what I want.
Lifting her with my hands under her thighs, I press her against the wall, reach beside her and turn off the water, then kick off my pants and carry her to her bed.
“Thane, I’m soaking wet.”
I toss her onto the bed to watch her bounce.
“Exactly what I’m going for.”
