Page 44 of Charlie

My breath whooshes out of my body. Would I?

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Come on." He pulls me into a mostly bare bedroom except for a bed and a dresser pushed against the wall.

"Whose room is this?"

"Back in the day, it was for the stable master. Now, it's only used when we want to wash up before returning to the house."

I nod, my nerves ramping up with every step we take. He motions for me to sit on the bed before making his way into the attached bathroom to turn on the shower. He pauses in the doorway, studying me, tendrils of tension reaching out to snatch the breath from my lungs. I tear my gaze from him, trying to steady my breathing as I wrestle with my boots. I hiss when the heel scrapes against my hand. Lach drops to his knees in front of me, gently pulling the boots from my feet and placing them beside the bed.

"Arms up," he murmurs, grasping the hem of my sweatshirt and dragging it over my head. He stalls, my arms tangled over my head, his face a hairsbreadth from mine. His gaze drops to my lips, groaning before jerking the sweatshirt off the rest of the way and backing away from me.

My heart is in my throat, sex crackling through the air, coating my skin. "Tell me what you were just thinking about." He shakes his head, taking another step back. I walk to him, my body thrumming with need. "Tell me."

He runs a hand over his face, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I want to tie you up and make you come in every position possible."

"Yes, please."

He clears his throat. "Not yet. You said you needed time; let me give you time. I didn’t bring you up here to ravish you, Charlie." He rolls his shoulders, getting himself under control. Closing the distance between us, he hooks his fingers into my waistband, pulling my leggings down. I clutch his shoulders as I step out of them, vulnerable in my sports bra and underwear. He unbuttons his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders. My gaze follows his hands as he unbuckles his belt, unbuttons his pants, and slides the zipper down.

"For fuck’s sake, Charlie!" My gaze swings back up to his face. "I’m holding on by a thread. If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to—" he stops, his jaw clenching, struggling for control.

"You’re going to what?" I push, wanting him to do everything he’s been thinking of. I want to be used.

"Just get in the fucking shower, Charlie."

I’m throbbing with need and as I pull off my sports bra, our gazes locked. I hook my thumbs in my underwear and let them fall to my ankles, stepping out of them before turning and walking into the bathroom, my heart in my throat.

I step under the water, moaning as the heat melts away my shitty morning. I close my eyes, dipping my head back into the stream. Silent as a snake, Lach slips in behind me, hugging me to his chest, his arms tight around my abdomen. His cock presses into me, the fabric of his boxers a disappointing barrier.

"Shampoo," he says, holding out a cupped hand. I squeeze some into his hand. My mewl of protest as he steps back, turns into a guttural moan, his strong fingers pressing into my scalp, massaging the shampoo through my hair. He tips my head back into the spray, rinsing it out. My eyes flutter open as he turns me around, my gaze colliding with his.

"Let me touch you," I plead.

He swallows, his gaze volleying between my eyes and my lips. He spins me around suddenly, my back to his front. "You don’t get to touch me until I’ve explored every square inch of your body," he rasps, his breath hot on my ear. I bend with him as he reaches for the body wash. He slides one hand over my stomach, his other has a vice grip on my hip, keeping us glued together. He brings his hand to my collarbone, soaping up my neck, upper chest, and between my breasts. I groan, arching against him, my eyes fluttering closed as the water sluices over me.

"Tell me what you want, Charlotte. " His hand skates under my breasts, sliding against sensitive skin. I gasp, grinding against him.

"Touch me," I moan, "Please, Lach."

He brings his hand up my stomach to gently cup one breast, his thumb flicking over my nipple. "Here?" he growls, kneading, pulling, twisting. I squeeze my thighs together as the need becomes unbearable, snaking my hand down my body to the apex of my thighs, sliding a finger over my clit before sinking it inside.

"Ah, ah, ah, Carebear," Lach scolds, pulling my hand up to his mouth and licking it clean. "That pussy is mine." He locks my hands behind me in a tight grip, pressing me flat to the glass. Our gazes collide in the mirror, the feral, animalistic need in his eyes shooting arrows of lust straight to my core.

"Please," I whisper, writhing against the glass, desperate for the friction it refuses to give. He holds my gaze as he slides a hand over my waist, down my stomach, and between my thighs, one thick finger circling my clit. I groan, going limp in his arms as my body tremors.

He moans into my ear, grinding his cock against my ass. "Let me taste you, Carebear." He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, and I arch against him, desperate for more.

"Yes, anything," I sob.

He releases my wrists, putting pressure on my back. "Bend over for me. There you go. That's a good girl," he purrs as he helps me widen my stance.

I press my face to the glass as he runs his hand along my spine, between my cheeks, his thumb sliding into me as his fingers work my clit. I push back into him, his name ripping from me in a low moan. I feel him drop to his knees behind me, a flash of self-consciousness before everything but his tongue fades into the background. He buries his face, his tongue lapping at the bundle of nerves before pushing up inside.

He flips me around and latches on to my clit, sucking me into his mouth. I buck against him, following as he lowers himself to the shower floor, pulling me down with him, my knees straddling his head. I hold myself over him as the water falls around us, trying not to suffocate him.

"Sit on my fucking face, Charlie," he barks, pulling me down roughly, his tongue lashing out.

Oh fuck.

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