“Fuck,” he bites out, tossing the skirt away while I slide out of the suit jacket and then go to work on the buttons at the front of my shirt.
Why the hell did I pick a blouse with so many buttons this morning?
After I undo the first few, he grows impatient and lifts it over my head, sending it to join my skirt.
“Bed?” I suggest, but he shakes his head.
“No way,” he mutters, and drops to his knees. My panties go the way of my other clothes and then he’s running a hand along the back of my thigh and then along the inside of my knee, and I let out a light giggle. Charlie lifts my leg over his shoulder and repeats the action, drawing more laughter, clearly intrigued at finding a ticklish place, but not wanting to be diverted from his goal just now.
“It’s my only spot,” I insist, and he snorts his disbelief, but allows it, pressing a kiss there.
“Hold on,” he instructs, and I do, a hand in his hair, the other at his shoulder as his mouth trails a hot path up the inside of one thigh and then, skipping where I want him the most, licks a slow stripe up my lower abdomen to my belly button.
“Don’t tease,” I ask, just this side of begging.
And then he doesn’t. His mouth and his hands are everywhere, fingers filling me – though not nearly enough now that I know what it’s like to have him inside of me – his mouth at my clit, my thighs closing around his ears, just the way he likesit. My fingers twist in his hair at the incredible sensations firing through my body so fast it feels like being a teenager again, when every touch is new and heightened and so intense you think you might explode into little bits of nothing before it’s all over.
My heel finds the space between his shoulder blades as he works me through the arching release of my body, holding him there until they finally begin to subside.
And when my brain starts working again after luxuriating in pure sensation, I manage to say, “If that baseball thing didn’t work out, you could have done this professionally.”
He tilts his head in adorable confusion. “That’s a compliment, right?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I answer, still not entirely sure that, if he lets me go, my legs will be able to hold me up.
“Good,” he says, wiping at his face with his thumb before sucking the mess he made away.
“I don’t think I can stand,” I admit, when he starts to shift back.
“I’m not sure I can either,” he says, sitting back on his haunches as my leg slips off his shoulder to the floor.
“We’re a complete mess.”
“We are.”
“Okay, let me just,” I test the strength of my legs and they seem okay, if a little more unsteady than normal. I brace myself on his shoulders and he lets out a hiss. The wood floor must be doing a number on his knee. I manage standing on my own and then lean back a bit against the wall, offering him my hand to help him up.
He manages it without falling over, but he’s clearly in pain.
“You need surgery.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“We’ll go to the doctor after Thanksgiving. Get it scheduled.”
“Yeah,” he says, without protest, which must mean he’s in way more pain than I assumed.
“Good.” I reach up to brush the hair out of his face and my smug smile fades at the heat still in his eyes.
“Please tell me my fucking knee didn’t ruin the mood,”
“It didn’t.”
“Thank God, because I’m still as hard as a rock and I fucking need to be inside of you.”
“Come on,” I say, taking his hand and leading him just a few more steps into my bedroom. I give him a gentle shove down to sit at the edge of the bed and then stand in front of him as I undo my bra while he looks up at me from beneath his lashes. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
His mouth lifts at the corner into a mischievous smile. “Is that why you had my poster on your wall?”
