I push his sweatpants down his hips, and he steps out of them, now as naked as I am. The ocean breeze swirls around us, cool against our heated skin. His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they harden beneath his touch.
I sink to my knees on the weathered deck, the warm wood pressing against my skin as I look up at him through my lashes. His eyes widen, darkening with desire as I take him in my hands, feeling him pulse against my palms.
“Charlotte, you don't have to?—”
“Let me show you what you mean to me.”
I take him into my mouth slowly, savoring the feel of him on my tongue, the soft groan that escapes his lips. His fingers thread gently through my hair, not guiding, just connecting. I lose myself in the act of pleasuring him, of giving back some fragment of the tenderness he's shown me these past months.
“Jesus,” he breathes above me. “Heart of saint, mouth of a fucking sinner, sweetheart.”
I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper, my hands gripping his thighs for balance. The ocean roars in the background, matching the thunder of my heartbeat. This isn't aboutsubmission or control—it's about choice. My choice to worship his body the way he's worshipped mine. To reclaim intimacy on my terms.
His muscles tense beneath my fingers as I find a rhythm that makes his breathing ragged. I glance up to see his head thrown back, throat exposed to the morning sun, vulnerability written across his features. The sight emboldens me, and I redouble my efforts, drawing sounds from him I never knew he could make. The power I hold in this moment is intoxicating—not the cruel power Terrance wielded over me, but something sacred. Something given freely between equals.
I work him with my mouth and hands in tandem, feeling his thighs quiver under my touch. My tongue traces the underside of his shaft, swirling around the sensitive head before taking him deep again. His fingers tighten in my hair, not painfully, just enough to let me know he's close.
“Charlotte,” he warns. “I'm going to?—”
I look up as I take him deeper, and that connection—that moment of raw vulnerability between us—pushes him over the edge. He pulses against my tongue, and I swallow everything he gives me, holding him steady as he shudders through his release.
When I finally pull away, he drops to his knees in front of me, cupping my face in his hands like I'm something precious.
“I love you,” he says, the words simple and devastating in their honesty. “God, Charlotte, I love you so fucking much.”
It's not the first time he's said it, but it hits differently now—here in the open air with nothing between us but sunlight. No shadows to hide in, no walls to protect us. Just truth, naked as our bodies.
“I love you, too. More than I thought possible.”
His mouth claims mine, tasting himself on my tongue as he lifts me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to the cushioned lounge chair, lowering me onto the softsurface with reverent care. The fabric is warm against my back, heated by the morning sun.
“My turn,” he growls.
His palms slide up my thighs, pushing them further apart as he settles between them. I feel exposed, vulnerable, but the hunger in his eyes dissolves any lingering self-consciousness. His thumbs trace delicate circles on my inner thighs, moving higher with each pass but never quite reaching where I need him most.
“Soren,” I plead, arching my hips toward him. “Don't tease.”
He smiles, wicked and slow. “After what you just did to me? I'm going to take my time with you.”
His mouth follows the path of his hands, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my thighs. The gentle scrape of his stubble against sensitive skin sends shivers through my body. I thread my fingers through his hair, not guiding, just needing to touch him as his lips move higher.
The first swipe of his tongue draws a gasp from my throat. He groans against me, the vibration against my center making me moan even louder. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as his tongue explores every inch of me, discovering what makes me gasp, what makes me writhe, what makes me beg.
“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against my slick flesh, his breath hot and teasing.
I whimper as he slides one thick finger inside me, curling it forward to find that spot that makes my vision blur. My hips buck against his mouth, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of everything he's giving me.
“That's it, baby,” he encourages, adding a second finger alongside the first. The stretch is delicious, a fullness that has me panting. “Let go for me.”
His tongue circles my clit while his fingers work me from the inside. The dual sensation is overwhelming—too much and notenough all at once. My thighs begin to tremble as pressure builds at the base of my spine, coiling tighter with each stroke of his tongue.
“Soren,” I gasp, my head thrashing against the cushion. “I'm close—I'm so close.”
He hums against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my core. His free hand slides up my body to cup my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple in time with the movements of his tongue. The added stimulation pushes me toward the edge, my body tensing as the coil inside me winds impossibly tight.
When I finally shatter, it's with his name on my lips. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, my back arching off the lounge chair as he works me through it, never relenting until the last tremor subsides and I'm boneless beneath him.
But he's not done with me yet.
