by Tessa Bailey
It’s not very often someone surprises me, but Charlie did tonight. Dammit, he really did. He has been back down to the kitchen several times, even helping me transfer food from pans to plate, garnishing, and yes, stealing bites when he thought I wasn’t looking. Or maybe he knew. I couldn’t tell.
He wanted to put his hands on me several times as we worked side by side. Just something I could feel. Maybe there’s an intuition that comes from having someone inside you enough times you lose count. Little ghosts had moved over my hips, slid across my belly and kissed my neck in place of his touch, because I could sense him wanting it there. As a consequence, I’m turned on as hell right now. No lie. The metal of the prep table presses into my stomach and I close my eyes, picturing Charlie unzipping his pants behind me, bending me forward and lifting my skirt, all at once. Impatient hands, groans, table legs creaking.
Will there ever be a point when we can coexist in the same room and not think of going at it like animals in heat? I don’t know. But our friendship is worth trying to reach that point, isn’t it? Look how he’d dropped everything to come help me.
Promising myself extra attention tonight with my vibrator, I push away from the prep table and remove my apron, gliding toward the stairs. I’ve been setting aside little portions for Charlie and his two friends, leaving them warming in the oven. They really came through for us, and I’m not about to let that go unrewarded. When dessert service is over, I’m going to spoil them rotten.
When I reach the upstairs ballroom, I stop beside Nina where she stands at the room’s edge. I can barely believe what I’m seeing. There is an extremely good-looking young man with his shirt off, arm wrestling the host, a lit cigar clamped between his teeth. I vaguely remember him being in the bar on the day Charlie and I met, but I’d been so focused on Charlie, this guy’s attractiveness barely registered until now. But . . . wowza. He reminds me of an outlaw card shark raising hell in an Old West saloon. And Good-Looking is clearly pretending his arm-wrestling opponent has a hope in hell of winning, but that’s not stopping the surrounding women from throwing money down on the table, shouting for their favorite.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper to Nina.
“I don’t know.” She’s in a trance. “It’s all just happening.”
“There are two . . . maybe three laws being broken here.”
Danika spies me and makes her way over, twirling an empty tray on her palm. “Hey, Ever. Take a real good look at what you’re getting into.”
My mouth falls open, because I finally see Charlie. He is on the dance floor, surrounded by women old enough to be his grandmother. One is being spun and dipped, her expression the picture of delight, while everyone else sways and waits their turn. “There’s a plate of food in the oven for you,” I say to Danika, unable to take my attention off Charlie. “Go to town.”
“Sweet.”
My gaze locks with Charlie’s across the room, and the most adorable thing in history happens. So adorable, my insides turn to melted caramel. Hair askew, collar crooked, he gives me a lop-sided grin, just as his dance partner lays a smacker on his cheek. He’s actually sheepish as he scratches the back of his neck, like a naughty boy caught in the act of being too cute for humankind’s own good.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m floating toward him.
He’s not cute after that. Oh no. He’s eye fucking me, that wicked tongue resting on his bottom lip like it’s getting ready to do something dirty. The women surrounding him on the dance floor turn to follow Charlie’s line of sight, and they could not be more excited by this development. They’re clapping and asking if I’m his girlfriend. Right now, with a tidy little tequila buzz, I’m not even bothered by the question mark hanging over our heads. Yes, I’m a girl. Yes, I’m his friend.
We’ll worry about the rest after I dance with him. There’s a rare clarity that comes after one shot of tequila—not dissimilar to the one glass of wine clarity—and right now, I’m damn well going to dance with this beautiful man who saved my bacon tonight and has the nerve to be adorable on top of everything.
“Ladies,” Charlie announces. “A round of applause for the beauty who masterminded, prepared and plated your meals this evening.” I curtsey as they applaud, throwing the sweetest compliments my way. Compliments I wasn’t expecting and make my throat constrict. Nervous under so many sets of eyes, I reach for Charlie’s hand and he spins me around. “She’s got moves, too, ladies. Is there anything she can’t do?”
They’re eating him up and I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t mind a bite myself. This is a new side to Charlie I’ve never seen before, and it’s not helping my current determination to secure him in my mind as a friend, while searching elsewhere for something real and lasting. With someone who is actually interested in those two things.
Just as the song “My Type” by Saint Motel ripples through the speakers, Charlie pulls me against his chest, one hand flat on the small of my back, the other brushing something food-related off my cheek. “You were amazing tonight, you little knockout,” he murmurs, bringing our foreheads together. “Dance with me.”
Oh, my poor hormones. They’ve all fainted dead away. I should step back and get my mouth a friendly distance from Charlie’s, but instead, I settle a hand on his tight butt, earning a resounding cheer from our audience. “You may have this dance, sir.”
He pokes the inside of his cheek with that tongue, smiling even as the tips of his ears darken. “You’re not the first to have a hand on my ass tonight.”
I swallow a laugh as he started to sway me. “Oh no?”
Charlie shakes his head. “No, but you’re the first one who might have to face the consequences.”
He’s an excellent dancer, which I totally didn’t expect, making every move feel effortless. Fluid. We’re edging out of the friendzone here. I know it’s bad. Very bad. Because I liked Charlie too much when we were only a long-standing hookup. Now he’s becoming more and there’s a premonition blowing through my head, telling me I’m taking a wrong turn. “Just friends, Charlie.”
His hand presses me close, and I confirm just how unfriendly he’s feeling toward me at the moment. Like, about eight solid inches of unfriendly. And he knows exactly what to do with it. “We could be friends that make each other feel good, Ever.”
“Is that why you came here tonight?”
“No.” He looks down at me with a line between his eyebrows. “No, I came to help, but I’ve been watching you be incredible for hours. I see you. I smell you. I know what you feel like. You just got over your period, so I know you’re extra-hot for it, don’t I?” He lets out a breath against my temple. “I know what you need, cutie. I know.”
Maybe that remark about my period shouldn’t get me hotter, but oh boy, it does. I love that he paid attention. I love that he isn’t squeamish or afraid to talk about it. A man, not a boy. “I’m not going to stop dating.” There’s a hitch in the fluidity of how he’s moving me, dancing with me, but he recovers fast. “I’m sticking to my decision, Charlie, and . . .” My heart is way too much in play here, but I can’t say that out loud. Or maybe I should. It would scare him away once and for all, and I could focus on the future. There’s one problem, though. I’m not ready for him to go anywhere. “Thank you for the dance. Thank you for coming to help, but this is a bad idea,” I whisper. “Just friends.”
I catch a couple of disappointed faces as I leave Charlie’s arms and jog back toward the kitchen, getting there just as the timer goes off for my chocolate lava cakes. I’m the only one in the kitchen and it’s a good thing, because my knees are shaking. My palms are sweaty. But I’m not alone for long, everyone assembling downstairs to complete the dessert service. And when Charlie brushes behind me at the oven, his breath feathering along the back of my neck, I have a feeling tonight’s battle with my libido is far from over. Because I’m battling Charlie’s, too.
Charlie
Damn. I almost had her. She’s close to caving. I can t
ell by the way she’s watching me beneath her eyelashes, rubbing her palms down the sides of her skirt. Jack and Danika were sent home an hour ago, but I stayed behind to help Ever and Nina clean the kitchen. If I could just get alone with Ever, we could end the night with a new understanding. I know we could.
She keeps up her search for Prince Charming. I get her body in the meantime.
I’m totally cool with that.
Yeah right. I want to claw the fucking drywall down thinking about it. For a start.
At the moment, my only option is to make this agreement with Ever, then make sure she realizes Prince Charming is an illusion. I’m not just being selfish here. I truly believe she’s on a doomed mission. She’s going to get hurt or disappointed, and I want neither of those things for her. What we had together was fool proof, and she just needs a little nudge back into my corner.
It’s like Nina knows exactly what I’m thinking because she’s hovering around Ever like a mother hen, shooting daggers at me with her eyes. What is it with women? I want nothing more than to give her friend multiple orgasms, and she’s looking at me like I’m Scar from The Lion King and I sent Simba into the stampede.
I’m holding out hope, though, because Nina keeps checking her ringing cell phone and sharing eye rolls with Ever. It must be her scumbag ex-boyfriend. But scumbag status notwithstanding, it’s only a matter of time before she—
“I’m going to answer it,” Nina says, sending me into mental fist pumps. “Otherwise, he’s just going to keep calling.”
Ever looks concerned as Nina heads upstairs, her annoyed greeting ringing down the stairwell, and I calculate I’ve got about fifteen minutes maximum to make magic happen. I finish mopping the final corner of the kitchen and wheel the yellow bucket out of the way, aware that Ever is sending me anxious looks, like she knows the two of us alone spells trouble. That theory is confirmed a moment later when I come up behind her at the oven and she skates away, humming way too casually, and vanishes into the storage closet with a stack of pots.
I really need to bring my A-game here. When the winning move strikes me like a bolt of lightning, my blood heats in anticipation. Ever has a weakness. I just need to exploit it. Good thing her weakness is one of my strengths.
Ever is almost out of the closet when I appear in the entry . . . and I kick the door shut and just keep walking, forcing her to back up. She realizes she’s made an error—that much is clear. She starts to admonish me, all breathless-like. “Charlie Burns.” But just as fast as she tries to play it tough, she drops the strategy in favor of looking for a weapon. A rolling pin is what she comes up with and we both laugh a little, because it’s straight out of an old-timey cartoon. “What are you up to?”
“Just want to talk.” My voice betrays my lie. “Friends talk, don’t they, Ever?”
Throwing the F-word in her face was a mistake. Or was it? Because when she swings the rolling pin at my head, I stop her wrist in midair and use the opening to back her against the wall. “Your heart wasn’t in that swing.”
“You don’t know a single thing about my heart.”
I almost let go and walk straight out of the closet when she says that. Really, I do. Because she’s right. Mostly. After watching her cook and listening to her reasons for braving the dating world—her mother—I think I know some things about her heart. Not all, but some. Truth is, I . . . want to know more, but I have to exercise caution. I can’t know everything in her heart because that would make our relationship too serious. I don’t want serious.
I don’t want serious.
So why doesn’t that little hitch in her voice send me barreling out of the closet? Am I a complete bastard?
Does Ever want me to know everything in her heart?
No way. No, she knows I’m not the man for that. But since I’ve started overthinking her words in my head, her body has turned pliant against mine, her tits resting on my chest, shifting side to side with enough subtlety that I might have missed it if I wasn’t attuned to every fucking movement of her body. This is what she needs me for. Not some Prince Charming bullshit I could never pull off in a million years.
Why does it feel like I’m swallowing a handful of pennies?
“Charlie,” she whimpers, bringing me roaring back to here and now. “I can’t—”
“You know what I miss the most?” I curve my hands around her waist, sliding my thumbs inward to stroke her belly button. “That first lick of your bare pussy. It always let me know how much you’d been thinking of me. How hard you were going to let me fuck you.” My thumbs dip into the elastic waistband of her skirt, down, down, until they’re right at her panty line. “You were never less than soaked.” A slow press of my thumbs has her knees dipping. “Willing to bet you’re in that condition right about now.”
“Well, if I wasn’t . . .” Ever half breathes, half laughs with her eyes closed, “I am now.”
Jesus, I miss her honesty. This is why I need her. No more games, just . . . Ever. If her eyes were open right now, she would witness the intensity of that wish all over my face, so it’s a good thing she can’t see. “I’m going to kneel now. You know what to do.” I push my hand inside her panties and groan—so fucking loud—because her pussy fits my palm like we were matched up by God himself. “Quit playing keep-away with this pussy. Pull up that stupid, little skirt you wore to be professional and let me lick what you’re trying to hide from my tongue.”
It’s the filth that makes her cave. I love saying these borderline disrespectful things to her and she loves hearing them, otherwise I wouldn’t. Thank God she does, though, because by the time I’m done talking, she’s arching her back on the wall, a moan building in her throat. “Charlie, please . . .”
Yeah, I’m not waiting around for Ever to change her mind. My knees hit the deck like someone is robbing me at gunpoint. “Shhh, I’ve got you.” The sight of Ever sliding the tight, black material to her waist and revealing a thong I haven’t seen before sends a ripple through my blood. It’s arousal, it’s jealousy, it’s making me ache. “You didn’t buy this because you started dating.” I hook a finger in the gray lace and drag it down to her knees, the axis of my world skewing right, then left. “Did you, Ever?”
“No.” Her reply emerges as choked as my question, her fingers already sliding into my hair, holding tight. Oh yeah, she knows I’m going for a ten on the cunnilingus rating scale. “I bought it for myself. And I w-wouldn’t suggest mentioning my new lease on life right now, unless you want me to overthink this.”
“Roger that.” My hands are a blur as I rip the panties down to her ankles, shove them into my front pocket and surge forward. The scent of her—warm apples—wallops me in the senses and if we weren’t on the clock, I would have taken a moment to bury my nose against her soft cunt. Inhale her. Maybe paint a mural in its honor. But my mouth is apparently controlling my brain, because the taste is what I’m most frantic for. Her hips are doing these sexy, little circles, but I need her still. I need her to understand I’m a fucking maniac that’s gone over a week without her. No, she took herself away from me, and it’s my mouth’s job to remind her why that was a bad decision.
I’m breathing like a bull as I tunnel my tongue into the tops of her slick folds. Right at the top, where the center of the storm lives. Eyes closed in euphoria, I slide the tip of my tongue down through her lips, like I’m making a credit card transaction. One that definitely got approved—’cause, damn, she goes wild. So fucking wild. I’m not talking screams or begging. No, this unicorn of a woman climbs me. She throws both of her thighs over my shoulders, giving me all her weight, which I gladly accept, using the wall to keep her leveraged. Then she does a little scooting shimmy to bring herself right up against my mouth, turning my cock into a goddamn crowbar.
“Charlie, please. I missed this so bad.” In the middle of polishing up her clit, I glance up and find her half-delirious against the wall. Jesus. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how desperate for proof I’ve been. Pro
of that she’s had a hard time separating from me. That it hasn’t been one-sided. “You’re so good. The way you . . .” She whimpers and yanks at my hair. “And that, too. That, too. Your tongue.”
This. This is the greatest show on Earth. The girl of my dreams telling me she missed me, telling me I’m good with my tongue. I’ve barely gotten started and she’s already close to an orgasm. Those gorgeous little muscles on the inside of her thighs are contracting in my peripheral vision, and she’s giving that sweet, sexy babble above me. Pride is like a ribbon threading in between my ribs, pulling tight. I’m tempted out of my mind to stand up, take out my dick and fuck the ever-loving shit out of her, but it would be too much, too soon. Not just for her. For me, I realize. I’m barely going to retain my sanity witnessing her attempts at dating. If I’m sleeping with her, I don’t know how I’ll handle it. I’ll find a way, but . . . one day at a time.
My brain is a little tilted from thinking about Ever with someone else, so the strokes of my tongue get somewhat mean. Can’t stop it. I shove her mind-blowing thighs wider and cram my tongue inside of her, deep. Deeper. Shoving her into the wall with my head, massaging her clit with my upper lip while I tongue-fuck her.
“Charlie. Jesus Christ.” Here it comes. “Big man.”
I growl at the nickname and there she goes. That slick heat shudders and tightens against my mouth and she’s done. I replace my tongue with two fingers and worry her clit between my lips, just to give her a little extra and fuck, does she appreciate it. Yeah, Ever’s weakness has always been my mouth between her legs, but this reaction is another level. I’m going to need a hair transplant, because I’m pretty sure she ripped some of it out and she’s still twisting, twisting my strands in her fists. It’s goddamn heaven. She can have my hair as long as I don’t have to live without this pussy. Her come is dripping down my fingers as I milk them in and out, groaning at the wet sound it makes.