“Christ! Your body…” he says. “That nipple ring—fuck.”
Our eyes meet and I falter. I’m going too far. I’m skirting the edges of the rabbit hole that he is, this inescapable desire, and it’s going to hurt me later—
He must read my face. “Don’t think, Charisma. Look at how much I want you.”
He squeezes the head of his cock, doing a twisting motion that makes me gasp.
My nipples respond to him like there’s an electric current between us, and I play with them, pinching and rolling them between my fingers in time with his strokes, my legs scissoring at the fire that’s building there.
His hands are fast and he shudders with each upward stroke, his broad shoulders quivering, his waist arching.
“Blaze…” I’m breathless.
“Say my name, Charm. Say it.”
“Blaze, Blaze, Blaze—”
He lets out a grunt and liquid spurts from his cock, spilling out over his jeans and running over his hands.
He reaches over to the nightstand, grabs a tissue from the box there, and wipes himself off, sweeping up the mess with hands that tremble. Then he’s in my face and pushing a strand of hair back. “You didn’t get off.” Blue eyes glitter down at me.
“Was enjoying the show.”
“I want to make you come.”
“You did, at the party. We’re even.”
But…
Thick need has taken up residence inside my body, the warm honey of desire licking at every molecule inside. My fingers touch my silver nipple ring and, combined with him staring at me, it’s almost enough to get me—
“I’ll barely touch you. Just close your eyes.”
There’s a hint of authority in his tone and everything inside me wants to resist, but he has power over me, something no one else has ever had.
I let my lashes lower.
“Don’t move.”
I nod.
What’s he going to do?
The air from the fan drifts across us as the moment stretches into several seconds. I can feel the heat of his gaze on me, and I know he’s staring, his eyes heavy and low.
His tongue licks at my ear, biting my lobe softly, and I start, having expected him to go for my breasts. I strain toward him as he works his mouth down my neck, licking my skin. His nose trails down my nape and skates to my collarbone.
I squirm, my hips arching off the bed, estimating where I think his hips are, but there’s nothing. Finally his hands cup both my breasts, and I cry out.
My head falls back. “Oh, oh…”
“Touch yourself. Here,” he says as his hand briefly touches the crotch of my leggings and then is gone.
My hand plays with the waistband before slipping underneath to the hem of my black lace panties.
“More.” His lips suck my skin while his hand teases my piercing, tugging and brushing over the sensitive skin until I’m falling, falling.
I push aside my curls until I find my slick, wet folds. Groaning, I go deeper, finding the wetness in the center.
“Are you soaked?”
“Yes.”
“All for me.”
“Yes.”
He pushes my legs farther apart. I think about him staring again, and it’s embarrassing how my hips arch, still finding nothing. He must be standing and bending over me.
“Push your panties down.”
I fumble around until my leggings and panties are at my ankles. I kick them off.
He makes a sound in the back of his throat as his hands part my legs. “I want my tongue there. I want you sitting on my face. We never did that either, did we? It was just straight-up fucking for us…doggy style in the library…then my dorm, up against the wall.”
No, I don’t like that distant tone is his voice—not now.
“Blaze—”
“Faster. Two fingers.”
I do as he says, opening myself up and giving up my control as I touch that little spot close to my opening that makes me crazy. My lips part and I breathe faster. My fingers feel so good, and my legs twitch. When I go to push them together, to get privacy in this, he stops me with his hands, holding them apart.
“Let me watch. Give up that control, baby.”
He kisses my neck and then sucks. “Do you hear that sound you’re making? Do you hear how you can’t breathe? And the sound of your pussy… I like thinking about you getting off when you think about me. How many times did you touch yourself when we weren’t together?”
“Too many to count.”
The sound of fabric shifting and a zipper going down reaches me, and he lets out a strangled noise. “I’m going to jack off again, Charm. You good with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be,” I mumble. I can’t even think straight.
“I dream about this. Two o’clock in the morning and I wake up with a hard-on for you. All it takes is three strokes and I’m coming all over myself,” he groans, and I picture him stroking himself, biting those full lips.
My legs are jelly, the tips of my fingers playing, doing everything he says as I hear his breathing quickening, him sliding his hand over himself.
God, the closed eyes thing is really hot.
A lone finger presses down at the top of my mound, pulling on the curls there, and I gasp and jerk, wiggling to get him closer. My hips rise off the bed, fighting against the pressure of his hand keeping me down, yet wanting it as I touch the bundle of nerves at the top of my sex.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, and that voice, the gold and gray of him, the two sides of light and dark send me over the edge. My core squeezes and pulses against my hand, a million stars lighting up behind my closed eyes. Hot sparks detonate, and I call out and fall down into a sensation so sharp it makes me whimper.
Aftershocks roll through my body, and I grasp the blanket underneath me, my hips still writhing.
My eyes open.
He’s leaning over the bed, face flushed, eyes full of lust, his jeans at his feet.
I find myself on my knees in front of him. He lets out a deep groan of satisfaction when I take his length in my mouth. He tastes like salt and heat, and him.
I want it all.
My eyes look up and he’s watching me, dark gaze smoldering.
“Just like that,” he grunts, cupping my head and guiding me, threading his hands through my hair.
My tongue and lips suck him while his grip grows firmer, pushing my head into his body until the tip of him is in the back of my throat. His breathing gets loud as his cock thickens and hardens more.
“You should move. I’m about to go,” he groans, staring down at me.
“This is my first BJ. Don’t tell me what to do,” I say around him, kissing the tip.
He laughs but stops when I twirl my tongue around his head.
“Charm…” he mumbles when I take him inside my mouth and hum. I’m not sure how to do it right, but I use everything I have. My hands cup his tight ass, my nails digging into those firm muscles as I suck, rolling my tongue down his hard length. “Charm!” His hips arch and he growls when he comes, his fingers in my hair as he pushes himself in deep. I take everything he gives me.
Silence fills up the room as we breathe heavily and ease away from each other slowly. I reach the bed and pull myself up. I keep my face averted, processing.
He…I…that was…hot.
Why haven’t I ever done that?
Because I never wanted to before, but with him…
When I turn around, he’s zipping up his jeans, his shoulders hunched as he seems to gather himself.
He never even took his shirt off, I realize, and here I am in nothing but a bra under my breasts.
Reaching over to the nightstand, I grab a tissue and wipe my mouth. Fixing my bra, my fingers feel useless, still in some kind of afterglow as I straighten up and stand. I snatch my underwear and slide them on then grab a blanket from the bed and drape it around me.
He’s just watching, and I chew on my lips.
> What’s next?
Weirdness, that’s what.
“Thank you for seeing me home,” I say. “I appreciate it.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I feel a slow blush rising on my cheeks. “That was lame,” I say.
He’s got those heavy eyes on me, assessing me, thinking.
Shit, what is he thinking?
I clear my throat. “Are you leaving?” It’s what I did to him. I pulled myself together those times we were together, said goodbye, and left. He didn’t seem to care. He told me bye and see you later. I clearly remember, because I wanted him to say more, especially that last night we were together. I suspect my heart was right there on my face.
He stalks over to me and lifts my face up. “I should go.”
“You should. It’s very late, practically dinner time.”
“I don’t want to,” he murmurs, playing with a piece of my hair.
“Then stay.”
“What will we do?”
If I was a good girl, I’d say hang out and watch TV, maybe eat, but—
“What will we do?” he repeats, his eyes on me.
“Whatever you want,” I whisper.
He licks his lips. “The next time I come, I want it to be inside you, Charm. I want to be deep in your pussy. Tell me to go, say the words, because I can’t leave until you do. I can’t.” His eyes are dark, his chest still, as if he’s barely in control. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Air whooshes out of me.
I want his heart, yet he doesn’t want me like that.
Still, we both want to lose ourselves in this, whatever it is. It’s the language we both know.
For this moment, it’s enough. I know I’ll regret it later, but rational thought left me the moment he sang “In Your Eyes” to me.
“Stay.”
17
“You sure?” he asks quietly. We study each other, reserve on his face, almost fear.
I nod my head.
His voice is gruff. “I’m going to go sit on the couch. You’re going to put on a skirt and find me. You feel me?”
I know exactly what he’s referring to—our sexting convo—and it makes my chest rise in anticipation.
His gaze burns. “Wear some of your big heels.”
He turns and stalks out of my bedroom, and I stand there for a moment. This isn’t like before when we had sex, where I felt a semblance of control. No, this is him being alpha, his ideas, and it doesn’t freak me out like it should. In fact, I run to my dresser and yank out fresh lacy underwear and a black mini skirt that’s too short for public wear. I adjust my bra again, pushing the girls up, grab some four-inch red heels, and shove my feet in them.
I walk into the den, and he’s sprawled back on the couch, fully dressed. He’s hooked my phone up to a speaker and “With or Without You” blares, the lyrics reminding me of the pain of wanting him.
A quick glance tells me the window blinds are open with a clear view of the house across the street plus the parking spot where his truck is.
His muscled legs are apart, blue eyes running over me, lingering on the shoes before coming back to my face. “Hey.”
Just that one husky word and I’m wet, juices already pooling.
“How can you be hard again?” I flick my eyes over the tent in his jeans.
“I’m twenty-one and horny as fuck.” He rubs his crotch and squeezes. “Been missing you.”
I let out a shaky breath. God, what are we doing?
“Get in my lap.”
He takes my hand and pulls me closer.
I suck in a breath and situate myself as I straddle him, my hands going in his hair. Wavy and dark, it’s soft and silky under my touch, and I tug, playing with the highlighted parts, scraping my nails over his scalp.
He closes his eyes and grabs the sides of my legs, moving slowly up my thighs, going under the skirt. He grips my hips, his fingers digging into my skin. He looks down at the tops of my thighs, the hint of lace peeking out from my skirt. “I can see why you like this. Grind on me, baby.”
“As long as you know that when you say baby, you really mean Charisma Rossi, badass nerd girl.”
His hand clutches my hip, squeezing. “Wasn’t thinking about anybody but you, city girl.”
Sliding up and down against his jeans, I start nice and slow, my forehead pressed to him, my hands moving to his shoulders, kneading the muscles there, relearning the planes of him. We always moved so fast before.
The sound of a car makes us pause, the motor loud in the quiet room. We look at each other, releasing twin sighs of relief when it passes by.
He shifts up to give me more friction, and I gasp at the sensation from the rough fabric of his jeans, the button at the top pressing against my wet panties. I rotate my hips, sinking into him, massaging my clit against his pants. I moan.
His fingers dig into my ass. He’s going to leave bruises, and I don’t care.
I kiss his neck, breathing him in. My tongue and teeth bite at him, and he clutches me to his body, his hands moving to caress the bare skin on my back. I suck hard, memorizing the taste of him, carving it into my memory.
“Baby, baby, you got me crazy…” He’s moved his hands, cupping my breasts through my bra, paying extra attention to my piercing.
“You like that ring?” I say in his ear.
His eyes hold mine. “You know I do. Does it feel good when I touch it?”
“Yes.” I swivel my hips against his jeans, grinding. “You should get one. Just the softest touch and it sends tingles straight to my pussy.”
His lips part. “Charm…you’re killing me.”
“Then I’m doing it right,” I whisper.
He leans over to the side and fumbles to reach his back pocket, pulls out a condom and rips it open with his teeth, eyes on me.
I unzip his pants and push them as far as they’ll go, about mid-thigh, until his cock juts up. No underwear, of course. He rolls the condom on and looks at me.
He cups my face, sliding his hands into my hair. His face is flushed, his eyes hot.
He reaches down between us and moves my panties to the side with a sweep of his hand. He holds himself and gets positioned under me, but my underwear snaps back in place.
I let out a small laugh.
He laughs with me. “Damn. This isn’t going the way I wanted.”
“Fantasies work better in our heads,” I say at the same time.
He flashes that devastating smile. “Oh, this is going to work. Take those bastards off.”
I ease up from him, taking my time as I uncurl my legs from the couch. I stand up and bend over with my ass in front of him, hook my fingers in the panties, and push them down, slowly, taking my time, letting them breeze past my thighs and calves and shoes until they’re off, a scrap of lace.
I’ve lost my GD mind.
But I don’t care.
I turn around and his face is red, his chest rising rapidly. “Can you do that again? Maybe shake that ass and slap it?”
He’s teasing, and I smile and twirl them in my hands until he reaches up and snatches them, tucking my underwear in his pocket. “Mine now.”
I gasp when he picks me up and moves me back onto his lap, groaning as he rubs his length up my nub, sliding over the slickness until I’m gasping and trying to get him inside me.
“Blaze…don’t torture me.”
“Never.” He stares at me, breathing deep when he takes my hips and adjusts me, going inside just an inch or two then sliding out slowly.
“Blaze…” I arch for more.
“Wanted this for so long,” he says, sliding back in, though not nearly enough for what I want.
His lashes flutter as he pumps all the way in. Our fit is tight and we stop, both of us motionless, savoring the feel of us.
We stare at each other when he starts to move. He strokes in and out, hands on my hips, driving me, guiding me.
I clutch his hair and move with him, getting deeper, faster.
His gaze is on my lips then my eyes. He stares down at where we’re joined. “You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had. Am I yours?”
My hands clutch his shoulders. “Yes,” I groan.
He moans and throws his head back against the couch when I swivel my hips.
A car pulls up outside and parks at the curb because the driveway spot is taken. Penelope. I watch from the window as she gets out of her car. Her classes are over. She stops to talk to Mrs. Keller, the older lady next door who just had knee surgery. They laugh at something, their voices under the window. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but she’s going to walk in—
“Not stopping, babe,” he says, his hands clenching my hips.
“We have to,” I call out, but I can’t let him go. He feels so good, and I’m close.
He lets out a curse and stands, still holding me as he carries me back to my bedroom, kicking the door shut with his foot. I’m not sure how he did that with his jeans halfway down, but, well, he is an athlete. We fall back on the edge of my bed and land with him on top of me between my legs. He tries to shove his jeans down, but they get tangled on his shoes and he finally has to sit up and toe them off while I giggle.
“Damn, this is turning into comedy hour,” he murmurs when he turns back to me.
“I like it.” We always laughed together.
He smiles, runs his hands down my body, and pushes up my bunched skirt. He bends down and licks the skin on my inner thigh. I arch up, needing him back inside me. “Hurry…”
“I got you. I know what you want.” He moves back up to me, spreads my legs apart more, and slides in to the hilt, going deep at this angle.
I tighten my legs around his hips, whimpering as my heels dig into him. He starts an agonizingly slow pace, his strokes sure and disciplined, coming all the way out and then back in.
“Harder,” I whisper.
I Hate You Page 15