He brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “Fact three: having you in my life has made a difference. For the last two months, I find I’m happier waking up in the morning, I’m working a little less, which is better for me emotionally, and even my mom said that I seemed different.”
His golden brown eyes bore into me. “You have changed my life for the better. I don’t care if it costs me every cent I have. Do you know when was the last time I actually watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade? Or even had something better than a turkey sandwich for Thanksgiving? My mom would try to get me to meet her and my stepdad in Vail but I’ve still never been because I’m always working the holiday. Stop acting like you’re this terrible financial burden on me. At this point, I have still spent less on you than on my car.”
I overdramatize my shock by dropping open my mouth and clapping my hands to my cheeks. All to cover my actual shock because I know my hospital bills were not cheap.
“If anything, the power balance here is in your favor.”
My eyebrows shoot into my hairline at this statement. He looks away from me finally.
“Why do you feel so responsible? You weren’t driving,” I point out.
His hands slide into mine. “Because if I had left work at a decent time considering there were hurricane force winds bearing down on the city, that car never would have been there at that time. There would have been no collision in Central Park. Seeing you lying on the pavement was a wake-up call. It was heartbreaking to know that I had caused this and yes, I am still making amends with myself for the harm I have caused. But I’m thirty years old and my closest relationship is with my rower. Even Jack has a girl. I could barely sleep the days you were unconscious in the hospital because I was afraid they would wake me up and tell me you had died. I couldn’t do it.” He swallows. “I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I’m sorry for hitting you. I’m sorry for all the physical and emotional pain and distress I have caused you.
“I’m not sorry we met. I’ll never be sorry for having you in my life.”
I lean forward this time and kiss him, placing my hand gently on his cheek. Usually he will initiate any sort of touching but I’m feeling brazen after yesterday. The confirmation of how strong his desire is makes me comfortable to take this step first. I kiss him softly, then with more insistence, pushing him back against the couch. He lets me do this, his body soft and willing.
I shift my body so I can rest my hands on his chest and then straddle him. It belatedly occurs to me as my core makes contact with his shorts that the only piece of clothing I managed to take off last night were my swimsuit bottoms.
I grind against him a little, feeling him harden in response. Then I deepen the kiss. At first, he does nothing with his hands, almost holding them back and away from me. He then shifts them to my hips. I feel his fingers dig into my skin, urging my hips forward once, twice. I let him guide them as I feel a pulse of desire ripple through my body. One of his hands moves up into my hair, holding me close against him. The only thing separating us is my cover-up and his clothes.
I open myself up to him in a way I never have. I separate my lips, and my tongue drives into his warm mouth. With one hand in my hair and the other wrapped around my hips, he urges me forward again and I willingly comply, taking over the tempo he sets.
He places both hands on my ass as he stands, prompting me to squeak in surprise. I wrap my legs around his hips and let him carry me into his bedroom. I had forgotten just how enormous his room is, with the tub inside it. He deftly carries me and gently lowers me on the bed. He doesn’t follow me down. Instead, he pulls my hips back to the edge of the bed, grinding his hips against mine, teasing me.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, giving me an out.
Instead, I shake my head, reach forward, and pull off his shirt. I want to be skin-to-skin with him. “No,” I whisper.
His eyes flash with lust as he lowers his hand to my knee, his fingers dragging lightly along my scar. He leans down to kiss the edge of the scar gently before his hand moves to the inside of my thigh. I bite my lip, anticipation driving me wild, wondering when he’s going to find what he is looking for.
When his fingers graze up my hips, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise to find that I have nothing under my coverup. Surprise gives way to delight as he smirks and rubs his thumb against my clit, testing different motions and pressures to see how I respond. I moan, arching my head back, unable to get enough of him touching me.
He watches my body writhe, seeing which motions get the best reactions from me. His tawny brown eyes are intent on me as he first rubs his fingers up and down, then side to side, and then in circles. He slips one finger and then another inside me, steadily moving inside me. My whole body is hot under his scrutiny as he watches me.
I close my eyes, bite my lip, but I’m unable to stop the moaning and whimpering in response to him. I’m surprised when he kisses the inside of my knee, tracing kisses inside my thigh. He rubs his nose against me gently as he works his way to my center, working me over with his fingers.
“Did you know you have a birthmark, right here?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the spot along the crease of my hip, usually well-hidden by underwear. His teeth nip gently at the skin on my thigh before he takes his fingers away. He has worked my body into such a frenzy that I cry out as soon as his tongue touches my core.
My hands reach out, diving into his hair, and I pull his head closer without even thinking about it. I never thought oral could be as good as it is right now, and Charlie is more than capable at helping bring me to the edge. My other hand is fisted in the sheets, my body wanting to squirm, but he holds my hips in place with his free hand.
I can’t stop the moan that rises deep inside me and claws its way out. There are no coherent words, just sounds I never knew I was capable of making. My body is a jumbled spent mess as he coaxes the last waves of pleasure from me. Charlie pulls away, wipes his mouth, and stands up.
I open my eyes, looking at him as he grins with smug satisfaction. I rise onto my elbows, fighting a contented smile. When Charlie drops on the bed beside me, stroking along the outside of my leg, I can see domesticity reaching for us from the future. It’s a future that I want to see come to fruition.
I reach for him, kissing first his chest, then working my way along the ridges of his abs. God bless the rowing machine and whoever invented it. Charlie stills my hands and then leans me back until I’m flat on the bed. His lips meet mine and I can faintly taste myself on his mouth.
“This is about you and you alone. Don’t worry about me,” he says, but I still want to get him over the edge. I want to mark what his face looks like when he falls into the well of ecstasy that an orgasm brings.
“Are you sure this is real life? Are you actually Mr. Perfect?” I kiss him back and he grins, his tongue flicking against mine.
“I can honestly tell you that I am not Mr. Perfect. I’ll show you all the ways that I’m not,” he growls, capturing my mouth with his. I run my hand over his hard-on and when he doesn’t object, I rub him again. He pulls back to watch me as I slide my hands into his shorts. I hold eye contact as I rub my hand down his shaft loosely to get a feel for him before speeding up my movements. My thumb plays with the head of his cock, a small bead of sticky moisture there as I tease him with the very tips of my nails, gently grazing his sensitive skin. He shudders under my touch, and I exact the same sweet torture he used on me just minutes before. He closes his eyes tightly, his head falling back with a groan.
“Oh, don’t stop,” is all he manages to get out between gritted teeth. I work my hand over him, eliciting a moan as his own climax makes his body tense under mine. His breathing gets ragged as he cries out while I draw the last waves of pleasure from him. I extract my hand when he’s a limbless mess. We both sit there for a minute, a little out of breath, before he stands.
“I am going to get cleaned up,” he says awkwardly, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
We’re still trying to figure out each other's quirks and habits. I don’t begrudge him this as h into the bathroom, grabbing a bathing suit as he goes. I slip out of his room and go into my own bathroom to wash my hands. My cheeks are flushed and I look lighter, somehow I feel it too.