“Take off your clothes, weirdo,” she said.
She stepped closer to him, pulling his shirt over his head. The gun on his waistline was unexpected and she froze. He removed it and leaned to put it on her dresser.
The wifebeater he wore as an undershirt clung to his brown skin. He was the color of tree bark and the art on his body was phenomenal. Her fingers traced the ink. “How do you have these if you don’t like to be touched?” she asked.
“Somebody I trust put them there,” he answered, tone guttural, like temptation was building in his throat. She kissed the inked Bible on his chest, and she felt him stop breathing.
“Stay here with me, Demi. Don’t disappear in your head.” Her tongue wet his nipple and then she stood on her tiptoes to allow her tongue to trace up his neck.
“Mmm,” she moaned as she tasted his skin.
The spot she kissed felt like it was burning. Love burns. Like she had placed an iron to his skin.
His throat was closing, second by second, as she made her way across his chest and down his abs. Demi was solid. Strong. His habit of five-star restaurants and thousand-dollar bottles of champagne had stolen the definition from what used to be washboard, but somehow, she still found those V-cuts as she undid his Hermes belt and unzipped his jeans. He stepped out of them and Charlie moaned when she discovered how his body reacted to her. Dick on brick, forming temptation in his black Tom Ford boxer briefs. It was only right. Expensive wrapping for premium dick.
She stood. She was all over him. Her hands leaving little, invisible pieces of her behind. She couldn’t see them, but he could feel them, her germs, her essences... everywhere. Charlie was infecting him. He knew he would scrub his skin raw after they were done.
His gaze was deadly. He was unhappy about this invasion, about her persistence, but his dick told her he liked it too.
“You don’t like this, do you?” she whispered, as she took his hands, lacing her fingers between his and holding them in front of her.
“You know I don’t,” he replied.
“Then why are you letting me do it?” she asked.
Fuck his hands, Charlie moved closer. He moved his face because she was fucking disrespectful with the skin to skin.Charlie turned his face back. “Because I fuck with you,” he answered.
He was so stiff, like she was Medusa and her gaze turned him to stone.
“If we shower together, will that make you more comfortable? If you’re the one who cleans me?” she asked.
“I’m fucked up, Bird,” he said. “This is fucked up.”
“And I still want to do this,” she said. “Fuck me in the shower, Demi.”
“I ain’t a regular nigga. I fuck a certain way. I can touch you, you can’t touch me. I don’t like slow sex. I fuck rough. I got rules.”
“I know how to take dick, Demi,” Charlie said, breathless at the thought of what she was about to get herself into. She was nervous but she would never admit it. Did she know how to take the type of dick he was giving out? The way he made it sound made her question if she could. Would it hurt? “I break rules,” Charlie whispered. “I want to break so many of your rules, Demi.” She was all in his face, her lips decibels from his, so close he could have heard the thoughts in her head.
Charlie pulled his bottom lip into her mouth and Demi lost it. His hands around her neck and her back to the wall. Yeah, he was a rough-ass nigga.
“Stop, damn!” He jerked her and Charlie closed her eyes and her mouth opened. His hands shook. Did she scare him? Did this scare her? This was a different level of crazy.
Been up since six doing ritualssss
She didn’t know why she started singing. She could barely get it out between his hands. They were like cages trapping the breath in her neck.
Burning incense just to wish you well
It was working. His hold loosened.
Throw all my sins into wishing wellsss
Smelling your scent, I do misss you stilllll
His forehead to hers and a growl he couldn’t contain. Charlie’s heart raced as she watched his unspoken struggle and she kept singing.
What kind of spell do you have me under
