21
CHARLI
Yesss!I grinned in relief a few days later, punching the air. I’d finally finished the draft for the storyboard hours before my deadline and emailed the file to the author for approval.
The afternoon sunlight slanted into the bedroom, and my rumbling stomach made me aware of the passing time. Still, I updated my website with my illustration services before calling it a day.
Work done for now, I set my tablet and laptop aside, got off the bed, and headed downstairs.
The passing days had been quiet, with a return of normalcy for us. I felt much better, too. The wound on my brow had scabbed over, and the bump on the back of my head had subsided.
Despite all the problems that assailed us since War and I got together—from my mother’s interference to his dirt-bag foster brother’s malice—we’d grown closer than ever.
I stopped in the pink bedroom where War was working, crouched, and with his back to me.
I watched him for a moment, then strolled over and knelt behind him, putting my arms around him.
“Hey.” He glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes softening, and my heart bumped in gratitude that this incredible guy was mine. I pressed my chin to his shoulder, then kissed his scruffy cheek.
“Hi, yourself.” I smiled.
“You done?”
“For now, yep. I’m free.”
“Great.” He held out a paintbrush.
I rolled my eyes. “I still have your yard to weed.”
“Forget that. I prefer you right next to me so I can do this—” He moved so fast, and precariously balanced as I was on my knees, I tipped backward and landed on my butt. I expected a kiss, but the wretch tickled me until I was flat on the floor and had tears rolling down my face from laughter.
My shirt twisted, and he kissed my bare waist, dragging his lips down to my hip, causing tingles to slide through me, changing the playfulness to something edgier. My body tightened with need. Since the attack, we hadn’t made love because War was determined I should heal first. But meeting his eyes gone a navy blue with desire, I grasped the end of his shirt and pulled it off. He removed mine and dropped it.
With a low grunt of need, his mouth came down on mine. He kissed me deeply, his big hands gently squeezing my breasts. Then he unfastened and drew off my shorts and panties.
I sat up and unbuttoned his jeans.
His gaze holding mine, he rose. Standing over me, he unzipped and dragged off his jeans, tossing them aside. I grasped his heavy erection. He grunted, then shook his head, moving my hand away. “Later.”
Naked, he lowered me back to the floor, slid between my legs, and his mouth came down on my core. Sliding his tongue along my cleft in a decadent lick, he teased me, not quite touching my aching clit.
“War,” I groaned.
“What?”
“Touch me.”
“Where? Here?” He nibbled and suckled just below my belly button.
“No—”
“Here?”
He slid lower, dragging his mouth down my hipbone to my leg, suckling the skin of my inner thigh, stringing my arousal tighter and tighter.
“No!”
“Here, then?” he grasped one lip of my cleft and sucked my flesh, drawing it into his mouth.
