The truth is out before I can stop it. ‘I’m already yours.’
He lets out a pained sigh. ‘Then get in front of me, baby. Let me see what’s mine. Let me fuckingfeelit.’
I get up and move around him until I’m standing in the space right between his thighs. He reaches for me without thinking, but I shut him down with a look, then haul my jumper over my head. My bra comes off next – hook, slide, drop. His gaze flicks to my tits, and his whole face changes, reverence and hunger colliding. He’s barely holding it together.
So am I. Every part of me is hot with it – want, need, whatever the hell this is. The way he looks at me – like I’m his fucking religion – hits so low I almost moan. My mouth parts. And for a second, I don’t know if I want to cry or beg or climb him like a ladder.
All of it. The answer is all of it.
I shimmy out of my jeans and thong, kick them aside, and lean in, mouth to his ear. ‘You’ve got me. So, what are you gonna do with me, captain?’
His breath punches out like I’ve knocked it from his lungs. Hands fly up to my hips, yanking me close.
He kisses my stomach. ‘Charlie. Baby.’
The sound of his voice guts me, and I sway on my feet. One of his hands coasts up my side, thumb skimming under my breast like he’s checking I’m real.
His gaze is pure wildfire. ‘You don’t even see it, do you? How beautiful you are. How fucking gone I am for you?’
He drops his hand and cups my bare mound like it’s his. No patience or softness. Just calloused fingers dragging through the mess he’s made of me.
‘Christ, Charlie. So fucking soft and wet. You need me that bad again?’
The sound he lets out tears straight through my core. Like the only thing keeping him upright is how close he is to fucking me.
‘Always,’ I whisper – and something cracks wide open in his face, like I just gave him permission to hope.
He sinks two thick fingers into me, drags them in slow and deliberate, then does it again. Like he’s testing how much I can take. How much he’s allowed to give.
‘Fuck. Clench around me like that again, and I’ll come in my fucking pants.’
He shifts, working deeper. And I feel everything – his breath against my skin, his fingers slick with how soaked I am. He’s carving space for himself inside me with the push of every knuckle.
He’s still too careful. Too in control. And it’s torture, because I feel the restraint shaking through him. He’s holding back a storm.
But I want that storm.
His digits catch a spot that makes my thighs jerk.
He grips my hip, steadying me. ‘You feel that? Baby, that’s need. Don’t think I don’t feel it too. Every time you touch me, my body fucking forgets who it belongs to.’
He crooks his fingers inside me, hitting that spot again, and I whimper, clinging to his shoulders, desperate for something to hold me together.
But nothing makes sense. Nothing except him.
‘Oh my… Fuck, Brodie. That… Jesus, that’s so good. Where the hell did you—?’
I’m grinding down on his hand like it’s the only thing holding me together, and all I can do is gasp. ‘How are you this good with your fingers?’
‘Fast hands, Champ.’ He leans in, lips brushing my ear. ‘Comes with the position.’
He pulls out, fingers glistening, and I’m already aching. I want to sob, want to grab his wrist and shove him back inside me like I’ll fall apart without him there.
‘No one’s ever touched me like this.’ My voice breaks over it. ‘Like they know my body better than I do. Like they fucking care.’ I grip his wrist, trying to hold myself steady. ‘I don’t want anyone else. I don’t think I ever did. I want you. All of you. I want to feel what it does to me when I finally stop holding back.’
His eyes are black now. Hunger flaring, restraint snapping thread by thread.
‘God. Charlie… Yes. We’re doing this right. All in. But the only way I can fuck you tonight is flat on my back. So come ride me.’
