She’s not wearing a bra.
I can see the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric, and my mouth goes dry.
“Elijah?” Her voice is soft, uncertain. “Is everything okay?”
I step inside before I can lose my nerve, and she closes the door behind me. The apartment is small, intimate, lit only by a single lamp that casts everything in warm gold. Her bed is unmade, sheets tangled like she’s been tossing and turning. The scent of her recent baking lingers in the air, mixing with something floral that must be her shampoo.
“I can’t wait anymore,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. The words tumble out in a rush, honest and desperate. “I need to taste you. To feel you. To have you,chérie. I’ve been patient, I’ve been careful, but I’m done pretending I don’t want you so badly it’s destroying me.”
Charlie’s breath catches, her lips parting slightly. I watch her throat work as she swallows, see the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneaththat thin t-shirt. Her hazel eyes shift from green to gold in the lamplight, searching my face.
“Elijah,” she whispers, and my name in her voice is my undoing.
“Tell me you feel it too.” I step closer, close enough that I can feel her warmth, close enough to count the freckles dusting her nose. “Tell me I’m not imagining this electricity between us. Tell me you want this as much as I do.”
She reaches up, her fingers threading through my golden hair, pulling me down until our foreheads touch. “I want this,” she breathes against my lips. “I want you.”
The confession breaks whatever restraint I have left.
I kiss her like I’ve been drowning and she’s air. My hands frame her face, tilting her head back so I can kiss her deeper, tasting the mint from her toothpaste and something sweeter underneath.
She gasps into my mouth, and I swallow the sound, my tongue sliding against hers.
Her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling slightly, and the small pain sends heat straight to my cock.
I walk her backward until her legs hit the bed, and she sits on the edge, looking up at me with those shifting hazel eyes.
I kneel before her, my hands sliding up her bare thighs, pushing the t-shirt higher.
Her skin is soft and warm beneath my palms, and I can feel her trembling.
“Tu es si belle,” I murmur, pressing kisses to the inside of her knee, her thigh, higher. “So fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you.”
I push the t-shirt up to her waist, revealing simple cotton underwear that somehow makes her more desirable than any lingerie could.
I can see the damp spot on the fabric, evidence of her want, and my cock throbs painfully against my jeans.
I hook my fingers in the waistband and look up at her, waiting for permission.
“Please,” she whispers, lifting her hips.
I slide the underwear down her legs, tossing it aside, and for a moment I just look at her.
She’s perfect.
Pink and glistening and mine.
I spread her thighs wider, settling between them, and press a kiss to her inner thigh that makes her gasp.
“Je vais te faire chanter,” I murmur against her skin. “I’m going to make you sing,chérie.”
I taste her slowly, deliberately, my tongue tracing patterns that make her hips buck off the bed.
She tastes like salt and sweetness and something uniquely her.
I grip her thighs, holding her steady as I work her with my mouth, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on the bundle of nerves that makes her cry out.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling, guiding, and I let her use me however she needs.
