“Elijah,” she moans, and the sound of my name on her lips is better than any music I’ve ever played. “Please, I need?—”
“I know what you need.” I slide two fingers inside her, feeling her clench around me, and curl them in a way that makes her back arch off the bed. “Laisse-toi aller. Let go for me.”
I work her with my fingers and mouth until she’s trembling, her thighs shaking around my head, her breathing ragged.
When she comes, it’s with my name on her lips and her fingers tight in my hair, her body pulsing around my fingers.
I don’t stop until she’s boneless and gasping, until she’s pulling me up by my hair because it’s too much.
I kiss her deeply, letting her taste herself on my tongue, and she moans into my mouth.
Her hands find the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head, and then her fingers are on my chest, tracing the lean muscle, exploring.
I’m not built like Marcus with his tattooed strength or Adrian with his boxer’s body, but the way Charlie looks at me makes me feel like a god.
“Your turn,” she whispers, her hands moving to my belt.
I help her, stripping quickly, and when I’m finally naked before her, she takes a moment to just look.
Her eyes trace the lines of my body, lingering on my cock, and the hunger in her expression makes me throb.
“Mon Dieu,” I breathe as she wraps her hand around me, her touch gentle but firm. “Charlie?—”
“I want you inside me,” she says, her voice steady despite the flush on her cheeks. “Now.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I pull her t-shirt over her head, revealing small, perfect breasts with pink nipples that harden under my gaze.
I cup them reverently, my thumbs brushing over the peaks, watching her face as she gasps.
Then I guide her back onto the bed, settling between her thighs, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance.
“Look at me,” I command softly, and her hazel eyes lock onto mine. “I want to see your face when I claim you.”
I push inside slowly, watching every flicker of emotion cross her face.
Pleasure, surprise, something that looks like relief.
She’s tight and warm and perfect, and I have to pause, my forehead pressed against hers, fighting for control.
“Tu me rends fou,” I groan. “You drive me crazy,chérie.”
“Move,” she whispers, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Please, Elijah. Move.”
I do, setting a rhythm that’s both tender and desperate, each thrust punctuated by whispered French and English, prayers and profanity mixing until I don’t know which is which.
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I angle my hips to hit that spot inside her that makes her cry out.
“C’est ça,” I murmur against her throat. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”
She’s vocal in a way that makes my control fracture, her moans and gasps filling the small apartment.
I reach between us, finding that bundle of nerves, and work it in time with my thrusts.
Her body tightens around me, and I feel her climbing toward release again.
“Come for me,” I command, my voice rough. “I want to feel you.”
