Page 63 of Freedom’s Inferno

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, his face full of awe, pure and unguarded.

His hand cradled the back of my neck, his mouth on mine again, the space between us closing in an instant.

My lips parted, and his tongue swept into my mouth to tangle with mine. Deepening the kiss, his palm closed over my breast and his thumb brushed firmly over a taut nipple.

“Charlie,” I gasped, heat blooming between my thighs.

He huffed a soft laugh against my ear. “Say it again.” His tongue swept over the hollow of my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

A low whine escaped me.

Gliding one hand up my thigh, he rolled my nipple between the thumb and forefinger of the other.

“Charlie, please…”

“That’s my girl,” he said, voice rough, teeth nipping at my bottom lip.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, dragged his mouth to mine, and kissed him like I was starving.

His hands mapped by body—memorizing terrain—the rhythm of our lips rehearsed.

I arched my back, pressing closer to him, desperate for friction.

Charlie laughed, breath ghosting over my throat. “Someone’s restless.”

He circled my nipple with the pad of his thumb, capturing the rosy bud in his mouth. The heat of his tongue, and the soft scrape of his teeth, dragged a breathy moan from my lips.

My nerves were on fire.

I wasn’t accustomed to this slow exploration, or the intentional way he touched me. Sex in the early days with Richard was something I enjoyed, but never like this. Even then, he was rough and hurried. Later it became a dreaded chore.

Charlie’s fingers flexed across my stomach, moving to my other breast. He groaned as my nipple pebbled beneath his tongue. Warm breath fanned against my skin as he trailed lower.

My focus narrowed in on each movement. The soft pull of his lips, the ghost of heat following wherever he went. My pulse quickened.

He traced a slow path down my body, his touch a patient exploration. Every inch he claimed felt like a question I didn’t know how to answer. His tongue dipped into my navel, and my breath caught.

My hands found his shoulders, grip tightening. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to stop him or if I needed something to hold onto. “Charlie,” I whispered, voice uncertain. “What are you doing?”

He looked at me, eyes dark but steady, a small curve at the corner of his mouth. “Lana, I’ve been dying to taste you since you walked down the stairs in that dress the night of the gala.”

Heat crawled up my neck.

It felt too ridiculous to admit out loud, but I’d never had a man go down on me before. Richard never touched me like that and I’d never questioned it. I’d learned he was always more interested in what he could take then what he could give.

A nervous laugh slipped out, too soft to fill the space between us. “You really don’t have to‒”

He shifted lower, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

My breath hitched as his hands slid down my sides, resting on my hips.

He looked up at me, the hungry expression he wore leaving me unsteady.

“Lana,” he said, his voice rough with want. “Do you trust me?”

My pulse stumbled. I swallowed hard, and nodded. “Yes.”

He studied me for a long heartbeat, searching for any trace of doubt. Whatever he saw there must have been enough, because his mouth curved into a smile.