Page 66 of Freedom’s Inferno

We moved together until our bodies found the same rhythm.

My head tipped back against his shoulder, eyes half-closed. The world narrowed to the steady motion that bound us.

His arm remained wrapped around me, holding me close against the solid muscles of his chest. Tension rippled through him, the strength beneath his skin coiling and releasing against my back.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this,” I managed, my voice breaking on the edge of a gasp.

Charlie’s lips found mine, hand sliding flat against my stomach. His fingers found my clit, circling the swollen bud with expert precision. His strokes were feather-light, quick and unrelenting.

My climax gathered strength, pleasure winding through me. The tension gathered tighter with every passing second, a trembling thread pulled to the edge of snapping.

Then, he shifted behind me, hands steady on my hips as he moved, guiding rather than directing. The bed dipped and realigned, a soft pull of gravity that changed the balance between us.

I followed his motion without thinking, the two of us moving together until I found myself above him, breathless from the grace of it.

He looked at me, eyes dark and steady, his hands still resting against my sides as if to remind me I was free to move. To choose. He gave me control. Not through words, but in the way he yielded beneath me.

A tremor laced my breath, fragile but audible in the stillness. I lowered myself on his waiting cock, and something carnal ignited inside me.

His eyes lowered, drawn to the place where our bodies connected, his focus dark and transfixed.

The sensation rose, unfurling slow and relentless until it filled every corner of me.

His eyes flicked back to my face and he looked at me like I was something holy.

“Go on,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m yours. Whatever you need—take it.”

His words went through me, hot and heady. I felt it in every inch of my skin, in the steady pull of breath between us, in the way he didn’t try to take me, but offered himself up.

When I moved, I claimed him the way a queen claims her throne, with the sovereign knowledge that it had always been meant for her. I drew in a sharp breath, my hands finding his chest, searching for something solid to hold on to.

Charlie’s next breath came out rough and shaking, torn from a place buried beyond lungs.

I rotated my hips, the head of his cock grinding against the deepest part of me.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of my ass, as I slid up his length and bounced back down again. Each time our bodies reconnected was like striking flint, a spark that felt both familiar and brand new.

“Lana,” his breath broke on the edge of my name, and he tensed beneath my hands, every muscle alive under my touch.

Something inside me unraveled, slow at first, then faster, a current rising that I couldn’t contain. My thoughts scattered, replaced by the sharp, bright edge of sensation, until all that was left was heat and heartbeat and his name somewhere in my throat. Pleasure spiraled in my core, and my entire body exploded. It surged through me, a pulse that burned through every cell in my body. I screamed, and the sound that rose out of me was gospel.

Charlie followed me in that final release, like deliverance. His cock throbbed, as my walls tightened around him with each cresting wave. His arousal spilled into me in a way that dragged me beyond reason.

I shook so hard I could barely breathe, every nerve still humming, every part of me undone. My skin was slick, hair damp against my temples.

Charlie lay beneath me, chest rising in an unsteady rhythm. He looked at me like he couldn’t believe I was real. His eyes tracked my face, the curve of my mouth, the places where the light touched me. He reached up, his hand finding my cheek, his thumb brushing a grounding and worshipful line across my jaw.

Charlie stared at me, eyes searching mine, and when he spoke his voice was full of wonder. “Where have you been?”

I smiled. “Right here.”

Chapter 27

Charlie

We didn’t leave the bed for hours, and the rest of the day slipped by unnoticed. Every so often she’d reach for me again—small, absent touches that felt less like want and more like reassurance, proof we were both still here.

When hunger pulled us back to the world, we ordered room service and ate with the sheets still tangled around us, laughter catching somewhere between exhaustion and disbelief. The suite still smelled faintly of dinner, brown butter and rosemary, the trays abandoned in a heap by the door.