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This is up to me now. Ever the gentleman, he’s leaving it up to me.
I can’t deny myself any longer. This is my time.
I swear there’s a part of me living behind his eyes. A missing part of me I didn’t know was missing. But thank God, I’ve found it. “You’d kiss me.”
“How?” he asks, slowly sliding his fingers up my back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
My lips tingle with anticipation. “Just a soft, tender press of your lips against mine. Like you expected nothing more than that.”
His hand reaches my shoulder and cups the back of my neck.
Shit, this is bad. I can’t kiss Elliot. Kissing him would be good for nothing but my own selfish pleasure. I can’t do something that doesn’t benefit anyone but me. That’s not how my life works.
He leans in. “Like this?”
He breathes against my mouth and brushes his lips against mine.
And that’s it. I dissolve into a puddle of surrendering goo. I’m his. Every part of me, every pore of me, every ounce of my being and my soul.
Fuck. He really is my Prince Charming.
25
CHARLOTTE
Every worry, every fear, every concern that getting involved with Elliot could ruin my career melts away with the soft, warm touch of his lips against mine.
My whole body turns on, like someone’s replaced a fuse that’s been broken for years, possibly for forever. I’m suddenly aware of every inch of my skin, of my nipples pebbling, and of my instantly wet core.
“Yes,” I murmur. “Exactly like that.”
“Good,” he says, sliding his hand from my neck to my cheek. “Now it’s my turn to tell you what I would do.”
Is he a dirty talker? That’s not what I expected.
He pulls my face toward him and increases the pressure of his mouth on mine. I push back, like it’s not possible to get close enough to him, like even if I could climb inside him it still wouldn’t be close enough.
Our lips part, our tongues find each other, and I wrap my arms around his neck as I sink into him. After years of fighting for the freedom of not being needed by anyone, the need radiating from Elliot fills me with life. It’s not confining or restricting or stopping me from being me. He adds to me, like the cherry on top of a hot fudge sundae.
“I’d kiss you like that,” he says, his mouth grazing my cheek and heading toward my ear. “Like I’ve been waiting for that moment for years.” His lips tug at my earlobe, sending shockwaves to my chest and squeezing a throaty groan from me. “Which I have.”
His mouth is on my neck, kissing, licking, sucking, teasing, making me want to jump into his lap, straddle him, and grind my throbbing, wet center against what I know will be his throbbing hardness.
“Then I’d do this.” His words warm my neck.
Before I know what’s happened, I’m flat on my back on the bed. He must have pushed my shoulders, but I was so lost in the all-consuming sensation of his mouth on me, I’m not sure.
“Oh,” I say in surprise, shocked to be looking up at him.
“I don’t think we need this.” He smiles at the sneaker still in my lap, the laces only half undone, and drops it onto the floor.
The evening sunlight through the gauze curtains illuminates his wry smile as he places his hands on the bed on either side of my chest, and leans over me. He looks like the cat that got the biggest, thickest, sweetest bowl of cream it could ever imagine.
“Your glasses are smudged,” I tell him.
His smile breaks into a full grin. “Always practical, huh? And how would you fix that?”
Silently, I reach up, rest my fingers on either side of the black frames, and carefully pull them toward me. They slide over his ears in a way that feels more intimate than removing any piece of clothing. I have a vitally important part of him in my hands. A part I mustn’t damage. I lean to the side to rest them gently on the nightstand.
