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“Your fingers,” she breathes against my lips. “Put them in…put them inside me?”
Her voice alone could make me come, if she gave me the command.
“What about my tongue?” I ask with a crooked smile.
Her eyes widen, but she’s nodding before I think she’s really had time to process what I just asked, pausing in my strokes against her clit to make sure she thinks it through.
“Please?” she says.
“When you ask like that, how can I say no?” I say. “Get on your back.”
I pull away from her as she settles herself into the spacious bed, where I cover her body with mine. She arches her back when I settle myself between her legs, my clothes still between us but her whole body pulling me in.
“Not yet,” I say, sliding my hands under her shirt, letting it roll higher up her body. Charlotte writhes beneath me, letting out another cry when I twirl my fingers around her nipples. The shirt still covers her breasts, and I can’t wait to get a look. “Gorgeous fucking girl, you are…fuck, I can’t get enough of you.”
“I thought you said something about your tongue?” she mumbles, her words barely coherent.
“Bossy,” I chuckle. “Maybe I want to take my time.”
“I feel like I’m dying when you’re not touching me,” she groans.
Alright. Big change since two days ago, and I know the full moon is just around the corner. Too much coincidence for me to settle with.
“Me too,” I mutter.
I grasp her hips in my hands and lower my face to her inner thigh, dragging my stubbled cheek over the sensitive flesh, scenting soap and arousal and honey. Charlotte bucks as she whines, practically begging me to lick her pussy.
I couldn’t resist her if I tried.
My tongue flicks out against her clit, her flavor like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. And she’s fucking delicious, sweet and tart and musky like roses. She writhes, my fingers biting into her hips as I hold her still, giving her one long lap from her entrance to her clit.
“Elijah!” she gasps, her fingers tangling in my hair, and I listen to her body and her voice and her moans, plunging my tongue inside her, lifting her to my mouth and devouring her.
She tastes like heaven and hell and everything in between. And I’m in limbo, thrusting my hips helplessly against the bed as she rides my lips and tongue into oblivion, my cock already so sensitive that I know I’ll come from grinding myself against the sheets alone. Charlotte yanks hard on my hair, and then she’s screaming into the ceiling, and I’m…
It’s been years, but I come in my fucking boxers, Charlotte on my lips, invading my senses, her hips held tight in my claws.
I draw back from her as she melts into the mattress, her breath coming in short gasps. I crawl over her, gazing into her brown eyes as I lean on my arms, and I think I see a glimpse of something feral.
“Holy hell, Sunshine,” I say. “You’re gonna make me believe in God again.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
?
CHARLOTTE
The world is fresh and new and alive as we set out from the old house outside Waco, leaving the city behind as we pass out of the grey plains of north Texas and into the rolling green landscape of the hill country. I’ve seen pictures of this place, but never actually been here: images of my mother sitting in a field of bluebonnets, my father behind the camera.
Before they were trapped in Dallas.
Before me.
And I guess it must be that same season, because the hills are painted with wildflowers: spears of bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, black-eyed susan. It shocks me that flowers even grow here since the Angels razed this beautiful country years ago during the Convergence and the New Crusades, the terrain itself a casualty of cosmic warfare.
Amazing how flowers now bloom where heaven and hell once went to war.
We’ve each grabbed a new bag of supplies from Elijah’s old outpost and we walk across the hills and valleys together, ridges of limestone sometimes rising up on either side of us. Creeks and waterfalls wind through this part of the state, live oaks spiraling over us after remaining undisturbed for decades.
