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“Wakey-wakey,” he tells me. “I’m ready.”
He does feel surprisingly hard as he rocks inside me.
“Don’t you need a breather? A reflection period or whatever it’s called?”
Charlie chuckles. “Refractory period. Sometimes I do, but I’ve been thinking about this for so long and I’m so fucking hyped after round one, that if you told me no right now, you’d need to have a serious talk with my goblin-smiter.”
I crack up. “You what?”
“Tell me you ain’t feeling a little battered?”
I am. I haven’t had sex in two weeks, and Charlie’s not a small lad in any sense. I’m not tender enough to ask him to stop, because what he’s doing feels fucking good, but I’m definitely going to feel it in the morning. Fuck if I’ll admit that to a lad who just called his dick the “goblin-smiter,” though.
“What was Frodo’s little knife called? Sting or somethin’? Feels more like a sting than a goblin-smiter.”
Charlie rolls me onto my back and smothers me with his full weight. “Take it back.”
I batter his shoulders. “Gerrof.”
“Call it Goblin-smiter or you’re gonna be missin’ your good-friend oxygen for a lot longer.”
I try to buck him off but between his cock, which is now not only fully hard but sunk deep, and his weight, there’s no way I’m getting out from under him.
“I’ll call it Cleaver but that’s the best you’re getting,” I pant as I squirm.
“Goblin-Cleaver,” Charlie insists, beginning to work himself inside me again.
I lose all track of what we’re arguing about. Blessed Mother, that motion feels so good.
“Whatever. Gimme more of that.”
Charlie slides out and thrusts back in, deep enough to rattle my fillings. I really am going to struggle walking straight tomorrow.
“Too much,” I whinge.
“Troll-Hammer,” Charlie says, sliding a hand under my hip and lifting me into his thrusts, but at least they’re shallower. His fingers splay over my arse-cheek and slip into my crack. Knowing where he’s going, I loop my arms around his neck and hold on, looking into his eyes as his fingertip breaches my arse.
He pauses in his thrusts, stilling his big body over mine. Our skin sticks sweatily. His face is flushed and his eyes sheened with gold. His bonfire magic sinks into the depths of mine, creating a rising burn of need.
“Charlie,” I whisper.
“I want you, bean. I’ve wanted you for so fucking long. I want you everywhere. I can’t get enough. But if anything hurts, tell me to stop.”
I nod. Nerves rub against desire. And in the back of my head anger scrapes, raw and itchy. Gabe was supposed to be here with us. He was going to guide us through this. To say nothing about his Water-magic keeping things ... tidy.
Instead, he’s with Darwin.
“Bean, you okay?”
Fuck, the last thing I want to do is wreck this moment for Charlie. I yank my head back into the game, lift my chin, and nip at his lower lip. I feel him grin against my mouth. Then he repositions, sliding out of me, and pushing in lower.
“Lift your knees for me,” he says, his voice dropping back toward that growl that does things to me.
I slide my legs up his sides, balancing my heels on the curve of his arse.
“Relax, bean. You’re tensin’ up. It’s gonna feel good in a tic.”
I nip his chin. “You relax when someone’s about to shove the Troll-Hammer up your arse.”
