Page 34 of Charmed and Alarmed

“Oh fuck.” She lets out a shaky, desperate laugh when I’m finally balls deep, only the root of my cock visible outside her straining body. “That’s so intense.”

“Yeah?” I pull back until only my tip is left inside, and drive forward again into her impossibly tight, hot ass, giving her a first taste of what comes next. “I think you like intense, don’t you, Len? I think you like being in over your head.”

She trembles beneath me. “I do—oh god—please fuck me, baby? Please fuck my ass?”

There is nothing on this planet that has ever turned me on more than this woman at my mercy, stuffed full of my dick and begging for more. “I want to make you come like this,” I growl as I begin to move, my fingers digging into her slim hips, hard enough to leave marks. “Make me proud, dirty girl.”

Leni’s arms finally give out and she tumbles face first into the mattress as I fuck her hard and fast, the crude, wet slap of skin on skin filling the room as my balls draw up, dangerously close to coming. Obediently, Leni reaches between her legs to work her clit, and I swear my knees almost buckle when she explodes, shaking beneath me as her orgasm rips through her.

If the feeling of this wasn’t enough, the sight of her would be. I come hard, my entire body shaking as white-hot pleasure surges up my spine and outward, making spots appear in front of my vision and my muscles weak.

I’ve barely pulled out before she’s rolling over and looking up at me, her smile wide and effortless. “I’m going to make you waffles now.”

14

LENORA

My fixation begins with Sophie’s offhand comment over lunch on Thursday: “I’m leaving early to get my hair cut for the party.”

It was an innocent thing to share with your coworker and friend, especially one who will be attending the same event as you. She definitely didn’t mean anything by it, or intend to trigger this, but trigger she did.

On my way back to my desk, I stopped in the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror above the sink.

I’ve had long hair my entire life. It was practical, a necessity for creating a perfect ballerina bun, and I never put a lot of thought into it.Why?While my sister was cutting and dyeing and curling and straightening her hair, I got a trim every few months and was done with it. Now, fresh off a stretch of being broke and depressed, it hangs nearly halfway down my back when it isn’t pulled up.

I’m not a professional dancer anymore, though. Ergo, I don’t need to have long hair, and instead of this realization depressing me, the prospect of making a change is downright exciting.

My leg is feeling better than ever, and I’ve been mostly ignoring my physical therapist’s constant reminders to take it slow, all too happy to abandon my sparkly cane in the closet of the apartment. Then, there’s my relationship with Holden. We still haven’t hadthe talkyet, but there seems to be a new understanding between us that certainly wasn’t present at the start.

It’s happening. I’m falling headfirst into this, no safety net, no holding back, and I’m not scared. I’ve never had my heart broken before, and maybe if I had, I would be trying to run for it. After all, on paper, this is such a bad idea. In reality, though, I’ve never felt safer in my life.

Honor and Julian’s engagement party is this weekend, and there are probably going to be a million pictures taken. Whenever I see them, I want to see this new version of me—happy and falling in love—not clinging to a past that is dead and gone.

When I get back to my desk, Holden is pacing back and forth in front of his, clearly done with the conference call he’s on. He shoots me a sly, secretive smile that has warmth spreading through my middle as I flop back down in my rolling chair, eager to begin my research.

By the end of the day, I’m confident I know what I want, and I’ve bookmarked a list of half a dozen hair salons within a five-mile radius, all of which have excellent reviews and prices I can stomach. As I’m preparing to leave for the day—or, rather, walk around the corner and wait for mynot quite but also kindaboyfriend to pick me up—my phone buzzes on my desk.

Holden: This is taking forever, I’m sorry. You should just go home.

I glance over my shoulder at the man who just texted me. He’s slumped in his office chair, listening to two of the higher-up architects on Team E, who appear to be having a disagreement of some sort, judging by the gesticulating. Fighting a smile, I turn back to my phone.

No problem, I have some calls to make. Do you want to come over when you’re done? I’ll order us dinner?

Holden: Sounds perfect.

Holden:

Holden: Shit, I’ve never sent one of those before. I think I did it wrong.

You definitely didn’t.

* * *

Unfortunately,my grand plan to remake myself quickly hits a fairly significant roadblock.

After making a few calls to the preferred hairdressers I’d selected and being told they had nothing available for the next decade or so, it became clear I might be out of luck. Still, running on relentless determination—even if it’s bad for me—is something of a specialty of mine, and I wasn’t going to give up that easily.

Holden arrives just as I’m listening to the phone ring for the very last hairdresser I found in our town, one with a grand total of two reviews that appears to be located in some lady’s garage.

---