Page 73 of Personal Foul

I press my head back into the pillow, my eyes clenched shut, gripping the pillow with my free hand so I don’t grab Charity and pin her to the bed.

I told her we’d take this at her pace, and I don’t want to go back on my promise. But Jesus Christ, she’s killing me.

Her slow, tentative, almost ticklish touches, and now squeezing my dick like it’s a grip strength test—firmer than I would’ve expected but it feels so good.

God, I want to feel her pussy clamping on my dick like that. She said she’s not a virgin, but I know she hasn’t been with a lot of guys. And I’m guessing she hasn’t been with any one guy a whole lot of times either. Not with how uncertain she seems to be.

She strokes me through my pants—and sweet baby Jesus, I wish she’d undo them and reach inside—and I can’t control my need to press into her grip each time.

After a few strokes, she stops. “Dylan?” She’s practically whispering. When I open my eyes, I find her watching me, her brow creased with concern. “Are you alright?”

Blowing out a breath, I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile and stroke her back. “Of course.”

She looks to the side, biting her lip like she does when she seems to be searching for the right thing to say or do. “Uh, I’m not sure what to do next.”

Her whispered confession makes her even more endearing. “Do you want me to take over?”

Relief suffuses her features, and she nods.

“Stop me at any time, okay?” I wait for her to nod again, then I sit up, cup the back of her head, and kiss her fiercely.

She makes a sound of surprise, but gives as good as she gets, her hand coming up to the back of my neck as though she needs to steady herself or anchor herself as she kisses me. Pulling away, I climb onto my knees and pull my shirt off, tossing it to the side while I enjoy her looking like she wants to devour me.

That’s more like it.

When I reach for the hem of her top, her eyes jump to mine, widening in surprise. I raise my eyebrows in silent question. After a second, she nods, raising her arms as I pull her top up and off her. Sitting back on my heels, I pause to take her in—flawless skin set off by a pretty lace bra in pink but with tiny black bows and other details. It seems so fitting for her—sweet and almost demure but with a hint of an edge.

Leaning forward onto my hands, I kiss her, enjoying the way she holds onto me and lets me guide her head to the pillow. This time, I nudge her thighs apart with my knees, making room for me, and settle between them.

God, it feels good to grind against her. My dick is aching for friction, far more than the little bit her hand provided, far more than this too. I’m pretty confident we’ll get there. I don’t think she would’ve groped me or admitted her uncertainty if she weren’t on board, but it’s always possible she’ll panic and call everything off.

Which, not gonna lie, would be majorly disappointing.

And that’s why I’m going slow. I’ll be damned if I scare her off by rushing anything. This woman is getting all of my best seduction techniques—long, deep kisses, lots of touching, slooooooow undressing, and lots of teasing until neither of us can take it anymore.

Her hips rise up to meet me as I grind against her, and if I didn’t have my tongue wrapped around hers, I’d be smiling. I guess instead I’m mentally high fiving myself. Maybe that seems ridiculous, but I haven’t had to work this hard to seduce anyone in a long time. Maybe ever.

I have to admit, I enjoy the challenge, though this is about far more than just that for me. I genuinely like Charity, and I’ve been attracted to her since we bumped into each other again, and while I haven’t made a habit of being in relationships, she’s the type of person I could see myself with long term, even though I’m sure she wouldn’t want that.

When I start kissing down her neck, she presses her head back into the pillow, her fingers threading through my hair, her nails gently scraping my scalp as she hangs on while I kiss and nuzzle her neck, her collarbone, her cleavage, nipping the top of her right tit just to see what she’ll do.

She gasps, and when I kiss it, she presses her chest up for more.

Then her hands leave my hair, which surprises me enough to lift my head, and I’m even more surprised to find she’s undoing her bra. Grinning, I help her pull the straps down her arms and lift the lacy cups away to reveal hard little nipples topping perfect globes.

This chick has great tits. Maybe it’s cliche, but tits and ass have always done it for me, and Charity has the classic hourglass with a great rack and a stellar booty. Definitely my type physically, plus she’s smart and not afraid to banter—she’s literally the whole package.

Too bad you can never make anything lasting work with her, says my father’s voice in the back of my head.

Talk about a boner killer.

His is the last voice I need in my head when I’m about to have sex with someone, and I especially don’t want to think about the inevitability of Charity and I ending when we’re barely starting.

Blocking out those thoughts, I focus on her tits, cupping them in my hands, circling her nipples with my thumbs, then bending to suck one into my mouth, glancing up to catch her reaction as I work it with my tongue.

Her lips parted, her head thrown back, and I know she’s loving this. Switching to the other side, I gently press my teeth into the base of this one, and her eyes pop open. “You’re a biter, aren’t you?” she murmurs.

Pulling off, I nod. “Is that bad?”

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