Page 102 of With a Cherry On Top

“Fuck, Charlotte.” Unable to hold back, I press my lips to her neck. I feel the pleasure building, crawling up my spine, mixing with the taste of her skin, with the sound of her little gasps as she works herself up. “Amelie is just a friend. You know that.”

“Stop thinking about her then.”

“Your mom?—”

“Stop thinking about her too.”

“We can talk, you know. Me and you,” I say as she tugs at my hair. I try to focus, to picture anything but her expression every time I make her orgasm. “About your feelings? You don’t need to do this.”

Through her chuckle, she rasps, “Feelings? Afraid that’s not part of the deal, Chef.” Her tongue licks up my neck. “Butthisis.”

“Wait, Charlotte?—”

It’s too much. Too. Much.

My hand tightens at her waist, hard enough that she’ll wear the proof of it tomorrow. I grind her down over my lap, thrusting up to meet her, desperate friction sparking through every layer between us. The other hand slides into her hair, twisting, forcing her to look at me.

“Don’t look away,” I growl.

Her lashes flutter. The next time her thighs clench around mine, the tension snaps. An orgasm crashes over me in waves so intense I can’t stop it. It’s been too fucking long and she’s been teasing me too mercilessly.

A ragged groan rips from my throat as I bury my face in her shoulder and hold her flush against me. My cock jerks, spilling hot and helpless into my jeans, the damp heat spreading as she strokes my back.

Shit.

Shit, I just came inside my pants.

Did she notice? She definitely noticed. This is fucking embarrassing. What if Beatrice comes back now? What if it’s visible through my jeans?

Charlotte strokes my hair, and though my ears are ringing, I can hear her mom talking on the phone in the other room. I look up at her and meet her gaze. It doesn’t look mocking—maybe she didn’t notice after all.

“Of course,” she says sweetly, one hand cupping my face. “I should have known.”

Known? “What?” I force out.

“That you’d look so pretty when you come...” Her smile widens. “Cole.”

CHAPTER 20

Honey, Don’t Hurt Me

Every day last week, Charlotte texted me in the morning. The same message, like clockwork. “Come over.” Every day, I left my house early and came here. She took my hand at the entrance, then led me to her room, where she stripped off her panties and told me to get on my knees.

And every day, I did.

But since the awkward lunch we shared with her mom yesterday—when she returned to the kitchen and we ate in uncomfortable silence, my briefs wet and sticky—I haven’t heard a peep from her, and there was no message this morning.

What’s going on is no mystery. She knows I’m Cole—that I’ve outright lied to her when she asked me if we’d ever been on a live. And I don’t know how she figured it out or when, but she must be livid. Too pissed off to want me around, apparently. Maybe too angry to ever want my mouth on her again.

I told myself to stay home, to take the silence as a sign. But my feet carried me here anyway, my body too used to the routine she’s carved into my mornings. I came early, the same as always, hoping to find her waiting. To feel her fingers curl into my shirtand pull me in. To hear her exhale, sharp and wanting, when I touch her.

But she isn’t here.

I drop my bag onto the counter and hesitate. Should I go to her room? This is clearly a message, and the silence means I should walk away, let this thing fizzle out before it ends in disaster. Before I’m left wanting more than we could possibly have.

Maybe this is what’s happening—she’s setting me free. Except it feels like being chained to the ground after learning how to fly.

I’m considering leaving when I hear a noise from deeper in the penthouse. Guttural. Pained.

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