Page 165 of With a Cherry On Top

“Please,” I whimper, grinding against her again with a wet noise. “Please, Charlotte, let me fuck you.”

“No,” she breathes, but her voice is shaky as her nails drag down my arms, leaving faint red trails in their wake.

I’m fucking losing it. There’s something wrong with me—something broken and fucked-up—because I love this. I love when she denies me, when she makes me beg. I want her to keep saying no, to keep me on the edge, to keep me desperate and fucking hungry.

But I also can’t take one moresecondof it.

“Feels so, hmm...” I lock eyes with her. Her pupils are black obsidian, her lips parted as she pants. “You’re so fucking wet.” My hips snap forward again. “You want me as bad as I want you.”

“Maybe,” she says, her thighs squeezing me.

I lean forward, my mouth hovering over hers. “Say it,” I demand. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

She bites her lip, weakly shaking her head. “No.”

I moan before capturing her lips in a searing kiss, my tongue plunging into her mouth as my hips move against hers again and again, driving us both closer to the edge.

She pulls away from the kiss and breathes her next words. “Have you been checked recently?”

“Hmm?”

“For STDs. Have you been checked?”

Is she going to let me fuck her? “I—y-yes, but I have a condom.”

“I’ve been tested too, and trust me, I’m better protected than Fort Knox.” Her hand moves between us, and she gives my cock a tug before letting the tip sink inside her.

“Ohh...” My eyes roll to the back of my head, every single muscle tensing up.

Instinctively, I push forward, but her hand keeps me in place, only the head inside her tight hole. Her walls close around me, squeezing me in the best possible way.

“Please, fuck...” I want to push inside her so badly I’d kill for it. I’d set the world on fire just for a taste. I’d do anything—everything. “Charlotte, baby, please, you feel—you fucking...god.”

Her breathless chuckles vibrate against my lips, then her hand abandons my erection, her arm looping around my neck.

Does that mean . . .

“Fuck me, Chef.”

I meet her warm gaze, trying to reach her through the fog of arousal between us. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

The tip of her nose brushes mine. “Fuck. Me. Chef.”

God,yes. I push into her slowly, watching as her eyes close and her mouth falls open. She’s so tight and wet around me—the sensation is almost unbearable.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice strained with the effort to maintain control.

Her head tilts back, exposing the delicate curve of her throat, and I can’t help but press my lips there. She grips my shoulder, her voice barely a whisper as she says, “More.”

I oblige, pushing deeper until I’m fully inside of her, my balls pressed against her slick skin. I take a moment to savor the feeling before I start moving, building up a rhythm that has us both moaning and gasping for air.

“Fuck,” I hiss through my teeth as she clenches around me. “You were made for me, Charlotte. I was made for this.”

Her response is lost in a moan as I start to move faster, my hips snapping against hers. The scent of her skin, the taste of her lips, the way she gasps my name like it’s the only word she knows—it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

“Can’t speak, baby?” I muse as I interrupt my rhythm to sink completely into her. It feels so good to see her lose control. “Use your words.”

“Hmm...‘aron” Her eyes cross even as she tries to find my gaze. She’s so fucking stunning, I never want to look at anyone else. I never want to do this with anyone but her.

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