Page 75 of My Favorite Lost Cause
He releases a quiet groan and wraps a hand around my hip to drag me closer. He’s still wearing boxers, but there’s no disguising how hard he is against my abdomen. His lips move against mine, once and again, and when my mouth opens beneath his, it’s because I can’t stand for it not to. His hand glides up my sternum and his calloused thumb flicks one tight nipple so hard that I jolt as if I’ve been shocked. I arch towardhim, suddenly desperate for friction. He inhales sharply when I grind against him, then rolls me onto my back, pressing me into the mattress. He’s pinned me here, with one hand flat to my hip, while he sits back on his knees.
Denying me everything I was after a second ago, that hard press of him in the exact right spot and...Oh. God.
His fingers have slid between my legs. “God, Maren,” he groans. “You’re so fucking wet.”
I wince. “Sorry. It’s actually been a really long?—”
“Are you seriously apologizing?” he demands, swiping a thumb over my lower lip. “Do you have any idea how hot that is?”
He leans over me as his fingers continue to slip over my skin, and when he pushes a single, thick finger inside me, I gasp.
He rests his forehead against my shoulder as if he’s catching his breath. “Jesus. You’re so responsive,” he whispers, more to himself than me. “I fucking knew you would be.”
Before I can reply, he’s kissing me hard, pushing those long fingers inside me again, hitting some spot, some perfect, perfect spot, and when he moves lower, tugging at one nipple and then the other with his teeth, still hitting that spot, I turn liquid and dissolve entirely, arching into his hand as I come.
I’m still coming—I’ve just had the best orgasm of my life—but I’m already too empty, desperate for more than his clever fingers.
“Charlie,” I plead, blindly reaching toward his boxers and wrapping my hand around him, “fuck me.”
He thrusts once into my palm, almost involuntarily, with a barely audible groan and then pulls away, pressing kisses to my rib cage, to my belly button, to the inside of one thigh, and then the inside of the other. “Come for me one more time, Maren. Just like this.”
“I can’t, Charlie. I don’t?—”
His tongue flickers over my clit before I can finish my argument. It tingles along my spine, turning that ache into a solidpangof want.
He does it again. I don’t come from this and I don’t come twice in a row, but...his tongue is just as talented as his fingers were and it’s too good for me to bother explaining these things just yet, at this precise moment.
His tongue flicks in hard, rhythmic pulses, followed by slow, languid licks. I clench the sheets, dragging air into my lungs.
One more minute, perhaps. Then I’ll tell him he’s wasting his time.
He pushes two fingers inside me, and suddenly he’s feasting as if he’s been starved for this, groaning as he tells me how wet I am, how much he loves it, how many times he’s jerked off thinking about how I’d taste.
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he warns. “The second you come.”
And that’s what does it. His words murmured against me while his fingers plunge. I cry out, tugging his hair as I come, and two seconds later, he’s moving above me and grabbing the condom he must have had waiting.
He rolls it on and then leans over, lining himself up. The tip of his cock is a hard, blunt press against me. His jaw clenches, and then he pushes in only an inch—his eyes falling closed, his mouth ajar. As wet as I am, as pliant as he’s made me, I gasp at the burn—half pain, half pleasure.
“Is it okay?” he grunts, his jaw locked. “You’re so fucking tight, Mare. So wet and warm and tight. I’m trying to go slow, but?—”
He’s struggling. He’s struggling not to thrust in, and I’m struggling not to beg him to do it, even as I ask myself if this is actually going to work.
“Yes, just—” I don’t have words for what I want. Perhapsbecause I want more and also less at the same time. I grab his hips and he sinks in another inch, then another still.
“Fuck yes,” he hisses. “Maren, it’s so good.”
I think he’s shoved every ounce of oxygen out of me. It’s so much. Too much? No, I’m adjusting, and it’s?—
He pulls out and thrusts back in, bottoming out at last. I gasp. I cling to him, throbbing, trying to hold him exactly where he is forever, but he’s already pulling out and pushing in, pulling out and pushing in.
I wrap my legs around his back, demanding more, but he stops instead, wincing, his breath coming quickly. “I can’t…I’ve wanted it for so fucking long. I’m going to finish too fast.”
Charlie, who has slept with every model in Manhattan, is apologizing. Apologizing because he’s going to come too fast. Apologizing because he wants me too much.
But I knew it was different with us before we even started. Because it’sus, because he wouldn’t have gone here with me unless he couldn’t stand not to. It’s different because I’m not some girl he can put in a cab tomorrow. Different because I think he loves me, even if he doesn’t know it, and I think I love him too.
He holds my gaze as he begins to move again, cradling my jaw when he kisses me, sitting up to watch my body move below his, grasping my hips tight as if he’s pulling me onto his cock at the same time he’s pushing in. He stops when he gets close and then starts again.
