Page 71 of The Charm Offensive
“I thought you would want me to wash my hands right away,” Dev says in a low voice. “I grabbed your wet wipes, in case you wanted to—”
And then Charlieiscrying. He can’t help it, because Dev knows him so well. Dev knows him and understands him and wants him anyway, and Charlie has never been this attracted to anyone else.
“Oh, love.” Dev takes his face with hands smelling like hotel soap, and surely he must know. Dev must see the way those two words tear down all of Charlie’s defenses every time he saysthem. Dev saysoh, love,and some dormant thing—some part of Charlie that has secretly always wanted to besomeone’slove—comes to life inside him.
“Why are you crying, Charlie?”
“Because you’re perfect.” And he sits up so he can do what he’s been fantasizing about since night one. He licks Dev’s Adam’s apple. He follows the path toward his collarbone, his breastbone, the bottom of his rib cage—until Dev is beneath him, skinny and sharp andhis, at least for right now. “You’re so beautiful,” Charlie whispers as he pulls off his jeans.
Dev laughs. “I’m really not.”
“You are. You so, so are.” The skinny jeans get caught around Dev’s ankles, and Charlie tugs, almost falls off the bed with how desperately he needs these pants off. When he looks up, his eyes catch Dev’s across the six feet four inches of Dev’s body, and there’s something shining in Dev’s eyes that Charlie can’t understand. He wants to understand every damn thing about him. “Can I please see you naked?”
There is victory in being brave enough to ask for what he wants. Dev makes a strangled sound of consent and lets Charlie undress him fully, and there is all of Dev.
Charlie can’t wait another second to touch him. “Fuck,” Dev says as Charlie frantically licks his palm. “Fuck,” he says again when Charlie wraps his hand around him. Dev says fucka lotas Charlie makes a sloppy showing of the whole affair, too eager, too enthusiastic to remember to be self-conscious. Dev comes apart at his touch anyway, and after, Charlie doesn’t want to wash his hands; he wants to kiss Dev until there is no space left between them.
So he does. He presses their slick chests together, pushes Dev back into the mattress, and kisses his mouth, his jaw, his throat,kisses him until his lips go numb. Then he places his ear to Dev’s sternum and listens to the sound of his heart while Dev’s fingers tease apart his curls one at a time.
He feels unlocked. Like he has nothing left to try to hide, no reason not to show Dev the rest of him. So Charlie starts talking into the low light of the room, saying things he’s never said aloud, not even to Parisa. Talking about his childhood, about his brothers, about his parents. About sitting alone at lunch every day in elementary school because the other kids were afraid of his intensity and his differences, about the bullies at recess. About the high school therapist who told him exercise might help reduce his anxiety, about consequently becoming obsessed with exercise. About how the same classmates who called him names in the hallway and threw milk cartons at him on the bus suddenly wanted to talk to him after he became obsessed with exercising. About being so desperate to escape his small town and his small life and his small-minded family, only to arrive at Stanford at sixteen and discover there are small minds everywhere.
Dev listens and says nothing, and never stops playing with Charlie’s hair. The sharing is even scarier than the sex because it’s another barrier, another line he never thought he’d be able to cross with someone. It’s the type of intimacy he’s avoided the most strictly, convinced he could never trust anyone with these parts of himself. Dev accepts every part of him like it’s nothing and everything. “I think I really, really like you,” Charlie tells Dev’s sternum.
The confession hangs between them for a second. “Two reallys?” Dev finally says, and Charlie can hear the smile in his voice. “And you haven’t even seen what I can do with my mouth yet?”
Charlie laughs and Dev flips them over so it’s Charlie with his back against the mattress and Dev looking down at him.Dev isn’t smiling anymore. Charlie stops laughing. Dev kisses his collarbone, bites at his nipples, licks the vertical line down the center of his abdomen like he did that night in New Orleans when Charlie stopped things from going any further.
Dev goes further, kissing the crease of his hip, the inside of his thigh until Charlie is hard again. “Please,” Dev’s voice strains, “can I?”
Charlie arches his hips in consent, too consumed with feeling to speak, and when Dev licks him again, he’s not sure if he should laugh or swear or scream, so he maybe does all three. He doesn’t censor himself at all, says exactly what he’s thinking and feeling, and watches the way his words make Dev lose all restraint.
Charlie is a mess, but so is Dev, and he can’t believe they found each other on this ridiculous show about fairy-tale love.
“So…” She smirks over her mug of coffee. “How was it?”
“Shush,” he hisses. His eyes dart to Jules’s closed bedroom door. “Don’t be gross, Parisa.”
“I’m not beinggross. I’m being supportive.” Parisa props a hip against the counter and reaches for a muffin. “I tell you about all my hookups.”
“I never asked you to be so forthcoming and would actually prefer you stop.”
Parisa has the decency to at least lower her voice. “I’m not asking for all the gory details here. Just—did you have sex?”
He sips his tea and tries not to blush at the memory. “I mean, we, um—but notthat.”
Parisa punches his arm. “Oh my God, Charles, work my pussyout.”
He chokes on his lemon ginger. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry. You’re not quite there yet.” She dials it back. “I just mean I’m proud of you. I’m sure it took a lot of courage to let yourself be vulnerable like that with someone.”
Charlie studies her across the kitchen and thinks about what Dev said last night, about already seeing him. He realizes Parisa already sees him, too. “Thank you.”
“So why didn’t you have penetrative sex? Do you need me to draw you a diagram of where things go, or—?”
“I seriously hate you.”
“You love me.”
