Page 46 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
“Touching without touching?”
“Yes.”
“This is dangerous,” he says. “This is crazy.” But Ihavehim, because in the next moment, his hands start to roam.
Fire curls and coils around the base of my spine. Goddess, Weston is touching me. Weston Wildes istouching me, and it’s every bit as heady and inebriating as I thought it would be.
He traces my curves through my nightgown, running his thumbs over my stomach, exploring the outside of my thighs, brushing the backs of his fingers up along my front.
“More,” I whimper. “Everywhere you can.”
His eyes flash, and he palms my breasts, testing their weight.
A needy whine slips out of me. He responds with a guttural sound and pinches each nipple, rolling them through his fingers. Sensation zaps into me, a lightning bolt that touches down between my legs.
And I can’t help myself. I climb into a straddle atop him.
He stiffens as my knees settle beside his hips. But my nightgown sheathes me from ankle to collar. The only part of me left bare is my arms, which I keep angled away.
“Still not touching,” I whisper.
He mutters a curse and gathers me closer, apparently emboldened by the protective layer between us. “We shouldn’tbe doing this,” he says, but his hands are everywhere now, dragging worshipful strokes down my flanks, tracing shivers up my spine, settling around my ass and squeezing. He gazes up at me, eyes glinting, and says a very filthy word. Then his grip settles at my hips. He yanks me close, pulling my most intimate places flush against his.
My eyes widen at the contact. He tilts my pelvis, coaxing it into a roll, and I gasp. Pleasure spirals through me, silver-tipped and sparkling.
I squeeze out a few desperate words. “Oh. Oh, my goddess.”
He searches my eyes. “Do you feel me?”
“Yes,” I gasp. No way could I not. “But I think you should take off your shorts.”
I don’t want a single layer between us that doesn’t need to be there.
I know how far gone he is now because he doesn’t even argue. I raise my body just enough that he can wedge his hands between us and shimmy his underwear off, and then he’s settling me against him again, notching the hard ridge of his desire into the exact right place. He guides my hips into another undulation, gifting me with delicious friction.
Then another.
A moan flutters up my throat as my head falls back and my eyes close. I want to look at him, want to map the taut lines of him, how they move beneath me, but I can’t manage. I can only squeeze the chairback tighter as a thrum of pleasure builds in my solar plexus. I arch and flex, arch and flex, steered by his capable hands.
“Bria.” He rasps my name on a broken exhale. “Goddess, I missed you. I missed you so much I could barely breathe.”
I shudder. This time, I love that he didn’t call me Birdie. This time, it feels like he’s giving me my name as a gift.
“Me, too,” I say, and roll my pelvis, grinding against him, the silk between us so thin as to be meaningless. He guides me in a way that must please him as much as it does me, because his breathing whittles down to short, hard gasps.
I’m wet. Slippery. I’m falling and flying, both at once. I buck against him, beholden to the press of him between my legs, to the way he fits against me so perfectly. My belly pulls taut. Bliss gathers everything tight, tight, tight, and goddess, I could come like this.
I’m going to.
I pry my lashes apart and gaze down my cheeks at him. His lips are parted, his eyes reflecting the firelight, his beauty stark and violent and humbling.
“Can you...” I gasp out, “...finish like this?”
“Yes.” The word sounds so raw and unarmored it’s like he’s reached down and pulled it up from some borderless place within himself. “Easily. Can you?”
I choke out an affirmative. My hips churn faster. Euphoria uncages itself in my core and rockets outward along every nerve. Close. I’m so close. Fortuna, I wish I could touch him. Kiss him.
Then I remember I’m still wearing his gloves. I force my grip from the chairback and resettle my hands atop the rounded musculature of his shoulders.
