Page 60 of The Rest is History
And his mouth comes down against my gasp, closing off my brain function in favour of sheer sensory pleasure. It’s not as frenzied as Saturday’s kiss, but it’s purposeful, as if he’s telling me something with his mouth. Those soft lips I’ve been fantasising about all week slant over mine with delicious pressure, his hand on my neck pulling me in as flush against him as possible.
His other hand is on the small of my back now, his fingers splaying towards my bum, and I allow myself to melt into him. My hands find his shoulders, his hair, his neck, and this is what I’ve wanted all along because I can finallyfeelhim. I can feel his glorious bunched muscles under the thin fabric of his shirt. My hands skate over domed shoulder caps and taut biceps. Theydrag over the hairy forearms I’ve lusted after for so long before working their way back up again.
Our tongues encircle each other, dancing in a way that’s so perfectly choreographed, so satisfying, it has my soul soaring right through the ceiling of this dusty little room. We explore the insides of each other’s mouths and my hand pulls Charlie’s gloriously tousled head even closer, my fingers clawing at that silky hair of his.
His hand is now firmly on my bum, kneading it, pressing me against his hips, and holy crap, that erection flexing against me is the best thing I’ve ever felt. I’m really, really interested in getting more of it.
He pulls away a fraction, running his lips over my face as his thumb drags along my jaw. I attempt to catch my breath. I’m in a rosy, hazy daze where nothing exists aside from the man in front of me. The man who has his hands on my body and whose lower half is making it perfectly clear how much he wants this.
He kisses me on the lips. Slow, luscious, dreamy kisses. His hands go to the front of my dress, his long, skilled fingers sliding buttons through their buttonholes. A small part of my brain serves up the suggestion that this may not be wholly appropriate on school property, and I swiftly dismiss it. Instead, my hands twist in his hair as I revel in this sensation of Charlie Vaughan unwrapping me. Revealing me.
‘I’ve been able to think of one thing, and one thing only this week,’ he says idly against my mouth before pulling away so he can take in the reveal. He pulls the end of the denim tie at my waist and it comes loose.
I shiver with delight as his knuckles graze the sensitive skin of my stomach. ‘What’s that?’
‘The way you taste.’ He leans in to nip at my lower lip. ‘And I don’t mean your mouth, delicious as that is.’
Oh, sweet Jesus.
‘No?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nope. And when I say I’ve been thinking about it this week, I mean because I got a taster this week, on my fingers, and it’s been fucking haunting me. But really,’—his deft fingers undo the final buttons of my dress, and he slides his hands beneath the opening, around my waist—‘I’ve been thinking about how exquisite you might taste since the first time I laid eyes on you.’
His eyes flicker to mine, then down the sliver of my body exposed by my open dress, then back to my eyes.
I swallow. Glide a palm over his shoulder. I have my other hand hooked into the front pocket of his chinos, like I’m afraid he’ll change his mind and bolt if I let go.
‘Since the interview?’ Since he acted so cold and intellectually snotty? I reel at the thought that he might have been sizing me up in such an intimate way from across the desk.
‘Yeah.’ His warm palms skate up my sides and over the curves of my breasts, and fuck. His fingers brush over my nipples. The ache makes me bite down on my lower lip, but Charlie looks as though he’s in more anguish than me.
‘Jesus Christ, El,’ he grits out. He gazes down at my cleavage before resuming his train of thought. ‘So you see, sweetheart. I need to fucking taste you.I need it.’
El. Sweetheart. I need it.Every endearment, every word, is an electric shock to my core. His fingers toy with the elastic of my plain and not particularly sexy cotton panties, and I belatedly understand his game here. He’s locked me in a supplies cupboard so he can go down on me.
Holy fuck.
‘But I didn’t mean that,’ I stammer. It’s hard to get words out when he’s stroking the cotton between my legs with a couple of leisurely fingers. Fingers whose skill level I know all too well. ‘Earlier. When I said you should make a move, I just meantyou should, you know. Ask me out for a drink. Or a walk, or something. Not lock me in a room with you and offer to dothat.’
He stops me for a moment with a kiss, and I arch against him. Against his hand and his erection and everything else.
‘I’m not offering, Elodie.’ His hands go back to the sides of my panties. ‘I’m fucking begging.’
I want this so badly. The way he’s talking to me. The things he’s saying and the way he’s touching me—it’s all too much. And yet, we’re inschool, for God’s sake.
‘Do we have time?’ I ask.
He smirks. ‘I’m confident we can make this quick, if you prefer.’
And he’s right, of course, because I already know that a few strokes from his tongue and I’ll collapse around him.
I nod. ‘Okay. Do it.’
He sighs. ‘Thank fuck,’ he says, and he jerks my panties down my legs so I can step out of them.
Oh shit. I’ve been in this room for five minutes and Charlie Vaughan has me bare.
Bare and shaking with anticipation.
