Page 34 of Ghost of Ex-mas Past
My mom returns with a tumbler of amber liquid. “Charlie,” she greets him.
Charlie turns to face her and scoots backward until his back is against the front of my chair. I’ve crossed my legs, one toe pointing off to the Christmas tree, and the other on the floor. I kicked my shoes off long ago, and Charlie’s shoulder brushes my knee.
“How’s your work going?” Mom asks.
I should probably listen and see if he mentions anything about advertising or sensors or what-have-you, but Charlie crosses his arms, shifts slightly toward my mom, and his fingers brush against my ankle right by his hip.
And they stay there.
No one can see that Charlie is touching me, and his warm palm slides over the top of my foot. His thumb strokes the inside of my ankle, right above the bone where the skin is soft and sensitive.
I feel drugged. The low lights, the hum of my family, and my full belly give the room a dreamlike quality. Like I’ve plopped down into a cozy scene of the idyllic family holiday, where the most important thing is not what these people have, but that they have each other.
And I have this man at my feet, and I can so easily see what it would be like to give him a second chance.
By ones and twos, people go off to bed until only Yvette and Lance remain. Charlie and Lance are engaged in a discussion about real estate, since Lance and Yvette are shopping for a house and Charlie just bought his first one—granted, my sister and future brother-in-law are buying a suburban house in Chicago and Charlie’s place is the polar opposite. Lance mostly listens and my sister, sitting on the far side of the couch, follows the conversation with bemusement.
Finally, she nudges Lance, and they wish us good night too, my sister giving me a meaningful eyebrow raise. Charlie hasn’t moved his hand from my ankle the entire time, but the fact that both of us are stalling...
When we’re alone, Charlie lets his head fall back against the cushion of the chair. I allow myself to reach down and run my fingers through his thick dark hair.
He hums, almost a purr, and rolls his head to kiss my thigh where my dress has ridden up. It sends a shiver up my spine, his lips on my skin, and I watch his eyelashes fan across his cheeks. His hand finally leaves my ankle, gliding a few inches up and then stopping to knead the muscle.
He kisses my thigh again.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
His eyes open, deep and dark but literally twinkling from the reflection of the Christmas lights in his gaze. He turns, rising on a knee to face me.
“You know exactly what I’m doing.” One of his hands grips under my thigh and guides my legs to uncross. He’s between my knees now, and as far slumped down as I am and as far up my hem has ridden, he might be able to see the dark thong I’m wearing that’s soaked through.
He must see it. His gaze is so focused between my legs and it’s so intense, I shiver again.
Is he going to go down on me right here in the living room, where anyone could walk in and see us?
He blinks and shifts, rising to lean over me and placing a knee on the seat between my legs. He kisses me firmly, and then pulls back, whispering against my lips, “Come to bed with me.”
17
Bea
I nodagainst Charlie’s mouth, and in one quick swoop he picks me up. I squeak in surprise but he shushes me with his kiss.
After Charlie’s freshman year at college, he came home for the summer. I had just moved out of my parents’ house and into an apartment with roommates—roommates who didn’t hide having sex and had shifts at their jobs that would leave Charlie and me home alone for long stretches. I’d prepared by making a list of everything I wanted to do. One of those things was sex against the wall.
For a myriad of reasons, that didn’t work very well. Neither did the shower sex. But now, Charlie’s arms feel sturdy, like maybe we could actually pull off that move if we tried it.
Instead, though, Charlie carries me. He navigates around the furniture and up the stairs, and I take advantage of having his neck right in front of me. I lick his pulse point, which causes him to tighten his grip on my ass, squeezing me closer. I nuzzle the skin right below his ear and make my way to his Adam’s apple, where I press kisses until he carefully shuts his bedroom door and kneels on the bed, leaning over to gently put me down.
“Brat,” he whispers against my lips.
I smile, but he kisses it away.
Between my legs, Charlie is hard and my dress has ridden up to my waist. That soaked thong isn’t doing anything to protect me from the grinding motion Charlie is doing with his hips, and it’s making me squirm.
Charlie gives my lip a nibble, tugging it gently before he pulls away.
“I have a question for you.”
