My neck tilts a little, giving him access as he peppers kisses along my jaw and down my neck, to my collarbone.
“Faster,” I plead, punctuating the word by digging my fingers into his shoulders. I need more friction, more of him. He touches me like an instrument, one he knows how to play, and my body sings to the tune. I’m high on lust, need. I want more, so much more, but then I think when it comes to Drew, I’ll always want more.
He pulls back a little, resting up on his forearms. “No.”
“Please,” I beg, thrusting up, but he presses down, using his weight to stop me from seeking more.
It’s torturous. Each time he hits the spot, it’s deliriously slow, yet it feels just as powerful.
He brushes my hair away from my face, keeping his hand cupped at my jaw. “What are you doing to me?”
I know from the last time this is a hypothetical question. “Probably not the same as what you’re doing to me. Please, Drew, go faster.”
He smirks, and it’s devilish and naughty. “No. I have you exactly where I want you. Trust me to give you what you need. You’ll feel it soon,” he rasps.
“I feel it now,” I whisper, unable to look away.
His lips are hard, punishing, and yet, his pace stays the same. Never once slowing, or speeding up. Pleasure floods my entire body. Each breath I take, each move I make, I feel it.
He was right.
I can feel everything.
It’s raw, real, and as we gaze into each other’s eyes, it feels like a part of my soul has left to join his. I’m bursting with emotions and each time he slams inside of me, it only creates more.
As corny as it sounds, it doesn’t feel like it’s only our bodies connecting. I’m not spiritual, but if I were, then this would be a defining moment for me. Because I have never felt more alive than I do in this moment.
I press my knees to his side, the move causing me to take more of him. He fuels the fire between us, licking and nipping at my neck.
The pressure I have become accustomed to is building once again, sending me into a frenzy.
My body jerks as each thrust gets rougher and rougher, and the moment he nips at my jaw, I explode, crying out my orgasm as a blinding light bursts behind my eyes. My legs begin to shake. The ripple of pleasure runs down to the tips of my toes. My pulse is racing so hard, I feel like my heart is going to explode. For that one single moment, it feels like euphoria.
“Fuck,” he growls, his fingers pulling at my hair a little.
He rocks above me, the lines and muscles in his face straining, like the torturous pace is killing him as much as it had me.
His body coils, and a breathily groan slips through his lips. His ripped body pulses with his orgasm and tingles spread through me.
My entire body goes limp and the pressure of his weight increases above me.
That was intense, powerful, and my sex still tingles, sensitive from the orgasm that shot through me.
He can bend me to his will sexually. I’ll give him anything he asks for. But as I replay everything that happened, add in where we are and the day we shared together, I know I’ll never get another moment like this one again.
I’m not saying the next time will be bad. It will be a new kind of special. But I know deep in my heart, there is no repeating the moment we just shared, or the intensity.
Lowering his head, he rests his forehead against mine, panting heavily. I run my fingers over the hard groove of his muscles, finding his skin coated in a sheen of sweat. I rest my palm against the heavy beat of his heart, my own tightening.
I feel like I can’t breathe and it has nothing to do with his weight.
He puts a little bit of space between us, and brushes my hair out of my face, his gaze and touch gentle. I suck in a breath, wondering how someone so large, so powerful, can be so gentle. He makes me feel like I’m a delicate artefact.
“Charlotte,” he murmurs, his voice raspy.
I shake my head, and swallow past the lump in my throat. Something definitely passed between us. Something monumental, and everlasting.
But I’m too scared to grasp it right now, too overwhelmed to figure out what it means.
Instead of telling him that, I reach for him instead.
“Hold me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHARLOTTE
A smile lights up my face as Drew steps up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He leans down, pressing a kiss the side of my face. “Morning, beautiful.”
I tilt my head and glance up at him. “Did you sleep okay?”
His pupils darken. “I slept really good.”
I blush, ducking my head. Yesterday we hadn’t moved out of bed for anything other than to open the door for the takeout or go to the toilet. I’m sore in places I never thought I could be. I think I may need to stretch before and after at this point.
Do people stretch before sex?
I’ll have to look it up later and double check I’m not doing it wrong.
“I made cookies.” He grimaces, staring down at the fresh tray I pulled out. “You don’t want one?”
“Um, I, of course,” he tells me, grabbing one. I watch as he takes a bite, smiling when he groans. It isn’t out of disgust or pain. It’s one of pleasure. His eyes widen, and moments later the cookie is gone and he’s taking another. “These are seriously good.”
“I’d really love to know what I did right today to get them to taste so good,” I muse.
“You know your other baked goods are a health hazard yet you still give them to people?” He doesn’t seem pissed, only amused.
I shrug. “My cakes I can’t exactly try. It wouldn’t be hygienic to hand someone a cake with a slice missing.”
“And the famous muffins I’ve heard so much about?”
I’m still mad Landon told him my muffins were a self-defence weapon. They weren’t that bad.
“It’s chocolate; that always smells good to me.”
He chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips. “I really hate that we have to go into work today. I want to stay and eat cookies.”
I grab the container I filled earlier. “I made you some to take to work.”
He takes the container, eyeing it warily. “How do you know these ones aren’t toxic?”
I giggle, shaking my head. “Because I tried one.”
I love how he doesn’t try to fake they’re good. My family tends to force themselves to eat it or lie about not being hungry. And we all know a Carter is always hungry. But it’s fun to mess with them.
“What time do you have to be in?”
“An hour ago. But I messaged Rita yesterday to call in a temp to cover Marlene for a while.”
“The chick that was poisoned?”
I bite my lip. “She won’t answer the phone to me but her sister or friend did, and she passed on a message.”
“What did she say?” he asks, taking a swig of his coffee.
“She doesn’t know if she will be coming back to work. She still has another week of paid leave so I’m hoping she will let me know by then.”
“Doesn’t she screw up a lot? Or is that Rita? I remember Landon moaning about someone who worked there.”
“That’s Marlene,” I admit. “What time do you need to be in?”