She sits up straight, brushes her palms together, and says, “Okay. I brought you your favorite drink,” she says, reaching for the bag, and showing me an airplane-size bottle of scotch. I raise an eyebrow appreciatively. “Cold sesame noodles from your favorite Chinese restaurant.” She grabs a white carton, and holds it up like it’s on display. I lick my lips. “Or,” she begins, dipping her hand into another bag as she retrieves something wrapped in white butcher paper, “the grilled paninis you love from the bodega on the corner. Chicken and provolone, hold the mayo. Since you hate mayo.”
Forget sympathy and sex. This is what I want. Her, here with me, knowing all these things. I cup her cheeks. “I want it all,” I tell her.
She kisses me, but her kisses are tentative, her lips nervous. “I’m not broken,” I say as I pull away.
“I just feel bad. It’s my fault. I hit you with a cabinet door.”
“Well, it wasn’t intentional.” I pause. “Or was it?”
She shakes her head. “Of course not.”
“Am I that hideous to look at now?”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. You’re gorgeous, as always.”
“Then what is it?”
“I just feel terrible for hurting you. I want you to feel better. That’s why I brought you this care package.” She gestures to the goodies.
“And I appreciate it.”
“Let me get you some more ice,” she says, and heads to the kitchen to grab a cold pack from the freezer. When she returns, she presses it to my forehead. Gently, I swat her hand away.
“Charlotte, I’ve been icing it for hours. If you ice it anymore, the goose egg will reverse itself and get sucked into my brain. That’s a very dangerous condition.”
She narrows her eyes but relents, setting down the pack. She gestures to the bottle of ibuprofen. “Do you need any more?”
I shake my head. “I took two at ten p.m. I’m drunk on the stuff right now.”
She wrings her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I push my head back on the pillow. “Am I somehow doing something that makes you think I give a shit that you whacked me? Unless this horrific bruise is going to stop you from fucking me right now, I don’t care,” I say loudly.
She shakes her head.
I soften my voice as I run a finger down her neck. “Then stop fussing over me. I don’t want ibuprofen. I don’t want ice. I don’t even want cold noodles, and they’re my second favorite food behind those sandwiches you brought me, hold the mayo please.”
“What do you want?”
I curl my hand around the back of her head and tug her down to me. Her lips hover inches from mine. I thought I didn’t want sex and sympathy. I was right on that account. I want sex and something else, though.
Sex with her. Sex with feelings. Sex with the only woman I’ve ever felt this way for. I whisper in her ear, “You.”
She shivers against me, then slowly, playfully she moves down my body.
As she reaches the waistband of my basketball shorts, she wiggles her eyebrows. Pressing her hand against my erection, she says, “I find it amusing that your goose egg matches your dick, Spencer.”
“Yeah? In what way? Not color, I hope.”
“The biggest ever,” she says, then tugs off my shorts and briefs. I yank off my shirt. “This will make everything better,” she murmurs as she pushes my chest flat on the couch and kneels between my legs. Her eyes stay on me as she takes her time, settling in, licking her lips, getting ready.
She takes the head of my dick in her mouth, and I sigh, I groan, I moan.
This is the very definition of heaven. Look it up. Dictionary. Right there. Charlotte’s lips on my cock. She teases me, swirling her tongue around the head then licking the length of my shaft. She works her way up, flattening her tongue on the underside, and heat shoots through my veins.
My hips shift, and I want her to take me all the way in, but her kisses on my dick are driving me wild. The way she licks me like I’m her favorite candy is lightning along my spine. It crackles.
She opens wider and draws me in, sucking the head, and my eyes fall closed as I rock into her fantastic mouth.
But I don’t keep my eyes closed for long. I need to see her. To watch her. Her hair spills all over my thighs, her head bobs between my legs, and her lips are swollen and red as my dick slides through them.
No better image ever.
Staring unabashedly at my goddess, I thread my fingers tighter into those strands, yanking on her hair. “Take more,” I whisper, urging her on, and she does, dropping her mouth lower then cupping my balls in her hand. I close my eyes and hiss, and then I can’t help it. I start to move, to pump, to fuck her beautiful mouth. My hand on the back of her head pulls her closer, seeking more. My skin burns up, and I’m close to tripping that switch, to coming hard in her mouth.
“Fuck,” I say on a rough groan as I pull her off me.
I can’t come in her mouth. Not when I want her this much. Not when I want her to come.
“You don’t like it?” she asks, worry etched in her beautiful brown eyes.
I scoff. “I love it, but I want you to ride me.” I reach for my wallet and a condom. “And I want you to ride me now. That’s the only thing that will make me feel better.”
She shucks off her clothes in seconds flat and straddles me. I reach for her hips and lower her onto my dick, thrilling at the hot, tight feel of her. She gasps as she takes me in.