Page 18 of The Rest is History

Charlie

T he relief at having my hands and mouth full of Elodie hits me like a tidal wave. This isn’t like last week’s kiss. This is primal. I’m acting on pure instinct, the intoxicating cocktail of her taste and smell blowing all rational thought out of the window.

There’s no finesse from either of us. I claw at the back of her hood to bring our faces as close together as physically possible. I suck her sweet lower lip into my mouth while my tongue makes a desperate plea for access, dragging a line over its pillowy softness.

Licking.

Exploring.

Worshipping.

God. She’s fucking heavenly. She opens her mouth immediately, and I thrust my tongue inside as she scrabbles at my layers with her hands.

Thanks to the coat and the padding of my doublet, there’s far too much fabric between us.

She gets a hand to my head and knocks my feathered cap off, pulling at my hair, her fingernails digging into my scalp.

My tongue does decadent laps, exploring the sweet, sweet interior of her mouth and entangling itself with her delicious little tongue.

That tongue I’ve obsessed over. I am inside her fucking mouth, and she’s so warm and wet I could die.

I’m lost in a honeyed paradise, our lips dragging and pulling, the friction building as our tongues dance.

I clamp a hand around the perfect arch that is the small of her back, pulling her as close to my front as physically possible.

She’s arching even more now, her breasts smashed against my doublet.

My cock is straining against the padding of my ridiculous codpiece, one small step closer to getting what it’s always wanted.

Elodie Peach.

I need more. My hands want to be everywhere. My mouth wants to map every inch of her exquisite body. I tug off her hood and chuck it on the floor, and my hand delights in fusing its skin to the perfect skin of her neck.

Oh dear fucking God, her neck.

I rotate my head, deepening my access to her mouth, and I hold her to me. As my fingers stroke roughly down her neck and my tongue thrusts hungrily inside her mouth, she tugs me closer and gives a breathy little whimper that’s definitely the best sound I’ve ever heard.

I may die.

I may fucking combust.

Anger has ignited as desire, irritation morphing into utter awe that a woman can be this delectable. This all-consuming. Where I end and she begins, I don’t know. I’m lit up from within, lost in a blaze of need.

My fingers fumble with her hair tie so I can free up that glorious mane. When it’s off, her silky hair blankets my hand. I smooth down it before wrapping it around my hand and pulling, and she whimpers her approval.

‘Charlie.’

She moans my name into my mouth and it nearly undoes me right there.

I need more of her— definitely need to hear the singular miracle of my name on her lips like that again—but this fucking costume of hers is a full-body chastity belt.

My hands slip under the curtain of her hair, smoothing their way in tandem down the swanlike column of her neck as I continue to kiss her thoroughly.

Desperately.

They move along her collarbones, over strands of pearls, and attempt to slide the square neckline of her dress down over her shoulders, but there’s no give in this damn thing. The fabric is stiff, the fit tight.

I pull away from her mouth with great reluctance and study her.

She is a sight for sore fucking eyes.

Lips swollen, eyes glazed with desire, her chest heaving as she attempts to catch her breath. Her arms still encircle my neck, and I smile down at her in wonder.

I drag a thumb over her wet lower lip. ‘So beautiful,’ I tell her, and spend a fraction of a second revelling in the delight that spreads over her face before I’m moving around her.

Behind her. Lifting that curtain of hair and draping it over one shoulder to expose the neck that has haunted my nights and tortured my days for so many months.

Finally.

My hand slides around her waist and pulls her back against me as my nose and mouth lower themselves to the skin of her neck and I inhale like a dying man.

Dear God. Her scent is perfection. Utterly intoxicating.

My palm splays over her stomach, holding her to me as I kiss the neck I fell in love with.

I’ve found nirvana.

I kiss.

I lick.

I suck.

I nip.

I worship these few inches of skin like they’re the best meal I’ve ever had, as this beautiful woman writhes against me, her head bowed, her hand on mine, pressing it even more flush against her stomach.

Still need more.

And I know she does, too.

I extract my hand from under hers and drag it up over her bodice to her breast. My fingers dip into her cleavage, and she pushes her ass back against me.

‘Yes?’ I murmur, my lips humming against her neck.

‘Yes.’ Her voice is breathy.

My cock strains harder against her ass with these pain-in-the-neck layers of fabric between us.

I don’t need to be told twice. I slide my hand further under her neckline and encounter soft flesh beneath its bodice. Dear fucking lord, she feels incredible. I palm her breast as best I can from this angle, and my hand hits the already-stiff bud of her nipple.

I roll it beneath my finger pad and it hardens further.

Fuuuck. I really want to see her naked breasts.

‘Oh my God,’ Elodie moans, and my resolve weakens right as my cock stiffens. This woman wants me. This exquisite, mesmerising woman is turned on right now, and I’m going to give her everything she needs.

I withdraw my hand and she makes a little whimper of disappointment, but I’m already on my knees behind her.

The prize I want more than anything else is hidden inside these skirts.

I lift her hem with one hand and use my other to find her ankle.

It hits smooth, bare skin and glides upwards as I marvel at the feel of her legs beneath my palm.

Legs I imagined wrapped around my waist just last week in The Mitre.

I get to my feet, bunching up her skirts in one hand as my other continues to trace higher.

The skin of her inner thigh is so satiny it could make a man weep, and I’m right there.

My fingers stroke the very top of her thigh as I step in right behind her, wedging the fabric of her skirts between us.

My face nestles into the delicious spot where her neck meets her shoulder, and I press a kiss to the skin there.

‘Do you want my fingers?’ I ask her, my voice rough with need.

She cranes her head, her breath hitting my face. ‘Yes. God, yes .’

I exhale with relief. ‘Right answer, sweetheart. Hands on the wall.’

I step us both forward so she can brace herself and use a knee to nudge her legs wider apart. My lips skate up her neck, nuzzling and licking and nipping as they go, and my hand takes its final step upwards to between her gorgeous thighs.

I wish so much that I had her naked and sprawled out on my bed, or anywhere, for that matter, but it’s incredibly erotic to have to work for it, too, burrowing under bodices and beneath skirts to her most heavenly parts, hidden away just for me to find.

And then— Jesus. My desperate fingertips hit a scrap of fabric so narrow it must be a thong, and it’s fucking soaking.

I’ve done this. Got her this wet without even touching her here. It blows my mind that she may want me even a fraction of how much I want her.

That she may have thought about me doing this to her before.

‘Jesus fuck,’ I groan into her neck as I coast my fingers over the fabric.

‘Oh my God,’ she whispers, jolting against me.

There is nothing my fingers want as much as to disappear into her tight, wet heat, but I need to hold us both off or this will be over far too quickly. Instead, I follow the line of the fabric backwards as it tapers and disappears between her cheeks, and holy fuck.

I was right.

She’s wearing a goddamned thong.

I caress the smooth, bare curve of her backside. The peachy backside that’s obsessed me for months.

It’s fucking perfect.

There is no way I’m not taking a look.

I release her neck from my mouth with a kiss and, holding up her skirts with an outstretched hand, step back to admire her.

She turns her head. ‘What are you doing?’

My mouth has gone dry. With difficulty I say, ‘Admiring the view.’

Because I’ve never seen anything like it.

I want to lie at her feet and worship her.

Lick my way up those legs. So long. So shapely.

A pair of black ballet flats on her feet and nothing else.

She’s braced herself with her forearms along the wall, and her head rests in her cradle.

Black dress bunched up around her waist. Hair still over one shoulder.

The smooth perfection of her ass on view for me, the thin white cotton thong barely visible.

She could be a fantasy come to life, a fantasy conjured up by my desperate mind, who’s opened a door in the palace and transcended five hundred years to be with me.

She belongs to no place or time.

But she’s here. With me. And I get to touch her. Move her. Witness her climax.

She watches me watching her.

‘Well,’ she says. ‘What do you think?’

I let my gaze rake openly down her body, taking in her ass and legs once more before rising to meet those eyes that transfix me.

I step back in against her and reach around, seeking out her lips with mine.

‘I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life,’ I choke out. My mouth finds hers.

And I reach down and slide my fingers back between her cheeks, pushing her thong aside.

Flesh meets flesh, and we both groan into each other’s mouths.

Because, for all the times I’ve succumbed and imagined this, nothing comes close to the real thing.

Her heat. Her slickness under my fingers.

The satisfaction of crushing my face to hers.

Of experiencing her pleasure in real time as she entangles her tongue more desperately with mine, her breath coming harder.