Page 24 of The Rest is History

Elodie

I ’m not sure what I was thinking, allowing that conversation to get so out of hand.

Because, despite my protestations to Charlie that I’m not a plaything, that discussion got me hot under the collar of my cute denim shirtwaister.

All that talk of yearning on Henry’s part, of years of burning up, reminded me of how Charlie acted when he got his hands on me on Saturday.

Like he was crazed for me.

Zara takes herself off for a walk around the grounds before the end of lunch, ostensibly to get some air and probably to check out Mr Gibbs’ toned bum on one of the playing fields, and I head back to our office with Charlie.

He’s tense, practically vibrating with nervous energy, so I stay silent.

When we get into the office, he rummages around in a drawer and pockets something.

‘Will you come with me for a moment?’ he asks, his tone abrupt. His expectant posture suggests it’s more of a demand than a question.

‘Uh—okay?’

I follow him down the hall, not expecting him to stop so quickly and unlock the door to the stationery supplies room, which is more of a large walk-in cupboard. He flings it open, hits a light switch, and gestures.

‘In here.’

I hesitate, peering in. ‘Are you planning on murdering me? Or taking me hostage?’

He frowns. ‘Your imagination is disturbing. I just want to talk to you. In private.’

I give him a look I hope communicates my reluctance and head inside. He follows me and locks the door behind us with the key. My eyebrows shoot up.

‘Relax.’ He comes closer. ‘The surroundings aren’t what I’d have chosen, but I needed to get you to myself.’

Something about his tone, the heat in his eyes, has my heart beating faster.

I aim for lighthearted. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ He comes so close I have to look up at him, and I hold my breath as his hand comes up to slide around the back of my neck. ‘Can’t have you thinking Saturday was some kind of role-play for me, sweetheart. It broke my heart when you said that. The only woman I want is you. Past or present.’

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 finally feel him.

I can feel his glorious bunched muscles under the thin fabric of his shirt.

My hands skate over domed shoulder caps and taut biceps.

They drag 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 meant you 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 do that. ’

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 in school , 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.

‘Sit,’ he orders, and I park myself on the solid counter, in front of neatly packaged reams of printing paper and God knows what else. My dress swings open around me.

He steps between my legs, nudging them open with his body, and kisses me hungrily.

‘You’re about to make me so happy, sweetheart,’ he whispers, and then he’s on his knees in front of me, holding my legs apart with his hands while he moves his mouth along my thigh.

Oh my God.

‘Oh my God.’ He exhales, and it’s a warm puff on my thigh. ‘Fuck, El. I’ve wanted this for so long. You have no idea.’

He kisses up my inner thigh. I watch the wavy top of his head, the blessed sight of his nose and lips travelling along my leg. And then he turns his head and his mouth finds my centre, and the shock of his tongue there is electric. Like I’ve been plugged in. We both groan.

He looks up at me, a dazed, dirty grin on his face. ‘I fucking knew it,’ he says. ‘Told you you were exquisite, didn’t I?’

‘Yes,’ I manage. ‘Charlie.’

‘I know, sweetheart.’ He lowers his face again, his tongue drawing lazy lines from my opening to my clit, over and over, lingering just enough on my bundle of nerves to tease me. To wind me tighter and tighter, a lick at a time.

The sensation’s building now. Flooding my whole centre with warmth. But it’s not enough, and he knows it. My head falls back, and I lower myself onto my elbows, pushing myself against him as hard as I can, desperate for friction.

‘That’s it,’ he murmurs. ‘Best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life. Wish I had you naked, sweetheart. I wish I was inside you right now.’

I moan. ‘I want you so badly. So badly. I need you to fuck me really, really soon.’

My words must ignite something in him, because he makes his tongue taut and flat and homes in on my clit with deadly focus.

His fingers find my entrance and push in, and I cry out at the sudden pressure on my inner walls, on my clit.

This is what I need. This rhythmical, relentless onslaught is perfect.

The warmth at my core turns to searing heat.

My entire consciousness is focused on the next rough lick Charlie will grant me.

The next thrust of his fingers. The cadence of my moans syncs with his movements.

My breath hitches, and I stiffen as white-hot heat floods my entire body.

My nerve endings sing, and a world of colour explodes behind my eyelids.

I’m wracked with shudders as pure, endless ecstasy courses through my limbs, Charlie coaxing its ripples out with lavish laps of his tongue and deep pulses of his fingers.

And when I’ve ridden my orgasm out and my shudders have quieted, he presses a kiss to my centre and gets to his feet, raining kisses up the path from my pubic bone to my chest. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and kisses my mouth.

‘Fucking heavenly,’ he tells me, his blue eyes radiating emotion. ‘That was the biggest privilege of my life.’

I gaze up at him through a sated fog. This man has just ruined this woman.

‘Er, I’m pretty sure I was the one having an earth-shattering time there,’ I tell him.

‘Nope. It was better for me.’ He puts his arms around me and hauls me up to sitting, moulding me to him and kissing me deeply. I cling to him, a slack, post-orgasmic mess. He’s even harder than he was, and I reach between us, not giving a shit that we’re at school.

When I cup him through his chinos, he groans.

‘Charlie. I really, really want to make you come. So badly.’

‘Not necessary,’ he grits out.

‘Yes, it is.’

I’m unzipping his flies, seconds away from getting my hands on his gorgeous, impressively hard dick, when the bell goes for the end of lunch.

He presses his forehead to mine despairingly, his breath coming in ragged huffs. ‘Nooo.’

I push his chinos past his hips. ‘Let’s see how quick we can be.’

‘Nope.’ He laughs and grabs my wrist. ‘We don’t have time. We need to get you dressed.’

‘No way.’ I hold up two fingers. ‘It’s two-nil to me right now. You can’t go out like that—you’ll look like a paedophile.’

‘Let’s get you out of here, and I’ll sort myself out.’

‘Again? You’re spending a lot of time with your fist this week.’

He laughs. ‘Fucking tell me about it. Come on.’ He steps away from me and retrieves my panties from the floor, holding them out for me to step into. He buttons my dress up for me and I glance down longingly at the temptation that is the huge bulge in the grey boxer briefs I’ve exposed.

When I’m looking semi-presentable, I make to unlock the door, but he stops me with a hand on my arm.

‘See you at the end of the day,’ he murmurs against my lips. ‘Have an exceedingly pleasant afternoon, Miss Peach.’