Page 26 of The Rest is History

Charlie

T his I can do.

I can strip away the stakes and the doubts and the anxiety and the incessant spiralling in my mind and focus on what I know to be true.

I’ve never wanted anyone more than this woman.

She’s sitting next to me, undressing herself.

It’s just me and her. Right here. Right now.

It’s one step at a time.

Let my mouth find hers.

Let my body take over.

It knows what it wants.

It knows what to do.

‘Thank you,’ I murmur as I close my lips over hers. It’s a key turning in a lock. An immediate gear shift. She kisses me back gently, her hands roaming down my temples. Along my jaw. Down my neck and across my shoulders. She’s soothing me. Reassuring me.

And while that moves me beyond words, it’s not what I want. Not now she’s reminded me how to unlock myself.

Unleash myself.

‘Come here,’ I tell her, and I hoist her up so she’s straddling me.

Her dress has ridden up her thighs, exposing pale, creamy flesh, and I fucking love it.

She’s only got one button undone so far, but a glance reveals the shadowy valley of her cleavage.

I grab her by the backside and pull her flush against me, going instantly hard.

My hand moves to her neck, pressing her lips to mine as I explore her mouth hungrily.

Entangling her tongue with mine. Soaking up the wet warmth of her mouth.

The hint of alcohol on her tongue. As I kiss her, I search out those buttons and undo them with deadly focus.

I get them undone as far as her waist, where they stop.

The top half of her dress hangs loose and I can get my hand inside, and Jesus Christ. The swell of her breast in its lace cup. The weight of it in my hand.

It’s fucking perfect.

My other hand releases her neck and finds its way under her skirt, up her thigh till it encounters the smooth, peachy flesh of her ass. For a blissful moment, I think she’s not wearing underwear, but then I find a scrap of lace.

Another sexy little thong. I can work with that.

She’s got the message that she no longer needs to treat me with kid gloves. She pushes down on top of me, her hands in my hair and wrestling with the buttons of my shirt. Her hair is a blessed curtain, blocking out everything that’s not her.

She’s surrounding me. Consuming me. Eradicating every problem on this earth and inside my brain and leaving only immediacy. Sensation.

And blind need.

I slip the straps of her dress down her shoulders and the entire thing pools around her waist.

Fuck me.

Her breasts are practically in my face, so luscious in their cream lace.

So perfect. I dip my head and brush my lips reverently across their swells.

Christ, this woman’s skin does things to my heart.

And my cock. I run my fingertips over her nipples and she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth, throwing her head back so I’m met with an irresistible sweep of skin.

My mouth moves upwards to worship her neck with soft kisses.

‘I won’t bite,’ I murmur against her skin, and she giggles.

She sits and lets me appreciate her for a few moments. Lets me learn the secrets I’ve wondered about for so long. How her breasts feel under my mouth. The way my hands fit the curve of her waist. The perfection that is the groove of her spine.

Then she’s back to unbuttoning my shirt until she has it hanging open, her hands busy smoothing over my pecs. My abs. Her touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

‘Charlie.’

I look up sharply from where I’ve been kissing along the line left by her bra strap when I slid it over her shoulder.

She smiles at me. ‘I have a foolproof way of getting you to chill out.’

‘Your magical breasts are doing that all by themselves.’

‘This way is better.’ She pauses. ‘It involves my mouth, your dick , and one hell of an overdue orgasm for you.’

My dick jolts like a dog who’s recognised its own name.

Oh, dear God.

I’m going to have her mouth on me.

It’s the one thing I’ve tried to avoid imagining, because it’s too fucking painful. But, try as I might, I usually find myself fantasising about it in the seconds right before I come. Elodie’s perfect mouth wrapped around my cock.

‘You don’t have to—’ I begin faintly.

She’s already unbuckling my belt. ‘Do you think there’s anything I want more? I want this so badly. I can’t stop thinking about it.’

That has my attention. Jesus fuck. ‘Seriously?’

‘Seriously. I was thinking about it on the way here.’ She smirks. ‘Planning all the things I want to do to you tonight.’

Holy hell. She doesn’t even have to go down on me. I’m in real danger of coming right here, in my boxer briefs, at the way she’s talking. I stare at her in wonder, my cock rigid with anticipation.

She scrambles off my lap and her dress falls to the ground, and good Lord.

She’s indescribable in her underwear set, her breasts full, perfect pink nipples poking through the lace of her bra.

And that little thong, that looks like it wouldn’t withstand one half-decent tug, hints at an alluring shadow beneath.

Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders.

Her breasts. I take the whole picture in in wonder.

My fantasies didn’t do her justice.

Nothing could.

I exhale as she unzips my trousers and raise my arse off the seat so she can tug them down.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ I tell her, my voice rough with need. ‘I’ve imagined it so much, what you’d look like, but you’re… perfect.’

She flushes, a pleased smile on her face. ‘I like that you’ve been imagining it.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yeah. Because you’re always so distant at school. So yes, it gives me a real kick to think you might’ve been thinking dirty thoughts about me under that haughty expression of yours.’

‘You’d be horrified if you knew what I was doing to you in my head on pretty much a permanent loop.’

‘I doubt that,’ she says. ‘Anyway, I’ve been imagining you naked too, and you’re so gorgeous, Charlie. I want to kiss every inch of you.’

I groan. ‘Fine by me.’

My cock is straining at the waistband of my boxer briefs.

I’ve already painted a damp spot on the fabric.

She reaches in and pulls the waistband down, freeing my poor cock and palming it.

The shocking pleasure of skin-on-skin contact has me shuddering as I take in the exquisite sight of Elodie Peach leaning over me in her sinfully pretty underwear, my cock in her hand.

She pumps it once, lightly, her fingers brushing over the shaft before gliding over my sensitive crown, spreading my moisture.

I clench my fists. ‘Jesus Christ.’

‘Oh my God.’ She pumps it again, biting down on her lip as she does so, and the appreciation on her face nearly finishes me off.

She looks around and grabs a scatter cushion from the sofa with her free hand, chucking it on the ground and getting to her knees between my legs.

She tugs at my boxers and I lift my backside again, and then I’m naked except for my open shirt.

‘Take your bra off, sweetheart,’ I grit out.

‘Ready to see my duckies?’ she enquires sweetly, and I erupt with pained laughter.

‘You are so fucked up.’

‘I’m not the one with the Anne Boleyn fetish.’

I shake my head. ‘Just an Elodie Peach fetish. And I need to see your tits.’

She reaches behind her, unhooking her bra and shrugging it off.

Holy fucking shit. They’re so gorgeous. A very generous handful.

I lean forward to admire them. To weigh them in my hands.

To brush reverent thumbs over stiff-as-fuck nipples.

I could shoot my load right now, but her hand is on my chest, coaxing me back, and I sink into the cushions as she lowers her mouth onto me.

I’m drowning in a vortex of sensation and she’s only licking my poor, weeping slit.

There’s no anxiety now; my world has narrowed to the point where our bodies are joined.

To the suppleness of her tongue. The wet softness of her mouth.

The feeling of going under as she takes more of me in.

Her grip around my root, and the delicious pressure of her other hand as she explores my balls. Stroking them. Weighing them.

And the visual. The sight of her dark head between my legs. Her hair cascading over my thighs. Her bare shoulders under my hands. Because I can’t stop touching her.

Pleasure courses over me in waves so intense they leave me breathless.

She pulls away to tease me, to lick up the sensitive ridge on the underside of my dick, to swirl her tongue around my crown like it’s a fucking ice cream cone before taking me deep again and moaning, and holy fuck.

I won’t last long. Not like this. I lie back and surrender, letting my eyes drift closed as sensory bliss engulfs me.

I’m close. I’m so fucking close. My breath is growing ragged. I sit up and cup her neck. ‘Elodie.’

‘Mmph.’

‘Stop. I’m going to come. You’ve got to stop?—’

But she swats my hand away and keeps working my dick and Jesus.

She’s going to let me come in her mouth.

Holy fuck. I collapse back and hang on for dear life as her beautiful mouth brings me hurtling towards my climax and the heat courses from my balls and my dick the whole way through my body, and?—

I’m coming. Hard. Christ, so fucking hard.

I jerk and shudder my way through my orgasm, eyes squeezed shut, her name on my lips, and fireworks exploding behind my eyelids, and my entire body shaking with the rush.

She pumps me with her hand and slides those lips up and down as I pour into her, and it’s not until my shudders have subsided that she slides her mouth the whole way off me and sits back on her heels, pressing kisses to my thighs. My knees.

‘Come here,’ I order on a groan, and then she’s straddling me again and my hands are full of her practically naked body as I hand her a glass of water and kiss her and tell her that was the best feeling I’ve ever had in my life.

I’m euphoric. Unmoored. Reeling from the wonder of what’s just gone down (yes, that was a pun). The privilege. All I know is that I want to be buried up to the hilt inside this woman, and it’s a total waste not to capitalise on her near nakedness.

My hands roam over her breasts as I kiss her. Down her silken back and those peachy cheeks and toned thighs. They grip the thin elastic of her thong and I test my theory with a good tug, and yep. Apart it comes in my hands.

Elodie gives an amused gasp.

‘I’ll buy you a new one,’ I tell her, the idea of lingerie shopping for her doing bad things to my heart, and slide my hand between her legs. Fuck. She’s so hot and slippery already.

I wind my arms around her back and lower her off me so she’s lying back on the sofa, looking up at me through hooded eyes as she predicts my next move.

‘Naked,’ I tell her. ‘Finally. Thank fuck. And so beautiful.’

‘Lose the shirt, Vaughan,’ she says, eyeing me lazily from where she lies. I tug it off and chuck it on the ground, along with some scatter cushions, to give us more room. Then I crouch over her.

‘I want to get lost in your body for a long, long time.’ I dip my head and take one perfect nipple in my mouth, giving it a deep pull.

She shudders and groans. ‘Knock yourself out.’

‘I intend to.’ I move to the other breast. Suck on the other nipple.

My hands are everywhere. Skimming down her sides in awe.

Her arms. Along the soft skin of her thighs.

My mouth follows as I rain kisses over that flat, pale stomach.

Yesterday in the stationery cupboard was incredible, but this is a dream come true.

Having the woman who’s dominated my days and nights for so many months lying here below me in all her naked glory.

‘Every inch of you is so sexy,’ I tell her. ‘So beautiful. But I need to taste you again. Yesterday got me addicted.’

And I’m there, between her legs, grazing her silky inner thighs with my nose and lips, inhaling her scent and then settling right where I need to be.

At the apex of her thighs. The spot where I could lose myself for hours.

There’s a real risk that I forget about her pleasure as I selfishly explore her with my tongue for my own kicks, but she seems content to humour me.

More than content.

She’s moving, wriggling with impatience when I stray too far from her swollen core and thrusting her hips against me when I hit the right spot.

I tease her for a few minutes with long, slow laps before taking pity on her and sliding a couple of fingers into her tight, slippery channel.

The feeling of those plush, velvety walls clamping around my fingers has me fully hard again.

After she comes, I’m taking her.

I can’t wait any longer.

I make my tongue hard and flat and lick her with rough, rhythmical strokes and she’s building. Quickly. Her breathy moans and pleas have my head swimming—I’m pretty sure there’s no blood left north of my dick. I’m drowning in her, rutting my hips against the sofa in desperation.

And then she’s over the edge, her hips rising off the cushions, her entire body shuddering and my name on her lips.

I increase the friction with my tongue, my fingers, and milk every last drop of her orgasm out of her before I’m up and ranging over her, finding her mouth with mine and kissing her desperately, my erection flexing against her stomach.

‘I need you,’ she gasps. ‘Charlie, I swear to God, if I have to wait any longer to have you inside me, I’ll combust.’

‘Me too, sweetheart. Fuck. Condom. Let me just?—’

I scrabble to get off the sofa, but she grabs my arms.

‘No. I don’t want it to be with a condom. Not with you. I’m on the pill, and I had a check-up forever ago, when my last relationship ended.’ She gazes up at me. Her eyes are still glazed. Hooded. Having this woman underneath me like this makes me feel so much I can barely breathe.

‘Me too,’ I manage shakily. ‘You sure, sweetheart?’

She nods and hooks an arm around my neck, pulling me down on top of her. Her legs wrap around me. Her mouth finds mine. She rolls her hips against me, and I can’t fucking wait anymore.