Page 56 of Threads That Bind Us
He hesitates for just a moment, like he’s waiting for me to balk or pull back. And then his lips are on mine again.
The fire he ignited at that table is rekindled a thousand times over as he kisses me. I pull my hands from his to grasp the back of his neck and force myself closer to him. My lips open on a gasp as he moves his hand to my thigh, slipping under the slit of my dress and yanking my leg up around his hip. Tongues and teeth and lips meet, both of our breaths heavy and heartbeats loud as he kisses down my jaw and lifts me, pushing me onto the dining table.
My legs fall open for him on instinct and he stands between them, kissing down my neck and chest until my back arches and I have to lean on my hands to support myself.
“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers against my skin, teeth nipping the swell of my breasts and the slope of my shoulder. “Every goddamn day, but especially today. Beautiful and confident and charming and brilliant.”
I can’t form coherent sentences.Yes,andCharlie,andpleaseslip out of me on moans and heavy breaths as one hand slips further up my leg and the other pulls down the strap of my dress. I can feel how wet I am already. My hips lift, seeking his touch, and he pulls away to stare down at me. His eyes are wild,hair mussed and cheeks flushed, and there’s no denying he needs me as much as I need him. It’s intoxicating in a way I’ve never felt, in a way that’s addicting.
“I want to touch you,” he whispers, his fingers tracing the slit in my dress, hiked up so high it’s nearly exposing me. “Can I touch you, Gwen?”
I tilt my head back, reveling in his voice, the feeling of his fingers on my body.
“I need to hear you say it, mia filettatura,” he says, drawing my eyes back to him. I nod frantically, and his hand grips my thigh harder.
“Yes, please touch me,” I beg, my chest heaving.
His eyes trace my figure once more, disheveled and needy, before he leans down and grips my hips.
“Arms,” he says, his voice gravelly, and I latch myself around him. My mouth is on him before he can say anything else, and he carries me to our room as our teeth and tongues clash, consuming each other.
He lowers me slowly onto the bed, crawling on top of me as his mouth seeks out mine, like it’s impossible to separate. The desperation is mutual, our hands mapping every inch of skin, mine pulling at the button down shirt still tucked into his pants.
When he moves backward to stand at the foot of the bed, I think it’s to catch his breath. He unbuttons his shirt, and when I sit up to help, he takes a step back.
“Take off your dress, Gwen.”
There’s something in his tone that’s wrong. Off. The look in his eyes has changed. Still hungry, still dark and filled with lust. But there’s something calculated in his expression, like he’s thinking three steps ahead.
But I don’t want controlled, commanding Charlie. I want him to let go under my touch. I want him out of his mind with pleasure, like I know I’ll be.
I tilt my head at him, watching him unbuckle his belt before I reach out and stop him.
“What just happened?” I ask, pulling his hand away from his waistband.
A flicker of something vulnerable passes over his face before he reverts tothatlook. It reminds me of when we sat in the living room of the pig farm with Emily and strategized Kayden’s torture. Or of how he looks when he’s teaching me how to aim a gun.
“I want to see you, to touch you,” he says, and even though I know that’s true, it feels like that’s not thewholetruth. I shift up onto my knees, pulling the strap of my dress back over my shoulder.
“You’re lying,” I say, tugging at his hand and searching his gaze. “I mean, there’s something else. Something changed.”
He’s frozen solid, his expression a mask. My whole body is on edge, but there’s a feeling in my chest I have to listen to.
“Nothing…” he stumbles a little, taking a step back. “Nothing changed. I want you. You said you want me. If you’ve changed your mind, we can stop.”
His voice sounds almost robotic, and my chest clenches.
“It feels likeyou’vechanged your mind,” I say, trying to keep the accusation out of my tone. Charlie opens his mouth to argue, but I stop him. “Your whole demeanor shifted as soon as you stood up. Like you started planning out how you were going to touch me.”
His brow furrows, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he can find an answer.
“I guess I was doing that. But I want to be what you need.”
I shift so I’m sitting cross-legged, aware that my neckline is pulled low and my hair is disheveled, but I can’t keep touching him without understanding.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” I say, patting the space next to me on the bed.
He looks a little bewildered for a second, but finally sits down next to me.