Oh, she’ll make me suffer before letting me under that skirt.
Inevitably.
My Charlotte holds tight to her principles, insisting on “cleaning” for at least an hour before she’ll let me feed her. Before she’ll let me throw her down on whatever surface is available and orgasm her until she’s speaking in gibberish. I guess I should be relieved that her cleaning only includes perusing my old medical files. If she ever tried to scrub my shower, I think I’d finally lose my temper.
I drum my fingers on the wall another moment, squinting at Charlotte’s building, as if I’ll be able to see her through the steel and glass and concrete. Having this girl in my life is a constant exercise in self-control. I want more. I want all of her. Every second of her time, every ounce of her trust, all manner of promises. Commitments. Everything. But she keeps me at arm’s length—and hell, she has good reason, considering what happened in her past. Not to mention, my ultimate goal is to wear her down, little by little. Make her give in, realize I’m not a tyrannical asshole (most of the time) and accept the help I so desperately want to give her. That’s going to take a lot longer than three days, however, so here I am. Swimming laps at the rooftop pool, trying to hold on to my sanity that hangs by a very thin thread.
When I remember the other reason I’m here, the muscles in my shoulders bunch tight and I shove off the wall, pacing the edge of the secluded pool. I’m preparing to dive into the cool depth of water to swim more laps, but I stop short when my phone beeps.
It’s probably the hospital, though I don’t have a surgery scheduled until two o’clock and it’s only verging on lunch time. When I pick up the phone and look at the screen, I’m surprised to find it’s Charlotte texting me instead. My pulse skips and turns thick, my loins tightening. She’s never initiated a text conversation with me before and my ridiculous heart is pounding in an erratic rhythm, wanting to believe this is a sign of progress.
Charlotte: Hi there. Cut anyone open today?
Lips tugging, I respond.
Dean: Not yet. Lung transplant at two.
C: Dreamy sighing.
D: I’d like to see that dreamy sigh in person.
C: You will. Tonight. But…major confession. I miss you. A lot. It’s kind of annoying.
Jesus, my ribcage is closing in on my heart, choking it. She misses me. It’s such an unexpected gift, my arm has a hard time holding up the phone momentarily. There is no way in hell I’ll be able to wait until tonight now that I know she’s thinking of me, too. Enough to admit it, which is nothing small for Charlotte. I should probably take this blessing, this proof of progress, and be happy. But contentment with half measures is not in my DNA, so I take a picture of the secluded pool where I’m swimming and send it to her.
D: I’m here for the next hour. Come meet me. Only a few blocks from you.
C: It’s never been more obvious that I’m seeing an eccentric millionaire.
C: I can’t just ditch work to come swimming…can I?
D: Yes. Doctor’s orders. I’ll write you a note.
C: I don’t have a bathing suit.
D: Good.
I send her the address, along with the keypad code for the lobby elevator, so she’ll be able to reach the rooftop—and then I wait, my appetite for her growing more ravenous by the second. The butler emerges from the glass door at the far end of the roof to ask if I need anything and I order champagne for Charlotte, seltzer for me, since I have a surgery this afternoon. It takes her twenty minutes to arrive, but my God, she’s worth every second of the wait. Dressed in a tight, red top and jeans with high heels, it’s a wonder she made it to me without being stolen right off the street. The best part, though, is the way she smiles and flushes when she sees me.
“You didn’t warn me that you’d be in a bathing suit. European cut and everything,” Charlotte says, tucking her long hair behind one ear. “Wow. It’s just…I haven’t seen you without clothes on.”
“Yes,” I respond, approaching my girl. Cupping her jaw and tilting her face up, the simple act of authority making her eyes glaze over. “I’m too impatient to bother with them when it’s time to be inside you.”
“Well…” She wets her lips, drawing my rapt attention. “Maybe you could try bothering next time, sir? I like the w-way you look.”
Slowly, I press my thumb into her mouth and she moans, sucking on the digit, swaying slightly in her heels. The butler chooses that moment to return with our drinks and Charlotte starts, trying to pull back, but I advance on her, keeping my thumb in her mouth, pulling her close with the opposite arm around her hips. And after a few seconds of wide-eyed shock, the tension ebbs from her body and she lets me draw it in and out, in and out, her complexion growing more and more rosy, her tight body rubbing against mine.