The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

Slowly I push my way down her body, pressing my lips against the hollow of her throat and along the neck of her shirt. I want to take it slow. I know I should. Then I hear her groan. Her legs pull up, and her thighs tighten against my hips. I feel the slight pump of her pelvis against my stomach. I fall on her like a hungry beast.

She still has the shorts on that she’d been wearing at the beach. I run a hand over the leg closest to the sofa back, enjoying the feel of the delicate ankle up to the fleshy, creamy thigh. Her breathing hitches when my thumb creeps under the shorts hem.

“Oh, Nate, we shouldn’t,” she says, but her movements make my thumb slip even higher until I’m touching the elastic of her panties. I pull up her shirt with my teeth and expose her smooth, flat belly to my hot gaze.

“Yes we should,” I say hoarsely and press my thumb against the dampened cotton. “Charlotte, baby, you are wet for me. Just from kissing. I know you’re aching down here.” I rub my thumb back and forth, and the cotton gets even wetter. “Let me take care of this.”

“Nate. . .” she says hesitantly.

“After, baby. We can talk after.” I slide my thumb underneath the panties. My whole hand is under the hem now. My fingers are gripping her hip, and my thumb is seeking heaven. “I can feel this little spot needs my attention. I’m going to make this up to you, baby, starting right now.”

With my free hand, I unfasten her shorts and pull them down her gorgeous thighs. She lifts her legs to help me. Whatever protestations she might have, they aren’t in control now. Her passion is driving her. She sits up, and I help her remove her shirt and then mine.

When she reaches for my waistband, I stop her. “No, this is for you, baby. This first time is all you.”

I run my hands over her chest, down the sides and up to cup her breasts. “These are bigger than I remember,” I whisper reverently. Leaning over I press my face into the valley of her cleavage. “Softer.” I kiss the plump tops that aren’t covered by the satin of her bra. “More delicious.” I tug the cup down on one side and draw her nipple into my mouth, gentle at first and then harder, until I hear her gasp and her fingers grip my head. Yeah, my baby likes it a little rough. I’d been so careful with her before because she was ill, but I knew from regularly probing my family that her health had been steady and that she had officially been in remission for years. Now her cheeks are plump, she has a slight curve in her belly, and I feel like I can do all the dirty, hot things I’d fantasized about.

I slip my fingers inside her panties, past the soft curls until I reach her plump, wet sex.

“Nathan. . .” Her words are a plea not a protest.

I suck at her breasts, first one and then the other, while my hand is busy reacquainting itself with the tender flesh between her legs. I think of torture, of BUD/S training week when the naval officers tried to kill us. I think of Somalia, Ghana, Iran. I count baseball statistics and all the times the Cubs have fucked up their chances for a pennant. I bring all of these to the forefront of my mind so I don’t come from the mere feel of her body next to mine.

“Can you tell me how you like it?” I ask. She shakes her head wordlessly, flushing a violent shade of red. I grin at her, and I can tell seeing me smile is almost—almost—as good as my fingers rubbing her pussy. My internal emotions are at war with each other. There’s regret for all the shit I put her through; resolve for how I’m going to make up for it; and craving to have her a million times and a million times more. “I’ll see for myself.”

I dip my head back to her breasts. Her thick, erect nipples are begging to be in my mouth. I slide my index finger inside, and she clenches down as if I’m some foreign invader. “Shhh.” I lean up and press my mouth against hers. “It’s just me. God, baby, you are so tight. It’s like our first time, isn’t it?”

She nods and grabs my shoulders to press me down harder on top of her. I take her mouth, demand her tongue, and as she kisses me, I press my finger all the way until my palm slaps against her outer sex. It’s all she needs, and she’s coming—clenching me, squeezing me everywhere. Her hands dig into my skin, and her breasts press against my chest as her back bows.