Chapter Twenty-Seven
Feedback: the resonance loop created when a microphone or guitar pickup is placed too close to a highly amplified speaker, often creating a howling or screeching sound
Charlie
I leap across my hotel room at the soft knock on the door, opening it just enough for Damian to slip inside. Once the door is shut and the safety latch closed, I grip his shirt with both hands and pull his mouth to mine.
There’s the barest second of hesitation, but his lips part, allowing my tongue into his mouth, and his hands fall to my hips, pulling me close. He’s tentative at first, letting me lead, but as the kiss continues, he starts asserting himself, pushing his tongue into my mouth rather than just stroking mine while it’s inside his. His fingers tighten on my sides, digging in enough so that I know he’s into it.
When I start moving us toward the bed, he tears his mouth from mine, his lips red and puffy, his dark eyes gleaming behind his glasses in the soft lamplight. “Hey, Charlie.” He quirks an eyebrow, but keeps shuffling his feet, his hands still gripping my hips, letting me lead him by my hold on his shirt.
I smile up at him. “Hi, Damian.”
My plan was to turn him so that he’d sit on the bed first and then I’d climb onto him. But when I try to turn him, he won’t let me. Instead my thighs sink into the plush mattress and bedding behind me. I resist for just a second, but really, why bother? This is what I want. Him, me, in my bed. Who cares if I’m on top or he is to start?
Even so, I don’t let go when I fall back onto the bed, pulling him with me. He catches himself on his forearms with a low chuckle, the sexy one that always sends heat licking down my spine to pool between my legs.
His mouth is on mine again, and I hook a leg around his thigh, rocking my hips up to him. He sinks his weight onto me, letting me feel the hard ridge now pressing between my legs. Letting go of the front of his shirt, I slide my hands around to his back, slipping them under the hem of his shirt, rucking it up over my wrists as I rake my short fingernails over the bare skin of his back.
He arches in response, his mouth pulling away from mine, his hips pressing into me even more. I bring my other leg up, wrapping them around him completely, and he groans.
When his eyes open, they’re dark and hazy with lust. His mouth is firm and his nostrils flare as he looks down at me. Without a word, he rears back, dragging me with him since I’m hanging onto him with my legs. He yanks my top above my breasts, pulls the cups of my bra down, and immediately pulls one hard nipple into his mouth.
With a cry, I arch up into his mouth, my fingers finding their way into his hair, pulling strands free as I loosen his ponytail. His hands make their way to the waistband of my leggings, tugging them down as much as he can with my legs still wrapped around him. Rocking himself against me where we’re still pressed together, his fingers slide over the bare skin he’s revealed, palming the cheeks of my ass, exploring as far between my legs as he can reach. But with the way we’re wrapped together, his fingertips barely graze the area around my opening.
He growls and pulls back, releasing my nipple with a pop. Still within the circle of my legs, he takes a half step back, pulling my ass off the bed. But his hands are there, supporting me. That is until his fingers curl into the waistband of my leggings again and yank the fabric down. Threads pop as they move over my parted thighs, and I drop my feet to the floor. Kneeling down, he makes quick work of stripping them from my ankles, scooping one arm under my knees to pull them all the way off.
Instead of letting go of my legs like I expect him to, he folds them back toward my chest, his hands sliding down again to support me where I hang off the edge of the bed. Then his tongue parts my labia, slowly licking up my center.
He hums, like he’s just eaten the most decadent chocolate cake, and does it again.
I’m lost to sensation, letting him take my weight, my hands clawing for purchase in the comforter as he licks and sucks and nibbles, playing me effortlessly, taking me to the peak again and again before finally tipping me over the crest and bringing me down the other side.
Shuddering with the aftereffects of a stellar orgasm, I come back to myself slowly, only realizing that my legs have wrapped themselves around his head when he gently sets them on the floor one at a time.
Skimming his hands up the side of my body, he leans over me, slides his hands beneath my back, and scoots me up on the bed all the way before gifting me a luscious kiss, all lips and tongue and Damian.
All my senses are swamped with him. Strands of his hair tickle my cheek, and the soft cotton of his T-shirt brushes across my nipples.
But I need his skin. Moaning into his mouth, I try to communicate my desire to touch him, but with his hands still under my shoulders, I can’t get my arms down to his waist to pull his shirt up. Frustrated, I make another sound, this one more groan, again swallowed by his kiss.
I reach for the only parts of him I can get to, the fabric above his shoulders, and start to pull, bunching it in my hands, hoping I can pull it up far enough to touch his skin.
With a chuckle that rumbles through his chest, he stands and takes off his glasses before pulling his shirt over his head. “Better?”
Licking my lips, I nod, devouring him with my eyes. “Much.” My voice is hoarse. “Pants too.”
With a sexy smile, he undoes his belt, his eyes never leaving mine. He lifts his chin, indicating my shirt and bra still wrapped around my upper torso. As he bends to get rid of the rest of his clothes, I sit up and do the same, so that when he climbs back into bed, we’re skin to skin, nothing between us.
His hand traces down the curve of my body, stroking almost reverently as he kisses me deeply. Even though he’s hard and ready, hissing when I grip his shaft and swipe my thumb over the pearly fluid gathering at the tip, he takes his time kissing me, caressing me, worshiping me with his hands and his lips.
When he finally sits back and rolls on the condom before taking his place between my thighs, I’m more than ready for him, squirming and pleading with him to please please please get inside me.
He gives me that sexy little grin of his that’s so devastating as he covers me with his body, lines himself up, and presses inside. My hips rise to meet him without my conscious direction, and he sinks in to the root on the first slow thrust. Wrapping my arms around his back, I trace the columns of muscle down to his ass, gripping him as he thrusts into me again.
His eyes hold mine as he moves inside me, holding me captive to their unfathomable depths. Once upon a time, he would whisper how he loves me, how he can’t get enough of me, how beautiful I am. Commanding me to open my eyes when I would close them, swept away by the sensations he’d draw from my body.
Now, though, he’s silent, his lips pressed together in a firm line. I can’t tell if he’s suppressing the words or if he no longer feels that way.
But if he doesn’t feel that way anymore, why are we doing this? Again?
Unwilling to let him see the confusion and conflict in my eyes, I close them, turning my head to the side, squeezing him with my legs and scraping his back with my nails once more, letting out a low sound, hoping to spur him on.
He grunts, but still doesn’t say anything. Not even to ask me to open my eyes. But he picks up his pace, his hips pistoning faster, harder. Soft lips land on the skin below my ear, then trace a path along my jaw. Turning my head, I open for him when he finds my lips, acquiescing to his exploration of my mouth.
I’d hoped, last time, that this meant something. But his continued silence, the disconnect between what we had before and what we have now, cuts me, slicing through my rib cage and piercing my heart. Where I should feel happy and loved, all I feel is a sharp pain that the slide of his tongue along mine, the delicious friction between my legs does nothing to soothe. I want it to mean something, but I’m afraid that it doesn’t. Not anymore.
He moves even faster, and I know he’s nearing his climax. Breaking the kiss, his rhythm gets choppy, staccato, and he plunges into me as deep as he can, holding himself there as he loses control.
The final thrusts of his orgasm set off my own, but even as I ride out the pulsing waves, I keep my eyes tightly closed, fighting the burn of tears. The last thing I want is for Damian to see me cry.