I woke up sweating. A familiar wetness prickling to life between my legs.

Again. I was hungry for Charlie again.

I squeezed them together, my breath catching at the bolt of pleasure that ricocheted through me despite the soreness there. How many times had Charlie and I fucked over the past week? Two dozen? Three?

Blinking back the darkness, I saw him stirring beside me. He was on his stomach. He turned his head to face me, a low groan rumbling in his throat. The barely-there light from the open windows caught on the perfect slopes of his shoulders and back. His skin looked baby smooth. Startling in its innocence.

Eyes still closed, he murmured, “You awake?”

“Yeah,” I whispered, pushing off the covers. “I’m hot. Bothered, too.”

Charlie rolled over and took my hand.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I breathed.

He guided it to his groin. Wrapped both our hands around his erection. He was warm and soft. How I felt inside my chest and between my legs.

“Makes two of us,” he said. His voice had gravel in it.

My desire blared. I could smell it. Smell my arousal and his skin and sex. A scent that clung to the walls of my bedroom.

Still I wanted him. Badly. So badly I didn’t know what to do with myself.

“You feeling okay?” he said, tightening our grip on his cock. “Or are you sore?”

“I’m sore,” I said. “But I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me make it better.”

He released my hand. The sheets sighed when he reached down to part my legs. He hadn’t opened his eyes. But he parted me with his fingers easily, slid between my lips with erotic, careful intention. Touching me slowly. Thumbing my clit, stroking it lazily.

He groaned again. “I fucking love how wet you get for me, honey.”

“I love how you pay attention,” I said. “To what I want. To my body.”

I love you. I wanted to tell him. But the timing didn’t feel right. I wasn’t sure why, but I went with it.

Charlie’s pinkie was playing with my asshole. The muscles in my back tightened. My nipples prickled to life. Sensation spiraled low in my belly. He kept touching me. Kept loving me just how I liked it.

He ducked his head and took my nipple in his mouth, his beard scratching my breast. I arched into him, my eyes fluttering shut.

Oh, God, I was dying.

I reached for him, digging my fingers into the muscle of his chest. I was being needy. I was emotional. Things that had sent Michael running.

But instead of running, Charlie rolled over on top of me. Instead of running, he kissed my mouth. Kissed a trail of fire down my neck, making me moan. His tongue worked at the skin of my chest, teeth catching on my collarbone. His mouth moved over my breasts and my belly.

Instead of running he held me. Hands on my hips, head between my legs. He kissed the sinew that connected my leg to my groin. Then he nosed at my slit, inhaling me. Making me see stars behind my closed eyelids.

His tongue took up the work his thumb had done. He ate me out like we had all the time in the world. Teeth on my clit. Tongue. Then teeth again. His tongue slipped inside me, a slow, lingering thrust that had me digging my hands into his thick hair.

My legs flexed. I felt my orgasm coming. Heat and blood and need coiled between my legs, ready to burst loose at any moment. I was crying out now, writhing, but he held me steady, his grip on my hips firm.

He pressed his tongue to my clit. Circled it once, clockwise.

I came, loudly, my legs clamping together. I shattered, and the whole world seemed to shatter with me. Everything I knew and everything I wanted.

“Charlie,” I cried.

He moved up over me, tangling our fingers. Holding my hand. Keeping me from getting pulled under by the rush.

His dick pressed into my belly.

“I’m here,” he said. “Hold on to me. I’m not going anywhere, Jane.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and held on for dear life.

It took a while for the orgasm to fade. When it did, I let out a breath.

Charlie was making a mess of me. But he didn’t seem to mind that. In fact, he preferred me this way. Shaking and sweaty in his arms. Begging for more.

I opened my eyes. Even in the darkness, his were very blue. So blue they seemed to glow.

I wanted to own him the way he’d just owned me. Give him what he’d given me.

I lifted my head to kiss him. Then I reached down and wrapped my hand around his cock.

“My turn,” I said.

“Jane,” he said. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to. Can you hold yourself up?”

Charlie looked at me for a beat. Then he planted his hands on either side of my shoulders and lifted himself up in a half-plank.

“Good boy,” I said, wiggling my way down to his groin.

I was still holding his dick. Cupping his balls with my other hand, I gave them a gentle squeeze at the same moment I took him in my mouth.

It was his turn to cry out. A short, rough sound I felt in my chest.

I wanted him to fuck my mouth. So I reached for his ass and pressed him toward me. Pressed him further into my mouth. Then I pulled back a little. Pushed him to thrust. Pulled back.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Jesus, Jane—”

His hips began to move on their own now, rolling steadily so that his dick met with the back of my throat at the end of every thrust. I was choking on him, barely able to breathe.

I wanted more.

“I’m gonna come,” he said.

I squeezed his ass in reply.

Another thrust. I closed my eyes.

He thrust again, harder this time. Deeper. He went still and came. Hot spurts of cum that slid down my throat. I could taste him, that musky saltiness that was so specifically Charlie.

I wanted all of him. Everything he’d give me.

Ducking down to nuzzle his cheek against mine, he pressed his lips to my lips and gave me a long, lingering kiss. Then he rolled over, collapsing on his side of the bed.

Because we had sides now. His and mine.

I laid my head on his shoulder. Let out a sigh and closed my eyes.

“Time to get some sleep, princess,” he murmured. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. My fundraiser. I was ridiculously excited that two of my favorite things were converging: female empowerment and Charlie. The past few days had flown by—a blur of work and whiskey and sex—that it’d sort of crept up on me.

Now it felt like Christmas Eve. The best day ever was only a few hours away.

“Promise me Charles Redford the billionaire won’t make an appearance,” I teased.

Another pause. This one was long enough to make me think something was wrong. I opened my eyes. Charlie was looking up at the ceiling.

“He won’t,” he said at last, turning his head to look at me. “That guy is gone. I’m just Charlie from here on out, okay?”

I grinned in the darkness. “Okay.”

Downstairs, the tables were set and music was playing. My apartment sparkled like a jewel box.

I’d hosted fundraisers tens of times before. Had attended hundreds more. But tonight I was nervous. Mostly because I was bringing a bloke to an event for the first time in ages. A bloke I really, really liked. I wanted everything to be perfect for Charlie. I wanted to look good for him, because I knew he was going to look good—so fucking good—dressed up for me.

I’d already had a dress selected for the evening. But now I just wasn’t feeling it—as beautiful as it was, I was in the mood to wear something a little more fashion forward. So I went to my closet and started trying on some of my favorites.

The one I ended up picking wasn’t the fanciest, or the most glamorous. It was the one I felt the most like me. A raspberry silk cocktail dress. Lanvin. Halter neck. It was the tiniest bit slinky, especially with the pair of black stiletto sandals I’d paired it with.

Checking my reflection in the full-length mirror beside my bed, I smiled. Then I shivered. I had a funny feeling about tonight.

Probably just excitement. All my favorite people would be gathered in one place. My family, friends. Peers.

Charlie.

I turned my head in the mirror. I needed earrings—something simple but pretty. I headed to my bureau and dug mum’s simple pearl studs out of the top drawer. Dad had given them to her as an anniversary present.

I headed back to the mirror and used it to put the earrings on. Fingers still at my ear, I glanced to my left in the mirror and caught Charlie’s eyes.

My stomach dropped. The way a plane does when it hits turbulence. Suddenly. Sharply.

He was wearing a tuxedo. Bowtie, crisp white shirt. Black jacket with satin lapels.

All that black and white made the color in his eyes stand out to painful effect.

The look in them—oh, I felt it in my knees. Fire inside that icy blue like I’d never seen before. Softness and stillness.

Hurt.

Like the way I looked made him bleed.

My skin tingled. I resisted the urge to shiver again.

He tried on a tight smile.

“Jane. You look…” The gravel in his voice was back. His eyes went unfocused. “So beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning around to face him. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I ran them up and down the sides of my legs. Charlie’s nostrils flared. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He rolled back his shoulders and let out a breath. Why did I get the feeling he was upset?

“You okay?” I asked.

His eyes flicked over my body. “How the fuck could I be okay when you look like that?”

I looked at him. “Charlie.”

“Saying my name is only making it worse.”

“Do you want me to change?” I said, only half-joking.

His eyes went soft. His lips moved into a small smile.

“No,” he said. “I never want you to change, honey. Promise me you won’t.”

I am so in love with you, I wanted to say.

“I promise,” I said instead.

He held up the bottle of Jameson I hadn’t even noticed he was carrying. “I knew I’d be needing this tonight.”

“You afraid to talk to people?” I teased.

Charlie wrapped his hand—he had these big, perfect hands—around the cap and twisted it loose with a crack.

“I’m afraid of you,” he said. He held out the bottle to me. “How much I want you.”

I took it. Met his gaze. “Shameless.”

“Honest.”

I tipped back the bottle and took a pull of whiskey. Somewhere along the way, the taste of it had begun to remind me of Charlie. Of dark nights and bright mornings spent in his arms.

My clit throbbed. How the hell would I make it through tonight without combusting?

“I don’t know whether this is helping or hurting,” I said, holding the back of my hand to my mouth.

“Me neither.” Charlie took a longer pull than I had. “Me neither, princess.”

But the way he said it—the sharpness of his blue eyes—made me think it hurt. Badly.