Forever.
“Charlotte.” I turn to look at her and she stands a little taller, straightening her shoulders. “Come here.”
She approaches me slowly, her heels clicking on the marble floor, her breathing still shaky as she makes her way to me. I grab her hand and lead her closer to the window, stopping right next to it. “Put your hands on the glass.”
A frown crosses her face at my command but she follows it, reaching out to rest her palms on the glass, turning to me as if she needs to be told what’s next.
“Face forward.” I watch as she does as she’s told, tugging on my lower lip with my fingers, heat rolling beneath my skin, making me want to shed my jacket.
So I do—tearing it off and dropping it onto the floor. The buttons at my wrists were undone from earlier at dinner and I roll my sleeves back up, my movements hurried.
Anxious.
Still Charlotte doesn’t move from the window, her hands braced on the glass.
I approach her slowly, an animal hunting his prey, her perfume lingering in the air, combined with her unmistakable unique scent. I stop just behind her, my hands resting on her shoulders, noting the slight tremble beneath my palms.
“You’re nervous.” My mouth is at her ear, her hair tickling my face.
She gives a jerky nod. “What are we doing, Perry?”
“What do you want me to do to you?” I bring my hands together just beneath her nape before I slide them down, spanning wide to run them over her curves, smashing all of those delicate pink petals on her dress. “Fuck, I should take this off.”
“No.” She shakes her head and I go still, fighting the disappointment that threatens to take over me.
Damn it, she wants me to stop. And I’ll stop. I don’t push women into fucking me, and I know one thing.
I’m sure as hell not going to force my wife.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Charlotte
Perry’s big, warm hands rest on my hips, his fingers gathering the fabric up subtly, cool air hitting the back of my thighs. My heart is beating so fast I can barely catch my breath and I know he’s waiting for me to explain my answer.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, his hands never moving from my hips.
I shake my head, noting the exhale of relief that escapes him. “If you take the dress off, I’ll basically be…naked.”
“Isn’t that the goal?” His voice is tinged with amusement, and I can’t help but smile.
“Not in front of the windows. Someone could see me,” I murmur.
“Ahh.” He steps closer, his hot body pressed against mine, and I can feel his erection nudge my ass. He’s so hard.
A tiny thrill moves through me at the realization. He’s hard for me.
Perry Constantine wants me.
His fingers keep working on my dress, gathering the fabric at my hips, lifting it up, up, up. Until I feel air brush my butt cheeks, which are exposed thanks to the nude thong I’m wearing. My hands are still on the glass and I drop one, wanting to reach back and touch him. Wanting to turn and face him so I can rub myself all over him.
Would he let me?
“Keep your hands on the window,” he says, his deep voice settling right between my legs, making me throb. I return my hand to where it was, bracing myself for what he might do, knowing he’ll most likely draw it out.
It’s torture, and he knows it.
I think he likes it too.
He slips his hands beneath the bunched fabric, his fingers tracing the waistband of my thong, making me jolt. I drop my head, my eyes closed, a whimper escaping me when he slips a finger beneath the thin strap at my hip, barely grazing my skin.
“Let’s take these off,” he whispers, his hands back on my hips, gently pushing. The fabric slides down, falling to my thighs until it gets stuck there. He bends forward ever so slightly, giving them a gentle shove and they fall to my knees, hesitating for only a moment until they’re at my feet, crumpled on top of my shoes.
I’m about to step out of them when his fingers press into my flesh, making me go still.
“Leave them there. Spread your legs.”
I do as he asks, stepping my feet out wider. My panties slide up with the movement, banding around my ankles, making a vulgar yet sexy display. I look like I’m trapped by my nude thong, my ass on display for my fiancé, my legs trembling with anticipation.
He hasn’t done anything to me yet and I’m so wet, the inside of my thighs is coated. I just want him to touch me.
I’m desperate for it.
Perry’s hands fall from my body when he takes a few backward steps, the skirt dropping back into place, covering me. I’m standing there with my hands on the glass and my legs still spread, my sheer panties stretched between my ankles. I can feel his gaze on me, heavy and hot, and I squirm a little, wishing he’d come closer to me.
“Jesus, look at you.” His deep, appreciative voice curls through me, making me warm. “You’re hot as fuck.”
“You haven’t even touched me.” Frustration has me feeling bold and I glance over my shoulder to find he’s watching me, his expression dark.
Hungry.
“I thought we were looking at the view.” His gaze is on me, not the city spread out before us. “You want me to touch you?”
I nod.
“Are you wet?”
Shock courses through my blood, his words making me wetter. No one has ever asked me that question before.
“Well?” he urges when I haven’t answered him.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Touch yourself and show me.”
What?
I’ve never done that before either. Not for someone else.
My sexual experience is extremely limited. He might not get all of my firsts, but he’s definitely getting plenty.
He slowly approaches me again, so close I could touch him if I wanted to.
But I keep my hands on the glass, just as he said.
“Are you shy, Charlotte?”
My gaze meets his, noting the storminess in his blue eyes. I decide to be honest with him. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to touch you? See if you’re wet?”
Relief floods me and I nod. “Please.”
His smile is wicked. “Since you asked so nicely.”
He surrounds me from behind, his arms coming around me, one hand flat against my lower belly while the other slips beneath my skirt. His mouth is at my throat, breathing heavily against me as he slides his fingers over my mound, pausing there.
“You’re bare.”
A secret smile plays upon my lips. “I went to a spa yesterday and got the full wax treatment.”
He curses under his breath.
“Are you sore?” His fingers slip down, teasing between my lower lips.
I furiously shake my head, wanting more.
He slides those fingers deeper, sinking them into me, barely brushing my clit. A choked sound leaves me when he removes his hand, frustration coursing through my veins, making me want to stomp my foot in protest.
“Very wet.” He holds his two fingers up in front of my face, my juices glistening on his fingertips. “Want to taste?”
All the breath leaves my body and I lean back into him, nodding.
His fingers come to my mouth slowly, and a sigh leaves me when he slips them between my parted lips. I lick them, tasting myself, and he sinks them further into my mouth, until I’m sucking on them, rubbing my ass against his erection, not even aware of what I’m doing.