fell back, too tired to fight her off if he tried. Through bleary eyes, he watched her use him. Watched her take her time, hands on his chest, body rocking back and forth, face broken apart by pleasure.
She was lost in her own world, and it stirred him deeply to watch it. Too intent on hiding himself away, he’d not watched it before, and now he was damning himself for all he had missed.
He reached his hand out and ran his finger down the side of her face, stopping at her mouth to trace her wet lips. She parted her mouth and took his finger in, grazing her teeth along the length of his index, sucking him the way she’d suck his cock if he’d allowed it.
God, he wanted it.
And slowly she rocked, sucking his finger, guiding his other hand to her pussy. He rubbed her clit as she moved, as she fucked him, as she came closer to the edge. He swallowed hard, feeling his skin heat as she got off on him, riding through her orgasm.
She was so fucking sweet.
He felt his cock jerk inside her, and he groaned through the release as he stared at her wet parted lips, envisioning them wrapped around his dick.
“You are so fucking perfect, Charlotte Miles,” he declared. “You’re the sun in my world, dove. Everything’s dark until you’re near, and suddenly it’s blinding light.”
She dropped her head down to kiss him. “I love you, Conor,” she whispered.
His eyes felt raw. He didn’t understand why he was so emotional all of a sudden. But fucking like that, watching her come apart, watching the pleasure in her face, did something to him. It was getting to him, piercing through his walls like dynamite.
It hurt.
The dynamite hurt when it hit those walls and burst through his apathy.
Sometime later, after she washed herself and slipped into her night gown, she lay on her side, her back to his front. He cradled her, unable to keep his hands to himself.
He kissed along her shoulder and up her soft neck, stopping at her ear to whisper, “I want a dog, dove.”
He heard the smile in Charlotte’s voice. “Ah, I see the little rebel has gotten to you.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“I’m no fool.”
“Come on, pup.”
“Dogs are a big responsibility.”
“It’ll be good for her. She wants to tame one.”
“She wants a Pitbull, Conor. That dog’ll tame her.”
“Little Dozer is out there somewhere, wanting a home and a little girl to love.”
“This isn’t like that game she plays. She can’t throw food at the animal and have unlimited loyalty. It takes work, and she’s young, and she might think Dozer’s cool for five seconds, and then we’re cleaning up the poo and washing her and walking her –”
“If it makes Pen smile, I’d be happy to do all that work myself, and you can watch on with your cold little heart.”
Charlotte laughed, spinning around to face him. “Oh, God. Don’t make me the bad guy.”
“I hardly understood that.”
“Am I slurring?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m so tired, and it’s so late. Waking up is going to hurt.”
“We have caffeine for that.”
“But what about my pussy?”
He let out a groan. “Say pussy again.”
“Pussy.”
“So hot, dove.”
“It’s sore.”
“It’s your fault. You ran from me.”
She laughed again, and it went straight to his heart. Her laughter was infectious. He’d die happy just thinking of it in his final moments.
He kissed her lips, his hand roaming at the same time beneath her naughty little gown. He swore she wore it just to drive him mad. Everything she wore drove him mad with lust. He’d spent the evening mentally counting down the minutes to hold her like this.
He didn’t like her absence at the table. It startled him how he’d endured years without her, and now, so soon after he’d left prison, he couldn’t handle her away.
“You never came back down,” he uttered just then, skimming his finger along her panty line. “After you put Penny to bed, you stayed up here.”
“You guys were bonding,” she explained. “I didn’t want to intrude. Then you went for a drive. I hope it was good to be out.”
After the heavy discussion between him and Jem, they’d dropped the subject of Locke and moved on to lighter topics. Dominic had advised Thames in prison to shun all situations that made his body zing with that familiar adrenaline, and the topic of Locke was an adrenaline fuelled trigger. He still felt wired from it, and because of that, he needed to steer clear thinking about