Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(114)

She must’ve felt it too. Her eyes rolled back, her body arching, more desperate noises, and those tremors, the same I’d felt against my tongue now fluttered around my dick. The knowledge of her imminent orgasm made me lose my steady pace and I thrust harder.

Charlotte’s body slid an inch higher on the desk and I anchored her in place by grabbing her upper thighs. I used the convenient placement to slide my thumb back and forth over her clit. “You need it, don’t you, angel? You need it so bad. You need this cock, just like I need this cunt.”

She nodded frantically, her chest heaving, and she came with a stifled scream, her back lifting off the desk, her throat fully exposed. Leaning over her, I latched on to her, biting her neck, her shoulder, the need building higher until I was held in suspension, weightless, above her, with her, and I came, and it felt—she felt, this felt, we felt—so fucking good. Right. Perfect. Vital. Necessary.

My body bowed and I released her thighs so I could wrap her in my arms. I swore against her neck, kissing it, my lungs tight and aching with the need to breathe. I resisted, determined to stop time and be here, sharing this with her. Wanting share every fucking part of myself with this woman, wanting her to take it and want it just as badly as I wanted and needed her.

I needed oxygen. I inhaled, the scent of her body pulled into my lungs, and I held her tight.

“Hank—you’re—I can’t breathe.” She released a breathless laugh, her fingers twisting in and tugging at my hair.

I hesitated, but then I relaxed my arms, knowing this desire to keep her for myself—naked, beneath me, just like this—was foolish. But still . . . I wanted it.

“Holy mackerel,” she said, and I heard the smile in the words.

Never wanting to miss a single one of her smiles, I lifted my head and her bright gaze hooked into mine.

“Hank Weller. Sex god.”

Since I couldn’t yet think, I smirked, saying nothing.

She sighed, her gaze moving over me, and the intensity of her assessment, the emotion behind it, made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

“You are so . . .” she began, then sighed again, leaving the thought unfinished.

“What?” I smiled, though my ears felt hot beneath her continued scrutiny. “Perfect? Irresistible?” I teased, hoping to dispel the sudden discomfort under my left rib when my mind filled in the blank she’d left open with loveable.

I tensed at the thought.

“Filthy,” she finally said, her lips twisting with humor.

I laughed despite the swelling in my lungs, despite the nature of the word. She’d said filthy as though it were a compliment, the highest praise.

“I love how you talk to me when we’re—you know. How do you know how to do that? Did you take lessons?” Wiggling beneath me as though to get comfortable, her stare lit with delight.

I love how you talk to me . . .

The sound of the L-word brought the room sharply into focus and I abruptly remembered where we were. The chances of Charlotte finding a comfortable position on top of Cletus Winston’s desk were slim to none.

“No lessons. Actually . . .” Frowning, I gingerly pushed off her and discarded the condom in a trash can beneath the desk. I then pulled up my pants with one hand while reaching for and taking her fingers with my other hand. I helped her straighten, ensuring her forehead didn’t bump against the hutch when she sat up.

When she sat up from the desk.

The desk we’d just had sex on.

Cletus’s desk.

“Actually what?” she asked, grabbing my shirt and hooking her legs around my thighs, not allowing me to get too far. That’s when I realized I still had my shirt on. Meanwhile, Charlotte was incredibly naked.

In Cletus Winston’s office.

At the auto shop.

I scratched the back of my neck, my ears burning hotter. “Uh, what were we talking about?”

“You taking dirty-talking lessons. Fess up, who’s your teacher?”

“Oh. That’s right.” I gave my head a shake, the weight of what we’d just done added to the pressure beneath my ribs. “No, I’ve never done that before. Except with you.”

Her head tilted to the side and she caught my eyes again. “Never done what?”

“Dirty talk.”

“Are you serious?” Her mouth dropped open. “You’re so good at it. It’s like you’re saying everything I want to hear. It’s so sexy. I think you could get me off just with your words.”

I felt my lips want to curve at her statement, but it didn’t last. My thoughtlessness finally caught up with me, along with recklessness and carelessness and selfishness. The ache of guilt clogged my windpipe.

“We’ll have to try that sometime.” I forced out the words and leaned forward to kiss her gently on the forehead—an apology—adding roughly, “You make it easy.”

I lowered my eyes to some spot between us but couldn’t bring anything into focus. This was the problem. She made it too easy. She made it so easy, I’d lost all self-awareness and fucked her in this office. Is this how I treat the woman I lo—

I winced, a reactive flicker of fear making it hard to think, and I amended the direction of my thoughts. I cared deeply about this woman. Deeply. Deeply. How deeply was not up for discussion.

But if I cared deeply for her, how could I let myself lose control like that? I wanted to bang my head against the wall. She deserved so much better, so much—