cracked glass, rainbows spinning out across the room. I vaguely register the sound of foil ripping, the shuffle of fabric being moved out of the way. Charlie tugs my underwear to the side and holds it there with his thumb, then pushes into me with a groaning, growling burst of breath. “Fuck,” he says. He holds himself still against me, his hands tight around my hips. “Fuck,” he says again. I’m all sensation. A blissed-out, half-delirious laugh tumbles out of me. He feels so good. Exactly right. Exactly what I’ve been needing. I reach back and grab his hand on my hip, needing to feel him.
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