“Would you like to touch me, Charlie?” He’s busy looking at the lavender lace against my skin, the demi-cup bra that barely covers me. It’s fancy and impractical and I love it. His tongue licks at the corner of his mouth. “Do you even need to ask that question?” “You’re not the only one that likes words,” I say. His eyes flick up to mine and hold, a flash of awareness that flares and fades like a single firework in an inky-black night sky. “Yeah, Nova. I’d like to touch you.” He pushes off the back of the couch until we’re nose to nose, his chest pressed tight to mine. One of his hands finds
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