Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

Item 51

He groaned, blinking slowly as his eyes struggled to adjust. “What time is it?”

I bit back a smile. “Late enough that we missed our flight.”

That got his attention. He sat up fast, hair a total mess. “What?”

“I rebooked it,” I said calmly. “We leave tonight.”

He stared at me for a second, then dropped back onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh. “You let me sleep through an international flight.”

“You needed it.”

He cracked one eye open, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” I muttered, tugging the blanket off him. “Now get up. We’ve got time for food before we head to the airport.”

Charles stretched lazily, then sat up and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m gonna take a shower,” he mumbled, glancing at me with a smirk. “Come with me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I already showered.”

He didn’t skip a beat. “Take another one.”

I laughed, standing up and smoothing the front of my blouse. “I already did my hair and makeup.”

He leaned back on his elbows, eyes trailing over me with an infuriating level of amusement. “I need some sex babe. And its your fault we didn’t have crazy drunk sex last night.”

“Oh, please,” I scoffed, grabbing my phone. “Only you were drunk.”

He pointed at me with a lazy grin. “Exactly. You weren’t drunk because you made a bad decision.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying not to smile. “Sorry for being responsible.”

He smirked. “You should try being irresponsible more often. Preferably with me. In the shower.”

“Dream on, Leclerc.”

Charles clearly wasn’t planning on giving up. He stood, walked over to me with that determined glint in his eyes, and before I could react, he scooped me up effortlessly.

“Charles!” I protested, laughing as he carried me toward the bathroom. “Put me down.”

“Nope,” he said, far too pleased with himself.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, still laughing as he set me down inside the bathroom.

He turned on the shower and the bathroom quickly began to fill with warm steam.

Before I could escape, he started tugging at the hem of my shirt, already peeling it off.

“Charles, this isn’t gonna happen,” I said, my voice shaky, but not exactly firm.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You keep saying that, but you’re not stopping me.”

I rolled my eyes, failing miserably at hiding the grin tugging at my lips.

I shook my head, but let him pull me in anyway. The water was hot, the tiles warm, and his hands were already on my waist. I could pretend to protest all I wanted—he knew exactly how to make me forget why I even tried.

I could feel the hardness of his body, pressed against my me, and my heartbeat quickened.

“Charles—” I began, but he silenced me with a kiss.

His lips were firm, demanding, and I found myself responding in spite of myself.

His hands slid down my back, holding me with a strength that was both gentle and commanding. I felt myself melting against him, my body responding to his touch as if it had a life of its own.