You are… unbelievable
Luther’ POV
The second Charlotte’s lips met mine, it was like something in me came alive. My body tensed with hunger I could no longer ignore. The way she kissed, slow, warm, filled with longing, made it impossible to think. I wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her close, while my other hand slid behind her head to keep her steady. This was not just a kiss. It was a release. A surrender. She melted into me, her soft body pressing harder against my bare chest, and a low sound escaped her throat, a sound that made my pulse pound in my ears. Her hips moved gently, and every little shift made my breath catch. Her nipples brushed against my skin, teasing me, testing my strength.
She opened her mouth for me, and I slipped my tongue inside, tasting her deeply. My mind went blank. Nothing existed outside of this moment. It was heat, breath, and need, hers and mine tangled together. By the time we finally pulled away to breathe, I was dizzy. She looked at me with those eyes that always held more than she ever said out loud.
"You are… unbelievable," I said softly, my voice rough with want, as my fingers travelled along the shape of her body. But just as I thought I might win a piece of her again, she pulled back slightly.
"I have not forgiven you," she said, her tone cutting through the heat like cold water.
A small, bitter laugh escaped me. “I know,” I murmured. “But right now, you’re still here. And I will take that.” Even if part of me ached at her words, I kept my hands on her, lifting the edge of her skirt slowly, my fingers brushing higher. Her breath hitched.
“Yes...” she moaned when I cupped her over her panties. I felt her heartbeat through her centre, pulsing against my palm. She was already wet. So ready. My own need throbbed, hard and urgent, straining with every second I held back.
“Touch me,” I said, almost a plea.
She looked into my eyes. One hand held onto my shoulder, steadying herself, while the other slid down my chest. Her fingertips danced over my skin, and I could not stop myself from moving my hand in slow, steady circles against her. Her touch sparked a fire under my skin. And the way she looked at me, like she hated how much she still wanted me, nearly broke me.
She jabbed her finger into my chest, her eyes blazing, and I let her. I let her because I deserved every word, and maybe because her fury only made me want her more.
"You do not get to judge me, Luther. You lost that right the moment I walked in on you screwing that blonde in your living room. You think I forgot that? You think I do not see her every time I close my eyes?"
Her words were hard, and I felt my jaw tighten. She had every reason to lash out. But the ache in my chest was real too, real and growing with every second she looked at me like I was nothing more than a mistake she kept repeating.
"I never said I was proud of it," I said, softer now, voice low and rough. "But I swear, Charlotte… you’re the only one I ever gave a damn about." Her lips trembled, and for a moment, she looked like she was about to cry, but she didn’t. She bit her lower lip instead, her eyes watering but still sharp.
"You say that, and then you act like I’m the one who should apologise. Like you did not break me first."
I stepped closer, slowly, not touching her yet. “I know I did. And I hate myself for it.”
Her breath caught, and I saw her eyes flick down to my chest, where my heart was pounding hard enough to crack through skin. She still felt it too, the pull between us that made it impossible to stay mad without also wanting to fall into bed and forget everything.
"I do not want to care about you," she whispered, almost like she was begging herself to stop.
"But you do." I reached out, brushing her hair away from her face gently. “And I care about you so damn much it scares me.”
She closed her eyes as I cupped her cheek, but she did not pull away. I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, not lustful, not rushed. Just full of the weight I could no longer carry.
"I am trying," I said into her skin. “Trying to be better. For you.”
She rested her hand over mine and looked up. "Then stop pushing me away when it gets real."
I nodded slowly, letting that sink in. Without saying another word, I slid my hand behind her neck again and brought our mouths back together. But this time, the kiss was not just desperate. It was slow, full of all the things we could not say aloud. Her lips moved with mine like she wanted to forgive me but didn’t know how yet. I would wait. I would earn it. Because Charlotte was not just another girl. She was the girl, the one I had no business falling for, but could not imagine walking away from now.
“I’m sick and tired of…” she stopped when I turned abruptly and walked toward the double doors. I didn’t look back. She huffed behind me, probably thinking I was walking out on her.
“How dare you walk away from me when you’re the one who started it? Have you no sh….”
The rest of her words died in her throat when I spun back, reached for her, and scooped her up into my arms, bridal style. She gasped, but didn’t fight me. Without a word, I carried her down the hallway, silence hanging thick between us. Her arms were tense around my neck, her breath uneven, as though she couldn’t quite decide if she should scream or melt into me. I pushed my bedroom door open with one shoulder and stepped inside.
“Put me down, you fucker!” she shrieked, writhing in my arms.
“Oh, such a filthy mouth you’ve got, baby,” I murmured, lowering her gently onto the centre of my bed.
“But I’d rather hear you use it to moan my name.”
Her skirt had ridden up during the commotion, revealing soft thighs and lacy underwear that hugged her in all the right places. I took a moment, licking my lips, drinking in the sight of her soaked through and trembling. Her eyes widened as I bent over and hooked my fingers into the sides of her underwear.
“What are you doing?” she asked, breath hitching.
“Giving you what you want,” I replied lowly, “even though you’re too damn proud to ask for it.”
I wasn’t a fool. I knew the way her body responded to me. I knew the fire in her eyes wasn’t just anger, it was desire.
“I don’t want it,” she spat, turning her head away from me.
I smirked. “Your mouth says no, but your body’s screaming yes. You’re in my bed, legs parted, soaked and pulsing. Minutes ago, you were moaning into my mouth, grinding into my hand. If you didn’t want this, truly didn’t, you’d have walked out of my house already.”
She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She just stared at the ceiling, lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“So, Charlotte,” I continued, softer now but still firm, “stop lying to yourself. Stop punishing yourself just because you’re angry at me. I know you won’t forgive me tonight, and I’m not asking you to. But don’t deny yourself this.”
I crawled forward, slow and deliberate, until I was between her legs. Her eyes locked on mine, still full of conflict, but unmistakably lust-glazed. I hooked an arm under her knees and lifted her hips toward me, settling her right where I needed her. My lips hovered just above her slick heat.
“One taste,” I whispered, eyes never leaving hers. “And you’ll forget why you were mad.”
Then, without waiting another second, I lowered my mouth to her aching center. And she shattered the silence with a strangled gasp.
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