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Funnily enough I JUST sent the new chapter in for edits *bounce*

- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE -

The offices of Amelia Domineck are quiet and still, the only light in the reception area glowing golden from a desk lamp that sits at Charlotte's elbow. She sighs heavily, glancing at the clock hanging over the filing cabinets. 7:10. She cranes her neck, trying to listen for any indication that the two women in the other room are beginning to wrap things up.

Patti had come by at 3:30 that afternoon and even Charlotte was slightly stunned by the procession through the front office. Patti had breezed in causing Isabel and Kirsten's whispering to cease and to sit back primly in their chairs, poising their hands over their keyboards. But their jaws dropped when they saw her arms full of rolls of fabric and behind her trailed three men, brawny and tan, their work boots leaving pitted impressions in the plush cream rug as they each hauled crates that jingled, announcing the delicacy of the cargo inside.

Charlotte had wondered briefly if Patti had merely pulled them off the street, imagining that she'd smiled flirtatiously at them and convinced them to do her bidding simply with the hypnotic sway of her hips. She'd quickly brushed the idea off as ridiculous, forcing her bitterness down as she had watched the men process back through, Patti cooing her thanks after them before pushing Amelia's door closed. They hadn't resurfaced all afternoon and as the other assistants took their leave, Charlotte had of course been expected to stay, so stay she would.

Nothing had been mentioned about Charlotte's outburst the previous week but Amelia had come to show her wrath in other ways. Charlotte had tiptoed around the office for nearly a week now and every day she waited for the moment when Amelia would call her into the office, close the door behind her, and tell her with smug satisfaction that her services were no longer needed. But that hadn't happened. Instead Amelia preferred a crueler form of torture in which everything Charlotte did was under the utmost scrutiny and nothing, absolutely nothing, she did was right.

She came home every night exhausted, mentally and physically, her head aching nearly as much as her feet from trying to navigate around Amelia's short temper and the New York City streets, getting her anything and everything she asked for, working tirelessly to make sure it was right. Yet there was always some fault. Just this afternoon she'd been told at nine a.m. to throw together a noon luncheon in the conference room down the hall for nineteen of Amelia's best A&R reps, a number that left Charlotte just one short of the specified twenty the professional caterer, one Amelia had asked for specifically, insisted on having to cater an event. After begging them to reconsider and apologizing profusely for the short notice, everything had miraculously gone off without a hitch, not so much as a hiccup. After everyone was cleared out and they were back to regular business Amelia had called her into her office, closed the door, and proceeded to screech that the table clothes had been too short for the tables and the food was served on standard china when she'd specifically asked for bone. Charlotte could only nod and apologize.

This has been her general response to everything lately. There's only so much she can handle anymore. Nearly a week had gone by with not one mention of "the incident" as she had come to refer to it in her head because calling it a kiss was almost painful. Acknowledging that such an act of passion had passed between she and…him only caused his casual hellos and on the surface ribbing to rip the hole in her chest just a little wider. He'd said nothing, no admonition, no apology, not even an acknowledgement and it seemed that he was doing as he always did: pretending it never happened.

So she did the only thing she felt she could. She pretended he didn't exist. She hadn't seen him since the gym on Saturday, sending Lauren or Isabel when Amelia asked her to run something over to his office. On Wednesday, when Amelia had insisted that Charlotte go talk to him about the table settings for the reception, Charlotte had phoned Felicity and asked her to do it, then met her later for lunch to discuss it. The younger girl had probed lightly about Charlotte's absence but Charlotte had merely brushed it off, steering her into conversations about the wedding and she counted herself lucky that Fee was easily distracted. She had to force herself not to ask her how he was. Did he ask about her? Did her absence hurt him as much as staying away hurt her? But she refrained. There was nothing there her and Justin. He was, after all, engaged. To her boss.

"Charlotte?"

Charlotte jumps, broken from her reverie as the sound of her name comes muffled from behind the door. She stands, smoothing her hands over her skirt, subconsciously wiping away the wrinkles before her fingers wrap around the cool metal of the handle, turning and pushing the door open, peeking inside with caution.

Amelia sits next to Patti on one of the cream leather couches in the center of the room, yards and yards of fabric in every shade of purple and gold imaginable flowing across the coffee table. Boxes of china and silverware sit at their feet, a few plates and forks scattered along the fabric, trying to give them an idea of the effect. Magazines fan out around them as well, some bent back to show a specific page and it literally looks like Pier One exploded.

"I need you to take these to Justin immediately," Amelia says, reaching for her dainty cup of coffee as Patti gathers rolls of fabric, stacking plates and silverware between them in perfect place settings.

"Oh…" Charlotte says, her face falling slightly, her stomach tying in a knot. "Erm…isn't he home now?" Charlotte glances at her watch in what she hopes is a causal way. "It's nearly 7:30."

"He's still at his office," Patti says, stepping wide over the fabric that is spilling onto the floor wobbling on her heels as she stands in front of Charlotte, holding a stack of place settings swathed in fabric. "I just called."

Of course you did. Charlotte can't help thinking and she smiles tensely as Patti shifts the stack in her hands, the delicate china jingling beneath the cloth. She can't help appraising the young woman in front of her, taking in the soft doe brown of her eyes, large and almond shaped, accentuated by the smoky black of her eye shadow. The fullness of her lips pulls tight over her teeth giving Charlotte a tight smile in return and even through her condescension Charlotte can't help but appreciate her beauty. It figures Justin would want someone like her, someone exotic and sexy. The anti-Amelia, Charlotte thinks bitterly

"Patti's stacked them in order. Lay each one out for him. Make sure he takes his time looking at them," Amelia instructs and then sighs as if exhausted, wrinkling her nose at the mess around her. Charlotte shifts her feet.

"If he's at the office this late isn't he busy? I mean I can have Lauren take them first thing to-"

"Now, Charlotte!" Amelia says, her voice rising, her beautiful face pulling into a look of deep annoyance. "What part of immediately do you not understand? Honestly…"

"She's going," Patti says nodding her head soothingly and giving Charlotte a little nudge towards the door that enrages her but she swallows it, biting hard on her tongue until she tastes blood.

She steps out of the office, listening to Patti ensure Amelia that Justin will love them and Amelia's self-assured "I know" that follows. She shifts the plates in her arms, trying to juggle them so she can grab for her peacoat but the sound of silver sliding against china as the plates tilt screeches in the near silence of the empty room.

"Charlotte is there a problem in there?" Amelia asks, annoyance lacing her voice and Charlotte tenses, shaking her head as if Amelia could see her.

"No…no everything's fine…just getting the door," she replies, reaching for the handle, leaving her coat behind. It'll be a long walk to the subway tonight.

"You wanna hit Nello for dinner?" Charlotte hears Patti ask as she struggles to reach for the handle to close the door behind her.

"No…I have a business dinner," Amelia replies quickly and Charlotte stops in her struggle, looking up at Amelia's door perplexed.

Nothing had been on her schedule about a business dinner. Charlotte brushes it off quickly. Amelia probably just didn't want to be seen out with Patti.

Butterflies the size of pterodactyls beat around in her stomach as she takes the town car up the street to Justin's office. She watches the city street pass her by, pedestrians strolling along 5th Avenue, native New Yorkers weaving around tourists who stop to gape at the window displays of Saks and Barneys. Every cell in her body is pulling herself back, wishing with all of her might that she wasn't doing this. She doesn't want to face him, doesn't want to deal with the pain and humiliation when he greets her jovially as he always did before, doing his very best to act as if nothing has changed between them. Maybe nothing has for him, but Charlotte can never go back. She'd tried her damndest to avoid this, all this time trying to distance herself from him but she'd gone and fallen for him anyway.

The elevator ride up to his office is too quick, the small lift hurdling her faster and faster toward the inevitable and as she walks down the hallway towards the door of his offices she forces her head high, her shoulders back. She won't give him the luxury of seeing her so bent out of shape about him. He probably got off on it, having women fall for him left and right. Who can blame him when he's chained to Amelia like he is?

The thoughts are bitter but hollow. As much as she'd like to believe such things about Justin she knows they aren't true. Deep down she knows he's not like that, whether or not she'll admit it to herself at this point, however, is another story. She braces herself, taking a deep breath as she struggles to open the door to his offices.

***

Justin heaves a heavy sigh as he leans back in his desk chair, his gaze flicking from his computer screen to the darkness of the large window that overlooks Central Park. He sees nothing but the reflection of his office, the rugged leather chairs, the beige rug, the pictures on the walls. Five days. It'd been five days since he'd spoken to Charlotte. Sunday was okay because he never saw her on Sunday and he hadn't really noticed on Monday until close of business, flicking out his desk light and he'd paused, marveling at how he hadn't seen her that day. He had shrugged it off. She usually stopped by on Mondays even if it was something trivial, just an excuse to ask him how his weekend was, but she didn't have to do it. He'd see her on Tuesday. Even when Lauren came by Tuesday afternoon to show him linen samples for the table settings he'd just assumed that it was because Charlotte wasn't in the office that day; the flu was going around after all. But when he'd told her to tell Charlotte that he hoped she felt better and Lauren had given him a strange look telling him that Charlotte was fine, back at the office working on some call sheets he'd been floored. Charlotte was always the one that dealt with all the wedding crap. By Wednesday he was watching the clock, every passing hour making him more and more anxious. He couldn't concentrate, constantly wondering where she was, why she hadn't called, why she hadn't come by.

He had replayed their last encounter over and over again in his head all day. They had been at the gym. She was on the treadmill next to him. They ran for awhile and then he'd slowed down for her. He'd offered her water. They'd walked together. Sure it was slightly awkward but he'd expected that to some extent. You can't kiss someone like that and then not have a little awkwardness. Patti had stopped to say hello and then they'd run some more. Then, and this is the part he'd scrutinized the most, turned it over and over again in his head to the point of nausea, she'd stopped abruptly and got off her machine. He'd asked if she was okay and she'd said she was, but there was something in her eyes…

"You keep running. It's what you're good at."

He'd been preoccupied by that yesterday and then well into today. Thursday. The fifth day. He hadn't talked to her in five days.

It hadn't taken him long to figure it out once he really started to think on it, when he finally stopped avoiding the inevitable and let the ramifications of his actions settle in. He'd kissed her, whatever that had meant and by not bringing it up, not talking with her about it he'd caused this shift in their relationship. Relationship, defined as two people who are connected, he clarifies to himself. Of course he sees it so plainly now, after the fact, that she had needed something from him. What that was, he still isn't entirely sure but now with the week having gone and last Sunday slipping further and further into the past he wonders if he's going to get the chance to make it right. He tells himself she can't avoid him forever but the words give him no comfort. In any case, what would he say to her? He is split between what he is supposed to do and what he so desperately wants and if he thinks about it for too long his obligations start to seem less and less important. Which is why he didn't allow himself that luxury.

"You keep running. It's what you're good at…"

Even now as he stares out the window, Central Park hidden against the reflection of the room he can't get her words out of his head and he has never felt more like a coward.

"Fee?"

He jumps, his heart beginning to thump unevenly in his chest as he hears a voice and he immediately recognizes it as hers. He turns, seeing her through his open door, her hair swinging as she looks from side to side, searching half-heartedly for Felicity. His eyes travel the length of her body hungrily, his heart fluttering happily and a grin threatens to split his face in two. She's here! A swell of relief fills his chest and he realizes suddenly how desperately he's missed her, the sound of her voice, her smile, the simple act of her swinging by to say hi.

Her eyes finally meet his and he scrambles to stand from his chair but his movements slow as he begins to round the desk and she doesn't return his smile. It falls slowly from his face as she simply tilts her chin up slightly and takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself before taking cautious punctuated steps into his office.

"Amelia wanted me to bring these to you."

His brow creases at the hollowness of her voice, the coolness in her demeanor as she breezes past him, setting the pile of fabric in her arms on the corner of his desk and the sound of dinner plates knocking together reverberates in the near silent room. He watches her for a moment, confused and hurt. He thought for sure once he saw her again they'd be able to figure some things out but even standing right next to her he feels as if she's a million miles away. She won't be easily swayed. And why should she be? A little voice inside his head tells him she has every right to be angry, every right to pull back and protect herself but the selfish part of him still screams she has no reason to pull away, that he would never hurt her…not intentionally anyway. But he knows as well as any that the best of intentions isn't always enough.

He shakes his head, watching as she unwraps the fabric, revealing silverware sitting atop a plate and lifts the plate, grabbing the fabric beneath with her other hand and laying it at the opposite corner before setting the plate down. His muscles are tight, his mouth dry as he searches for something to say, anything that can break the silence between them. He fears that, left alone, this rift could widen and his throat tightens with nervousness, feeling that it is too wide already. Even now standing next to her, she wasn't with him. She wasn't his Charlie and his chest seizes with the fact that he may have screwed up so badly that she never would be again. The thought shocks him slightly, the intensity of it, the desperation lacing through his veins and he wonders when he had become so dependant on her.

She busies herself with setting the silverware around the plates, doing her best to ignore him as he steps up behind her. She tells herself it's only her imagination that she can smell the clean simple scent of him, feel the warmth of his body and she curses the shiver that quakes through her. She can't think that way anymore. She shouldn't have thought that way ever.

"What are they?" he asks, his voice soft and cautious, watching her refuse to look at him, her detachment stinging him deeply and setting him on edge.

"Place settings," she says, reaching for the next plate and setting it out next to the first. "For the wedding," she adds, chancing a glance at him but looking away quickly.

Justin nods, crossing his arms over his chest and watching her as she fiddles with the last two settings and then adjusting them all so they're exactly the same width apart, fussing with the silverware and making sure it's straight. He doesn't understand how she can be so cold. How can she have just written him off after one chance encounter at the gym? How was he supposed to bring it up then anyway? "Oh hey Charlie yeah about last night when I had my tongue down your throat…" Hell, it hadn't even been twenty-four hours at that point. How was he supposed to know how he felt after not even a day had gone by? His conscious screams at him that he should have known the moment it happened and guilt bites at him mercilessly. But it fades slightly as he watches Charlotte tuck her hair behind her ear, her long fingers tangling slightly in the locks before she wiggles them free and he longs to touch her. But every fiber of her being is screaming stay away and he thinks he feels his heart crack. He's ruined everything. Or he could ruin everything he already has by thinking this way. He's so fucking confused!

She steps back, her eyes meeting his quickly again, long enough to read the confusion on his face and while he tries to hold her gaze she drops hers to the floor, nodding her head at the spread in front of him. He doesn't understand. She can sense the perplexity radiating off of him and all that does is enrage her further. How can he be so damn blind?

He shakes his head, his stomach in knots and he wishes he had the answers. He wishes he wasn't so torn, wishes that Charlotte wasn't so damn perfect, wishes Amelia was the way she used to be. He grits his teeth forcing these thoughts back but it's harder this time. The back of his mind is getting crowded and he fears that the dam may soon just break. But for now it holds firm and as he crosses his arms over his chest he surveys the four place settings in front of him. They're all china, bone white with gold tablewear sitting on deep purple fabric. They all look exactly the same.

"What am I supposed to do?" Justin asks, stepping closer to try and discern any differences but they're minimal at best.

What is he supposed to do? Should he bring up the kiss? Should he keep things strictly professional? He doesn't like this, this insecurity. It's him and Charlie. If there was something he could always count on it was her and he doesn't like this feeling of detachment. He doesn't like feeling that even though she is right next to him, a breath away, that he still misses her and he definitely doesn't like the feeling of guilt that weaves its way through his tangled emotions.

"Look at them," Charlotte replies and Justin blinks hard, shocked at the edge in her voice before he lets his head turn to her. Her face is blank as she adds, "That was all she said."

"Oh," Justin says, nodding slowly and then looking back at the plates, a discomfiting awkwardness settling between them and he can feel the rift rip wider. He scrambles in panic for something to say to try and repair it. "So, she really is going with purple huh?" he jokes and he thinks he hears Charlotte sigh.

"So it would seem," she replies shortly and he looks at her again, cringing slightly, his skin crawling uncomfortably. This isn't them. She doesn't treat him this way.

"Charlie-"

"Don't call me that," she says swiftly and his mouth falls open at the shortness in her tone, the fire in her eyes blazing for a second before her mask hardens. "Don't…don't call me that."

Don't call her that? His breath comes from his lungs in a rush and it feels as if she'd sucker punched him in the middle of the chest, the burn deep between his ribs and his mind is flailing. He can't lose her. He can't. He tries to think of what it would be if she stopped coming by, stopped sending him stupid emails, stopped laughing at all his dumb ass jokes. His life stretches out before him one long meeting after another, dinners with Amelia at hip restaurants and Christmas parties where he sipped wine and pretended to be interested in this socialite's show horse and that debutante's latest Christie's acquisition. He can't lose her.

"What's wrong?" he asks finally, his brows creasing and they're both shocked by the desperation in his voice. He scrambles for coherency. "Charlie-"

"I said don't call me that!" she hisses, stepping forward to fiddle with the plates again, her hands shaking as she starts to stack them again.

Her heart breaks at the sound of his voice and it hurts her to say the words but they need to be said. He can't call her that anymore. They can't play these games. Because that's all they're doing. He is never going to leave Amelia and she isn't going to be the girl he uses to make himself feel better. She deserves better than that. But even now she can't say these things, knows how deeply they would hurt him so she takes a page from his book and avoids the subject entirely, forcing them back into neutral territory.

"You…you have a favorite? I can write it down and tell Amelia tomorrow-"

"I don't care about the plates," he says, his hands reaching out but he stops as he's about to touch her, forcing himself not to, trying to think of how to fix this.

"-or if you can't decide then maybe I can tell her which two you like and you can discuss it over lunch-"

"Charlotte, I don't care," Justin says, the manic movements of her hands making him jittery, the clatter of silverware against plates jarring his senses. "Stop-"

"-I don't think she has lunch plans for tomorrow-"

"I SAID I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE FUCKING PLATES!" Justin yells and the harshness in his voice startles her, causing one of the delicate plates to slip from her fingers and the edge bangs against the edge of his desk, chipping the wood as the porcelain breaks and the pieces fall to the floor.

"Shit," Charlotte mutters, dropping to her knees immediately, reaching for the pieces, her fingers coming up to rub against the scarred wood at the edge of his desk.

"Don't worry about it," Justin says, dropping down as well, reaching for the piece of china just as she does and his hand brushes hers. They snatch back as if they'd been burned, their eyes crashing into each other.

"I've got it," Charlotte says, dropping her eyes immediately and she reaches for the broken piece quickly.

"No you'll cut yourself. Let me-"

"I said I got it!" Charlotte says forcefully and Justin sighs in annoyance, standing back.

He watches her, his chest heaving slightly and he reaches up to rub at his cheek, scratchy under his fingers from a day's growth of beard. She reaches for all the pieces, making sure she has them all and cradles them against her stomach as she stands, looking at the broken pieces in her hands. She's closed off to him, a wall firmly in place and he can't take it. He needs her. She can't do this to him. She can't just shut down and expect him to give up. They have to be all right. Through his panic, he knows he shouldn't feel this way about Charlotte, is coming to understand that his attachment to her is more than just an ally against the life he can't control. He shouldn't need her this way. But he does…so where does that leave them? Where does that leave him?

"Like I said I can put you on her schedule for lunch and you two can discuss it," she says, her voice quiet and calculating as if she's barely in control of it.

He grits his teeth, anger stinging inside him, an entire week's worth of confusion and speculation washing over him. How can she just throw all of it away? The months of banter and ribbing how can she write it all of so easily? Surely if he feels this attached to her she must feel some attachment to him.

"What the fuck's going on," he spats with a little more venom then he intended and Charlotte's eyes widen. "I mean you haven't been by in a week," he adds more softly this time, his chest tightening as he watches her head fall back, sighing in an exhausted way he's seen from Amelia on more than one occasion and the anger swells. "You send fucking Lauren to drop wedding shit off. You haven't called¬-"

"What do you want from me Justin?" Charlotte asks finally allowing her eyes to meet his and she looks defeated, tired, and most of all hurt which causes his own chest to burn.

"I…" he trails and then cuts himself off.

What did he want from her? She blinks at him slowly, awaiting his explanation, his excuse and he has none. Other than he's missed her. Other than he's been lost all week without being able to talk to her. He's wandered around aimlessly, without focus and without purpose, his only thought being when he could tell her about the dorky accountant in his Tuesday meeting breaking his pen and getting blue ink all down his shirt, or Felicity filing his business lunch receipt under L for lunch or any of the other stupid shit that wasn't really all that funny until she laughed at it.

"Exactly," she says, letting the pieces of china fall onto his desktop, the sound deafening and she sighs, shaking her head, hating herself for thinking that he'd tell her, finally tell her…

What? That he loved her? Quit dreaming Charlie, she chastises bitterly and she grits her teeth against the pain that blooms in her chest. She really needs to quit calling herself that. She turns abruptly, fully prepared to stomp from the room. She can't take this tonight, it's late and she just…she can't do this right now. But her breath steals as she feels his fingers wrap around her wrist, his calloused fingertips pressing into the delicate skin of her inner wrist and his grip is firm, tugging her back.

"Let me go!" she spats, fighting the lump in her throat as she shakes him off violently, her other hand slapping hard at his chest and he takes a step back, shocked at her outburst.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asks, his voice gruff and angry, annoyed by her actions and by his own confusion.

His eyes widen as she whirls around, her green eyes blazing in the near darkness of the room and when she steps into the light thrown by his small desk lamp his heart breaks at the agony contorting her face.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" she asks disbelief ringing in her words and she scoffs bitterly. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Now it's his turn for disbelief. "What?"

"You fucking kiss me and then…and then…what?" she exclaims flustered and he feels his cheeks blaze, looking away from her to scratch at his ear. "Oh you don't wanna talk about that do you?"

He looks up at her shocked by the bitterness in her voice and she's looking right through him, seeing him fully and he's suddenly ashamed, ashamed that he cheated, that he hurt her, that all he ever fucking does anymore is run away.

"No, no you don't wanna think about it right?" she asks, sarcasm making her voice hard and he frowns. "Just push that into the back of your mind, pretend it didn't happen."

"That's not-"

"Don't fucking say that's not what you're doing!" she yells and she curses the break in her voice but he looks down chastised and she knows she's made her point.

"Charlotte I never meant to hurt you," he says softly and she lets her head turn to the side, gritting her teeth hard against the pain.

He really hadn't meant to hurt her. He would never do that. He…he cared about her. A lot. But what did he mean by kissing her. It didn't have a meaning at the time. He'd just done it. It'd been as natural to him as playing his piano, as singing, as breathing. But it's now that he realizes that it was all fraught with meaning. What the meaning was he didn't know. Or he refused to let himself know. He winces as the dam busts a hole and he begins to tread water.

"Yeah, of course, right," she says, turning to leave again, stomping toward the door but he catches her again and this time she isn't able to wrench her arm free.

"Charlie-"

"NO!" she yells and she feels his body jerk in shock but he doesn't let go of her arm. "You never meant to hurt me? That's all you have to say? That's fine. That's fucking fine, Justin. You go on about your business, living in your little dream world and I'll just bring by the cake samples and the seating charts and we'll pretend that Amelia actually fucking cares about what you think-"

"Hey!" Justin exclaims, his brows furrowing deeply almost letting her go from the shock of her hateful words but Charlotte doesn't stop.

"And you can pretend that this fucking fiasco is what you want and just let her treat you like a goddamn dog-"

"That's enough Charl-" he tries to respond gruffly but she raises her voice over his until she's yelling, unable to stop herself.

"-and we'll both keep running on the pretense that you're not about to ruin your fucking life by marrying someone who doesn't even fucking love you."

The silence around them is potent, both just staring at the other and Charlotte is slightly horrified, her chest heaving from the effort of finally saying the words that she's been holding back for months. Justin merely blinks at her, his face showing shock and disbelief and they don't move for what feels like days. He blinks slowly back at her, her words washing over him, catching and tearing at his heart and he's angry. Beyond angry, the kind of anger that can only be fueled by hurt. Then he does something completely unexpected. He laughs, the kind of laugh you emit when you're feeling so much that your body gets confused. It's bitter and humorless and his eyes are deadly as he looks at her.

"You got some balls sayin' some shit like that to me."

His voice is rough and angry and Charlotte knows that it's over. She's not entirely sure what "it" is but the anger in his words holds a certain finality. It cuts her to the bone, ripping open her chest and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep from crying. Instead she lets out a mirthless laugh of her own as she begins to turn away.

"Yeah well at least one of us has a pair."

She's spun so quickly she doesn't fully understand what is happening until Justin's tongue slides forcefully into her mouth, his hands pressing hard against the sides of her face and she can't fight back, despite her better judgment doesn't want to, and she loses herself in the taste of him. Her fingers delve up into his hair, tugging wickedly and the groan that pulls from his throat is primal.

Her nails rip across the back of his neck, her heart threatening to bust out of her ribcage as he kisses her over and over, his lips warm and wet against hers. She tastes like summer to him, like that first cup of coffee after working all night in the studio, like the ocean and every good memory he's ever had. And he wants her. He wants her, doesn't care what that might mean, what it might cause, what it might damage.

His hands comb back through her hair, wrapping tightly in her locks, tugging her head back so his lips can trail along her jaw, desperate for her skin. He feels her pulse drumming against his tongue, her hands smoothing over his shoulders and reaching for handfuls of his shirt, the hiss of her nails scratching against fabric sounding along with their panting breaths.

"Justin," she breathes weakly and his mouth is back on hers, swallowing her whimper as his hands journey down her back, the soft cotton of her blouse cool when all he wants is the heat of her skin. She wonders briefly where her conscience has gone and whether or not she even cares. But as she lets her hands smooth down his chest, feeling the hardness of his muscles as they slide over one another with every breath he takes the thought slips away. Her hands smooth around the dip of his waist and up his back, wide and warm under the crisp linen of his dress shirt and she can't think with his tongue twisting around hers like it is.

His hands grow bolder, passion coursing through his veins and he's gripping her hips, fingertips pressing into her flesh and when his hands slip around to grip her ass he gasps into her mouth and it's almost enough to send him over the edge. She squeals lightly as he pulls her up, his knees bending slightly to lift her from the floor and it's instinct when her legs lock around his waist.

Her hands go to his face, holding it in her hands to steady them, to keep his mouth on hers as he stumbles back towards the desk. She gasps as he sets her down, his hands shoving the plates out of the way impatiently and neither of them care as the sound of shattering china sounds all around them. Her legs part, allowing him to stand between them and her head falls back, pleasure rushing through her at the feel of him pressing intimately against her.

They're on autopilot now, her hands trembling as she works the knot on his tie, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. Their mouths bump, nipping at each others' lips as he forces her skirt up her thighs and she's pushing his shirt off his shoulders. He growls, his nails snagging on the mesh of her panty hose, reaching for the waist band and trying to pull them down as she shoves up his undershirt. He gets impatient when her hands smooth up his chest, his fingers curling in the netting and they're in shreds by the time he gets them off her legs.

Charlotte's hands are shaking so hard she can barely undo his belt, the jingle of the buckle echoing in her head and she knows this is wrong but the desperation on his face as his fingers hook in the elastic of her panties, the urgency of his kiss as he rips them down her legs is enough to shove all this to the back of her mind. Her body is humming, forcing his hands away from her so she can get his shirt off his arms. He growls, the rolled sleeves catching on his forearms and she'd giggle at how funny he looks trying to shake it off but she's speechless when he crosses his arms over his body and rips his undershirt over his head.

She gasps as his mouth meets hers again, his chest warm against her skin and her head hangs back as his lips trail down her neck, his large hands smoothing her blouse from her shoulders and she shakes the fabric from her arms before allowing her arms to curl under his shoulders, nails skittering down his back.

He sucks sweetly at the crook of her neck, his hand smoothing wide and warm up her spine, smirking at her gasp as he flicks open her bra with two fingers. The fabric falls away and his hands cover her breasts, soft and warm, fitting perfectly into his palm. He marvels at the softness of her skin, the pliability of her flesh as he squeezes gently, his palms teasing her nipples. All the fleeting thoughts of her skin and her body culminate in this one moment and he never thought he'd see her like this. He never dreamed she'd feel this good, that she'd be this beautiful. She whimpers, her hips pressing forward as her mouth finds his again.

He's on fire now, reaching down to flick open the button of his pants, forcing them down along with his boxers and he's not thinking. He doesn't care, doesn't care, doesn't care as he grips her calf, pulling her to the edge of the desk, forcing her skirt higher and higher as he guides himself to her entrance.

Charlotte gasps as the smoothness of the head rubs against her folds, shocks of pleasure pricking through her and he's trembling against her, his forehead pressed to hers. She hears his teeth grit as he slips the tip in, her hand going to the back of his neck to steady herself while the other clutches as his bicep, feeling the muscle bulge with his strain.

He's inside her in one long stroke a deep moan pulling from her chest and his head is spinning. He's close already, the feel of her, warm and wet surrounding him and he hasn't felt pleasure like this in for-fucking-ever. He tries to remember the last time he'd had sex…four months ago? Five? He isn't entirely sure and the edge is so close… but he grits his teeth, forcing himself to think of anything but Charlotte's breath on his shoulder, her body snug around his.

"Jesus, Charlie," he groans and she whimpers at the sound of her name pulled from the back of his throat, her hips restless against his, hands pawing at his shoulders. "God, are you okay?" he asks suddenly, his hips starting to pull back, a habit from being with-

But her hands clutch at his skin, her hips trying to press forward to receive him again.

"Please," she finds herself saying, her nose nuzzling against his, lips brushing his and the hand on her thigh squeezes hard, a low moan pulling from his chest as he presses deep into her. "Please."

He pulls back slowly, pressing in again and he sees stars, his heart hammering in his chest and Charlotte trembles against him, her legs wrapping around his waist. He can't do this. He wants it to last, he never wants this feeling to end, her hands in his hair, on his arms, nails scratching down his back as he moves slowly. He could listen to her forever, her breath panting in his ear, whimpers and whines pulling from the back of her throat. His hips speed, unable to hold back and her whimpers increase to moans, her legs tightening around his waist.

"Oh God, Justin," she moans, her head falling back and he bites his bottom lip hard, trying to force himself back from the edge but he can feel it coming.

Charlotte lets out a cry of surprise when he pulls out completely, panting hard and she whines pitifully, hands pawing at his chest feebly. His mouth presses to hers, trying to shush her, the hand on her thigh moving between her legs. Her back arches, his long fingers reaching deep as his thumb circles her clit slowly, letting out a low groan at the loss of his own pleasure but enjoying the feel of her want for him.

Justin watches her slightly mesmerized, her eyes closed, her head tipped back in ecstasy. It'd been so long since he'd given a woman this much pleasure. He'd almost forgotten, as sad as that was. He'd always fancied himself a capable lover and it was only recently that he'd somehow fallen into a rut. But now, watching Charlotte's mouth part in pleasure he can feel a little of his old self coming back. Her tongue snakes out to lick her lips, her breath panting and she whimpers his name again, sending a shiver down his spine. The desperation in her voice drives him, pushes his mind to the deep places he hadn't let himself go. He needs her and now he's beginning to think that maybe she needs him too. The thought sends a thrill down his spine, making him twitch with want. If she needs it he's going to give it to her. He wants to make her scream.

His fingers leave her, causing another pitiful whimper to pull from her chest but it quickly drowns into a moan as he plants his hands on either side of her hips and slides in swiftly, the pleasure causing his head to drop to her shoulder. Her hand delves into his hair, fingers tangling in his curls as he drives into her forcefully, sharp cries pulling from her throat.

"Fuck…" he pants, desperation crawling over his skin and he pushes her back, shoving the desk lamp out of the way as he climbs over her, throwing them into darkness.

"Oh god," she groans, feeling his body settle over hers and the intense pleasure of his hips crashing into hers causes her head to thrash. "Please…please I'm so…" she gasps, pleasure tightening her muscles and he shivers as her body pulls at him.

"Charlotte," he whispers, his face burying in her neck as his hips work hard against hers, feeling her body coil tighter and tighter and by the hitching of her breath he can tell she's almost there. "God, Charlie…"

A shout tears from her throat as her legs lock around his waist, her orgasm shooting like fire through her veins and the pleasure is so intense, so virile that she can't breathe. He's moaning now with every thrust, his hips moving so fast she can barely tell when he's entering and leaving her, her body still tingling with pleasure. He lets out a strangled sob, his back going ridged and after one last bone crushing thrust, she gasps as she feels him spill into her. His body presses hard and deep into hers, his mind going blank as white light blooms behind his closed lids. He clutches her hard to his chest, his eyes squeezing shut and he feels as if his body is being wrung out like a sponge, every last ounce of pleasure draining from his muscles.

His hips give one last involuntary push, his body trembling and shaking over hers as her hand moves weakly through his hair. He pulls back slightly, his tongue snaking out to lick his dry lips as his head starts to clear and the ramifications of what just occurred start to wash over him. What the hell did he just-

But the thought cuts off as Charlotte whimpers softly, wiggling so that her nose nuzzles his cheek and he can think of nothing else as her lips find his in the darkness.