It's not as if he needs any encouragement, but if he did that'd certainly be it. The catch of her against him, the dig of her heels and ankles - Charlie sucks in a sharp breath, fingers catching at her knee, the underside of her thigh. It's not the most perfect handhold, but he's had worse.

So no, it's not the greatest angle but that mostly doesn't matter when he's pressed all the way into her, when he starts to move. The first thrust is slower, fumbling, but it just takes a moment for him to acquaint himself with the awkwardness of screwing her on the counter top; he quickly forgets to be anything but impatient, banging the cabinet with his knee as he fucks into her - swearing into her mouth half from the flicker of pain and half from everything else.