Secrets of Desire

2.

Bass turns to his other side in his bed. A long agonizing frustrated sigh escapes from his mouth. The room around him is dark, his bed too empty. His gun close. Both his blades too. The wind is roaming around the house and is playing with the doors and the wooden walls of the old house. His trained mind is searching for sounds in the night that should not be there.

Bass fights with his pillow. A frustrated fist punches into the damn thing before he puts his head back on it. He can't fucking sleep. One, because of that stupid wind. Two, because of a brother snoring on the other side of the house. Three fucking walls behind them and he can still hear Miles. And three. Dammit. Three. Reason three concerns another Matheson.

That blush , and it was a blush, hell he is so sure of that, that warm red blush on her cheeks the moment Charlie had walked into the living room two days ago, had been there. He has enough experience with woman to know in exactly how many ways that blush could end up on that gorgeous face of hers. The idea of the many fucking ways he could put that blush there shoot straight to his damn balls.

He had watched Charlie as she had been giving something away he was pretty sure she did not wanted to give away. She had acted like a true Matheson. A fast smirk and a smart mouth as a Matheson diversion. And maybe Miles was a complete and utter moron when it came to woman but he had seen it. That blush on Charlie's cheeks.

He had ached to find out what the hell was going on all the way through dinner. One table and her on his other side and so damn close. She had not avoided him, he had to give her that. Her blue eyes had pierced into his all the way through that dinner.

He used to run the fucking show in Philly, knowing what the hell was going on was his business. And everything inside of him told him that there was something going on. And if she thought he was going to let that one slide, than this time, she was the one that was delusional.

So he had waited for his moment. And after dinner and after Miles and Charlie got into a stubborn discussion about something he really could not give a fuck about, he had slowly backed out the room.

The door to her room had been open en he had decided, being a gentleman and all that, to skip her room. For now. The hallway had lead him to the small study room. And when he did a sweep of the room, his eyes had caught it. That tiny detail he was trained to find. One book, deep red, that was carelessly and hastily shoved back between the others.

The memory of that moment still brings a proud grin to his damn face. He had looked over his shoulder to make sure he was not going to be interrupted. The raised voices from both his brother and Charlie reached him. world.

Charlie and Miles had still been in the longest stubborn discussion in the history of ever. He had time. And a lot of it. His boots had sounded heavy on the wooden floor. And when he had stepped in front of the bookshelf, the title of the book had made him smirk. He had grinned a grin the size of half the continent. One look at the content of this particular book and he had figured it out.

And now, when he is laying in his damn bed with the autumn night temperatures dropping fast and the rain adding more chillness to the air in the room, Bass still feels the grin form around his mouth for figuring out exactly what had brought that blush on Charlie's cheeks. Hell, he had taken a good look at the book himself, enjoying it with a smile when some pretty good shit was there, page after page.

He had placed the book back. But as he had walked out of the room, he had not been able to not think of something to mess with her. Just to see what she would do. The moment she had spotted the book on his damn lap between the history books he had found in the same room had been fucking great. Watching her lick her bottom lip had been a fucking boatload of fun. And some other things. Miles not having a damn clue about what the hell was happening, only made matters even better.

But then, that moment on the porch. That porch where she had stood next to him and had not moved one inch away from him as he had looked at her. Seeing how she never backed down was already a fucking turn on. She had been her. He had been him. And that was the moment where things had gotten out of hand. And he might have said some things he shouldn't.

Or maybe, maybe, there was something inside of him that said, screw it all. This was Charlie. And he had waited enough to not see what she would do.

Hell, that book. Just the thought of that book in her hands. The thought of what those damn images had done to her are filling his thoughts. That thought now shooting straight to his dick. He sees her, alone in that small study room. Alone. Maybe licking her bottom lip like he has seen her do many times before. Her slender fingers flipping through the pages. Bass can see her, Charlotte with that book in her hands, lost in her world, those blue intense eyes of her going over the page as those cheeks of her fill with that blush.

And then he thinks of what she might be doing right the hell now. Because it is on his damn mind too. Bass has to bite back a groan. Hell. Double hell.

He kicks the blanket away from his thighs as he moves to his back with another frustrated curse.

'Dammit.'

Because right now he can't sleep for more than three reasons. One. That stupid wind howling around the house. Two. A snoring brother who is snoring even louder. And three, Charlie. Close. But now there is also a damn hard on he cannot ignore anymore.

He knows he shouldn't. He always knows. But he is Sebastian Monroe and he still can do whatever the hell he wants. It does not stop him. It never has. He feels the familiar grip of the palm of his right hand around hard need for aching release when he gives in to the image of her. The autumn wind roams around the house and she, Charlotte, is so damn close.


He is close. So close she can picture him so easily and her thoughts form an image that makes her want to give in to the pressure and the need hidden in her thighs to press them further together with more force.

She is in bed. Her bed. In her room. Without anyone. Without him. The night is dark. She is trying to fall asleep. The wind is strong and rustling through the leaves of the forest that starts on the left side of the house. Her blanket is warm.

She found the blanket on her bed the first night in the house when the season had moved into a new one. It had been the warmest of the ones they had found in the safe house when they had made an inventory of things that could be useful. That meant that the boys had looked out for her and thought of her. Either Miles or Monroe.

They can be stubborn and all kinds of stupid and childish but it had made her smile the moment she had seen it, waiting for her on the bed in the room that lay in the middle of the house. Of course she had not let either of them see that smile.

Monroe. Stupid full of himself delusional Monroe. He had been there with her in her room, the moment she had blown out the candle that is standing on the night stand close to her bed.

When the house was finally silent and she was surrounded by the privacy of her own thoughts in her own room, she had reached for the book again. It had been there on the shelf again when she went back for it. Monroe had placed it back. Probably to see if she would take it again. She wanted to stay away. She really did. She would not allow him that victory. But the strong sensual pull of the book and all the new things in it, had made her return to it.

She had gone through the pages. The light of long white candle on her night stand had illuminated the pages of the book. She had to stop at one particulair page. There was one image.

One page andd one passionate picture of a man close to a woman, his strong wide chest behind her, his hand between her thighs. His fingers just out of sight, as the picture had not showed her that part, but her imagination had completed the picture in her fantasy. A page filled with passion was filling her as need for release had built up slowly when she had looked it. Alone, in the dark, hidden from the rest of the world in that corner in her room when it had been her, the book and the light of one candle.

And when she had put the book back on the night stand and she had blown out the candle, she had curled up under the blankets. The room had filled with that scent of chillness in the night and a candle being blow out. And then, he had been there. Mixing with the image of that one page. Monroe. And then, the pages in and of her mind had filled with images all on their own.

And that anonymous man on that page had turned into one man she knows so well. A man she had fought with for so long now, in so many ways. A man that is her life now, together with Miles and this life on the road. Monroe. It had been dark blonde curls and a wide muscled chest that had stoot behind her in her mind, close enough to almost feel the lines of his chest against her back.

And then that image had slowly moved into a new one.

His weapon belt. Dark brown leather. His long deadly blades. Both of them. And then, he is there. Standing next to a large wooden desk in a large room in some abandoned structure with industrial steel around her and in her eyes. But the room does not mater. The focus of that image is him. She cannot see his face, but she can see the contours of a strong jaw. Her minds gives her new details with every new breath. Scruff that is shorter somehow there in this room. And when he turns to reach for his weapon belt on that table, his long body, muscled and hard, turns so her eyes have nowhere to go but to his shoulder blades.

She can see him. So clearly. His wide shoulders in that deep blue shirt that is a reminder of half a continent taken by him. The contours of strong trained body lines visible through the fabric of his shirt. She thinks about his back and moves her thoughts to the arch of his neck. Wild dark blonde curls are brushing the nape of his neck. His large hands move around the weapon belt with those two blades. The dark brown leather is moving through skilled large deadly skilled fingers. His large deadly skilled fingers.

She can see him as he adjust that weapon belt as he is so close that she can hear the blades and belt clicking through her own fast soft breathing that borderlines panting. She can see his strong large fingers at work, locking the belt around his hips with his blades close to those strong wide thighs.

She does not want to. It should be anyone but him. But the truth is, there is not one man, not one man as strong and rough and raw and impossible as him. Not in the way he can breake free so much inside of her. Not in the way he includes her into his fight, into his life somehow, without her even having to ask for it.

Not in the way he always has to be an arrogant son of a bitch to her and then puts his own ass on the line to get her out of whatver trouble found her. Just as she does for him.

It is all that. All in one man. Monroe.

She shouldn't. But she can't hold back. And so, the images of that book and the sensual raw passionate possibilities transform to images of what he could to her. They turn into fantasies of knowing, knowing for sure, that he could it all to her. That he will deliver.

And for once and finally, the certainty of that certainty is bigger than the no in her mind. Passionate thoughts and need take over. And her hand moves to her thighs. Gently stroking her belly, and the side of her breast on the way down. Gently touching her thighs under her blanket, warm and hidden. Her hand moving the blanket as she moves her hand to the one place where the possibility of release lays.

The thought of finally giving in, the thought of the forbidden images in her mind. The thought of letting go. Of diving into the possibilities of lethal danger and and cruel ego blue are making her wet before she has even touched herself. The moment she starts to stroke herself a soft moan of release moves through her body and escapes her lips.

She is almost there, there where he is filling every one of her senses. There were the rhythm of her right hand is escalating as her skin is warm and sweaty. There where there is not stopping this anymore. And then she is back on the is back with him being Monroe and tall and insufferable and annoying and his own stupid arrogant self. And then his words reach her, again, like the wind howling around the wood of the house outside. His voice gruff and low and dripping with so much.

You know...there are more interesting ways to experience some things than reading a damn book.

She has to abruptly stop the movements of her hand, that now lay on warm wet swollen sensitive skin and between her thighs. And with want and desire laced with just a hint of left over anger she can not push out of this moment completely , another emotion she knows so well when it comes to him moves under the blanket with her.

Rage. Rage for his arrogance. Rage for herself for not being able to shake him out his thoughts.

Charlie kicks the blankets away from her legs as the anger builds up further. And his voice and face are there again, like an echo on the autumn wind.

My room is next to that study room...

She takes a deep breath in as she lets it out again. She thinks about the hunger between her thighs that doesn't want to seem to be satisfied with the touch of her own fingers.

And then, after the want and desire and rage she feels another emotion that is filling the cool night as she feels the slightest grin move around her mouth. It is the strength of his stupid words that give her the final push for what will be next.

He will not know what hit him is the dominant thought in her mind. He can play with her. Mess with her. But she, she can do the same. And maybe, find that release she is craving for. The small grins turns into a stronger smile that she feels flowing through her eyes and as anticipation in her lower belly as she gets out of her own bed. She is on her way to the hallway. And then, there is one more emotion, that is filling her completely.

Determination.


Author's Note I wanted to thank you for all your kind reviews, follows and favorites for this story! I am going to work on chapter three soon, Love from Love