A/N: Lemons ahead!
The next morning, Charlie and Monroe didn't wake up until the sun was high in the sky, beating through the window of his room. They'd told Duncan they'd meet her at daybreak, so in their panicked scramble to get their packs ready and get out the door, they didn't have time to talk about anything that had happened the night before. When Charlie thought of how she'd acted, her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment. How could she have let Monroe-Bass-do those things to her, in public? But thinking of him fighting, and how he looked afterward, how she felt in his arms, she knew she'd do it all again in a heartbeat.
Hours late, she and Monroe rode out to the encampment where Duncan and her men stayed. Duncan was irritated with their tardiness, but a deal was a deal, and she sent the men off once she'd received the diamonds from Monroe and verified their authenticity.
As they departed, Duncan wrapped her arms around Monroe's waist and pressed her body into him, saying, "I hope it won't be long before I see you again."
He smiled tolerantly. "I'm sure you'll understand if I hope the opposite. Goodbye, Duncan." Charlie watched as he removed Duncan's arms from around him and strode away, then met Duncan's eyes behind Monroe's back. The older woman quirked her mouth up into a smug smile. Charlie's eyes narrowed. She was positive that Duncan and Monroe had been lovers, once, and it was clear that Duncan was not over him. As far as Charlie was concerned, they couldn't get away from New Vegas fast enough.
Their first few hours of travel were spent with all the men getting to know Monroe and Charlie, and each other to the extent they didn't already. Charlie tried to make it a point to talk to everyone. It wasn't pleasant to think about, but as the only woman in the group, she knew that for them all of to feel like they knew her was her best defense against some kind of assault. Well, that and Monroe, she reflected with a smile.
Her thoughts seemed to conjure him as he fell into stride next to her near the front of the group. He kept his eyes forward, and his expression was drawn, but at least he was walking beside her. They still hadn't really talked all day. Charlie had no idea where to start, what to say. Thinking of what they'd shared the day before just made her more nervous, not less. Finally she blurted out, "So, I managed not to kill you this time."
He glanced down at her, his expression not changing, "What?"
"This time in New Vegas. I didn't try to kill you," she repeated, referencing their conversation from before they'd arrived. It felt like another lifetime: before the desert, before the hotel room, before the dance floor. Charlie shivered.
Raising his eyes back to the horizon, he responded simply, "Oh. Yeah," then was silent. Monroe's walls were up a mile high, and Charlie was feeling more and more stupid. She had to find a way to break through.
Leaning into him playfully and grabbing his arm in hers, she teased, "You got off easy." Before she even got the words out, Monroe reacted, pulling his arm away hard and shaking free of her. He shot her a look of utter exasperation before marching away from her to join the men at the very front of the group.
Charlie stayed where she was, confused and humiliated. What had she done?
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Once they'd made camp for the night, Charlie parted from the group under the pretense of going off to look for firewood. It was a pretty transparent excuse, but she needed to be alone. This is becoming an unhealthy pattern, she thought. Bass does something to hurt my feelings; I go running off into the desert. Sooner or later, I'm going to get eaten by a coyote.
She halfheartedly looked at some logs, but eventually slumped down against the trunk of a Joshua tree and sat quietly, thinking over the events of the day. She tried to plan their strategy to attack the Patriots upon their return to Texas, to consider her first impressions of the men she'd met today, but her thoughts kept returning to Monroe. The time they'd spent dancing last night, after their insane flurry of passion, had been so calm, easy and almost sweet. Obviously, it had been the influence of the alcohol, the fight, or something. Now, in the light of day, Monroe seemed to want to forget it had ever happened.
"There you are," a voice from behind startled Charlie. Of course, it was him. Hot, cold, push, pull.
"Here I am!" she said fake-jauntily without turning around. Then, in irritation, "What do you want."
"Charlie, I know you're mad. But I have to lead those men. I can't have you hanging on me like a cheap suit in front of them."
She didn't exactly get the comparison, but his meaning was clear. "Is that your idea of an apology?"
"No." He stepped around in front of her, so she could see him. "It's not an apology. I just want to make sure you understand."
She rose to her feet, brushing her hands off on her pants. "No problem. I understand," she said flippantly.
He studied her, his head tilted forward. "You sure? Cause you still seem angry with me."
"Just go away, Monroe." At that, he straightened as if he'd been slapped.
"So now it's 'Monroe' again?" he asked disbelievingly. She met his question with stubborn silence. "Seriously, Charlie, I-"
"I get it, okay?" She cut him off. "Stay away from you! Message received! Loud and clear!" Before he could respond, she turned her back to him and walked as fast as she could back to camp. He didn't follow.
Charlie knew she was being unreasonable. What was so awful was, she did understand. He was right. He did have to lead those men. Especially in these critical first few days, he had to gain their respect and trust, and he couldn't do that if they perceived him as lovestruck, distracted, weak. Charlie knew and fully appreciated all of this. Which just made her gesture earlier that day all the more humiliating. She'd acted impulsively, foolishly.
Monroe was wrong about one thing. It wasn't him she was angry with. She was angry with herself.
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Lying beside the fire that night, Charlie stared into it unwaveringly, intensely aware of Monroe laying behind her. They hadn't spoken since she'd fled from him earlier. They ate and prepared for sleep in silence, next to a fire about ten yards away from the rest of the men. She'd overheard Monroe telling one of them that he understood if they wanted to blow off some steam without him hovering in the middle of them, which the man said he appreciated. So Monroe and Charlie were back to the arrangement they'd had before: her between him and the fire. She wasn't sure which she was more afraid of being burned by. Actually, scratch that, she was completely sure.
She heard Monroe shifting around on his bedroll, but she looked steadfastly ahead, not about to give him the satisfaction of glancing back. Suddenly, she sensed the warmth of his body and heard his husky voice much closer to her than she expected.
"Charlotte." Her disloyal heart began racing, for him. "You can stop pretending to be mad at me any time." She didn't respond, instead closing her eyes, willing herself not to move, not to give in.
"You may be able to ignore me, but I can't ignore you," Monroe continued, his voice raw. "Not after pretending to all goddamn day."
Gently, he rested his hand on her hip. When she didn't move away, he ran it up over her stomach and pulled her into him. Reflexively, her body relaxed against him, so she covered it up by asking obnoxiously, "Aren't you afraid the men will see you?"
"No," he replied smoothly, clearly having already considered this. "They're far enough away. And we're in the shadows behind the fire here. We'll just…" he runs his hand up and under her tank top, fondling her bare breasts, "have to be quiet."
Out of retorts for the moment, Charlie surrendered herself to sensation as Monroe's hand continued to stroke her breasts and he lowered his head to suck on her neck. He bit her skin, pulling it into his mouth. Charlie pushed her hips back into him, finding him hard and ready. She cried out softly in protest as his attentions to her neck skewed too far over the line of pleasure into pain.
"Ow," she complained. "Don't you think the men will notice a hickey?"
After a beat or two, Monroe broke away. "Good. Let them see you're mine."
She shook her head and laughed ruefully at his inconsistency, then tried to roll over, but Monroe held her in place. "Stay like this," he ordered. Charlie grew still, waiting for him. Behind her, he leaned up one arm, then used his free hand to undo the button and zipper of her jeans. He tugged at them, and she took her cue to shimmy them just down to her knees, not wanting to take them all the way off in case one of the men wandered over.
The cool night air on her backside contrasted with the heat of the fire in front of her. And the heat of Monroe's hand, now running up her bare thigh, over her hip, and down her ass cheek. Then his fingers were probing her from behind. Impatiently, he nudged her feet up with his, so her knees bent, exposing her pussy to him. "Mmm," he moaned as he touched her wetness. He ran his fingers back and forth, up over her clit, down past her entrance, and over her puckered hole, spreading her moisture, driving her crazy.
Once everything was lubricated, he placed a finger over her hole, pressing it lightly. When she gave way to him, he pushed inside. Charlie was shocked by the pleasure, as he pressed into her firmly. Quickly, he pulled out, running his hand over her soaked pussy once more, stroking her inflamed clit. Then he was back, pushing his finger inside again, deeper this time, almost until Charlie couldn't take it anymore. Suddenly, Charlie realized…
"Bass, I don't think I can… I don't think I'm ready," she explained in a slight panic.
"Shhhh," he replied, removing his finger, returning it to her clit, rubbing gently. "I'm not going to fuck you there. Not tonight." Charlie's stomach fluttered at the implied promise that he would someday.
Then he took his hands off her as he rolled onto his back. She heard him unzip his jeans and pull them off. He was completely naked. Then, he was back against her. She felt him using his hand to guide his hardness into her. Excruciatingly slowly, deliberately, he pushed into her, a little at a time, until he was fully buried in her, thrusting into her from behind. Charlie closed her eyes, feeling full, complete, turned on by being totally at his mercy. As if reading her mind, Monroe placed his hand at the base of her neck, over her collarbone, putting slight pressure on her throat, making her swallow hard. He pulled her toward him and began to thrust more insistently.
As his rhythm increased, Charlie's breath escaped in small puffs each time he entered her, and she bit her lower lip to stay silent as the pleasure built. She could feel Monroe beginning to lose control, and she reached down between her legs to rub herself so that she could reach her climax at the same time.
"Yeah, touch yourself, Charlotte," Monroe whispered in a husky, tight voice. "Come for me… God I want to feel you come on me…" She threw her head back against him, concentrating on the feeling of him moving deep inside her, his strong hand against her throat, his breath hot on her cheek. Her body began to shake with her orgasm, and she flexed her hips desperately against Monroe's cock as he worked inside her. A few seconds later, she felt him push into her hard, swallowing a groan deep in his throat as he came, too, still buried deep in her.
Monroe quickly pulled out, and she heard him putting his pants back on. She did the same and finally rolled over to face him. He was up on one elbow, still shirtless, looking heart-stoppingly sexy in the lowering firelight. They didn't touch, just looked at each other for a few long moments. Monroe took his hand and pushed her hair behind her shoulder, then curved it around her neck. Resting his forehead on hers, he said, "You are so beautiful, Charlotte."
Laying back, he pulled her upper body down on top of him, and she laid there contentedly with her head on his shoulder, gazing out across the desert as he looked up at the night sky. "I wish things could always be like this," she said softly.
Monroe leaned up slightly, looking at her face, then dropped his head. "You're talking about when we get back." She nodded. "Miles." She nodded again and heard him sigh deeply. "I know. For now, it's just you and me. No one else matters." She nodded a third time, her throat choked with tears. His words had released a flood of emotions, and she didn't trust herself to speak. Finally being open about her feelings for Monroe had intensified them exponentially in the last few days. She didn't know what she'd do if she lost him now. His arms squeezed tighter around her, and they drifted off to sleep.
The trip back to Texas was slow and, to Charlie, agonizing. Monroe stuck with his policy of being cool and distant with Charlie during the day, in front of the men. For the most part, it seemed to work, as no one said anything to either of them. But Charlie noticed a few broad smiles and whispered jokes between the men when Monroe and she spoke, even about neutral topics like when they would stop for lunch or how the horses were faring. Every time it happened, Monroe's face flashed with irritation, and he would quickly move away from her. As a result, she'd basically stopped trying to talk to him at all.
But although they avoided each other during the day, Monroe almost always came to her at night. They'd started making camp with the men closer by, so they couldn't be together while sleeping. But he found other ways. One night, he followed her far out into the dark desert, spreading his shirt out on the ground for them to lay on as he pounded her into the sand, bringing her to an intense climax, her mouth opened in a silent scream. Another night, just a few days from home, he came upon her in the creek where she'd stopped to bathe. He stripped down, joining in the deep water. He held her up with her legs wrapped around his waist, penetrating her deeply, heating her core in the cool water.
Charlie knew she should probably stop him. That she should refuse to let him ignore her all day and fuck her at night. She should be stronger. But "should" had no place in what was happening between them. Charlie wanted Monroe just as badly as he wanted her, and to refuse him would have been like refusing oxygen. She was desperate for him, needed everything he would give.
At last, they got to Willoughby around noon on a day just over two weeks after they'd left New Vegas. The relief of the journey finally being over had everyone in high spirits. When Monroe pointed the men to the barn that would serve as their shelter and base, they practically ran over there, eager to unload packs, relax, and settle in. Their sudden absence left Monroe and Charlie alone.
"Finally," Monroe growled, snatching Charlie into his arms. For a few seconds, he just looked at her, and she smiled broadly up at him. He couldn't hold back his own smile, then lowered his head to kiss her passionately. She tangled her fingers in his short curls, pulling him into her. His arms tightened around her waist in response, lifting her up onto her tiptoes. The kiss spun on and on. When they paused for breath, Charlie panted, "Wow. Aren't you afraid the men will see?"
"I've kept my hands off of you in public for two weeks," Monroe said, bending down, nuzzling her neck. "At this point, I don't give a shit who sees."
"Oh, I don't know…" a sardonic voice about twenty feet away remarked. "I think there might be someone you still give a shit about." Miles.