Chapter 4
Them
She should have stayed in her hotel room. But she is a Matheson. Making bad decisions is locked inside her DNA.
She has left her dress and high heels in her hotel room. Her anger needs her boots and leather jacket tonight. It's almost midnight. There is rain in the air. Heavy clouds move over the city while she walks through the almost deserted streets of Austin.
She knows which bar Blanchard and his men prefer to drink their whiskey, smoke their cigars and chase their women after a good party. It's a small bar in the heart of the city. She knows he is probably there.
With every step she takes, she feels more anger build up inside of her. Anger for everything she found in him. Anger for all the times he has been there for her. Anger for the way he had ended things between them when his eyes had told her things were far from over. A strong breeze fills the streets of the city around her. But it doesn't cool down her anger when she opens the door of the bar.
It's warm and humid inside. The light of candles finds its way through clouds of cigar smoke . He is sitting at the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand. His back is one wide wall of Monroe. She can feel the stares of the men who follow her through the bar. She ignores them and tells them to go to hell with her eyes.
She knows she should walk away with all her anger. She should let him drown in all his whiskey and misery. She should have let Texas kill him. She should have left him in New Vegas. She should walk away now. But she can't. He's close enough to touch. She knows he has heard her. He doesn't even look up.
'Why are you here, Charlotte?' His voice is rough and laced with whiskey.
Bass knows he should be more surprised she is here. But this is Charlie Matheson and she never walks away from a good fight. She has tracked him down before. He can't ignore the way his body responds to her so damn close.
The way his name rolls from his lips and into the heavy air between them, makes her heart beat faster. There is a steel burn in his eyes when he finally looks at her. But then the steel fades. She can see the loathing for himself in his eyes. She can see the longing for her in his eyes.
And she thinks about his question. His words are making her cold and dizzy and even more pissed. Because she doesn't know what she wants. She doesn't even know why she's here.
It is a lie. She can see her own lie reflected in his eyes. She curses at her mind and heart, for reminding and telling her she does know why she is here. She does know what she wants. And it's seeing what they are in his eyes, that makes it impossible to answer his question the way she wants to.
'Forget about it..' her voice sounds flat with sharp edges of hidden want and hurt. She looks at him one more time. She can feel his stare inside of her. She feels so much that she knows she has to walk out of the bar. She needs fresh air. She needs it now. She turns around and walks out of the bar before he can talk to her again.
When he wakes up, he has a headache from hell. His mouth is dry. The first thing his mind reminds him of when he wakes up, is her. He can taste her name on her lips. The rain beats against the window of his bedroom. He knows he can't fucking sleep. Not now she has walked back into his life. Not now she walked all the way to his bar to fucking find him. After she left, he had gone home and had numbed himself with more whiskey.
He gets out of his bed with a low grunt. He moves his hand over his face. He grabs his leather jacket and keys before he closes the door of his apartment behind him. And he knows he is going to fucking regret it, but he can't stay away. He has to see her.
The rain wakes her up. It's cold outside but the shiver that flows through her body has nothing to do with the cool, rainy weather. She listens to the rain and her heartbeat. But then she realizes there is a knock on her door that moves through the sound of the rain. And she knows, she knows without a doubt and with her whole heart, that he is here.
She walks to the door but she can't open it. Not yet. The heavy weight of him and her and realizing that what she had felt for him is still there is pressing heavy on her shoulders. She takes a deep breath.
When she finally opens the door, he is there. He is leaning against the doorway. He looks like hell. His hair is wet. Drops of rain move from the strong lines of his neck to his leather jacket. She can taste the scent of rain and whiskey that lingers around him.
'Jesus Monroe…..' She shakes her head, but her eyes stay connected with his.
He's still drunk. She's still angry.
He looks at her. She is only wearing a grey soft shirt and panties. She looks strong and yet at the same time, he can still see the vulnerable pieces of her heart in the way she is standing in front of him.
The anger in her eyes is taking him back to where things had started, years and a lifetime ago. He remembers how close she had been, standing in front of him with all her loathing for him in those fucking beautiful eyes of her. He had felt her warm breath against his face. He had been unable to look away from her when she told him to go to hell with her eyes before she had walked away and told him that if he wanted to stop her, he had to shoot her.
She is angry now too. It's deeper this time. It's different this time. It's even more personal this time. And he realizes that if she did not give a fuck about him, that anger would have faded by now. And it changes everything. He can't walk away. Not again. He doesn't know what the hell he is doing here. All he knows is that he needs her.
Charlie gets lost in his eyes. He is close enough to see the lines around his eyes. He is close enough to breathe in his scent. All she sees is him. All she feels is his wide, tall chest before her. She suddenly remembers how he tastes. She can almost feel his heartbeat. And his heart is so open and raw and there in front of her that she has to wrap her hands around his face the moment he moves his arm around her middle to pull her against him.
He walks them into her hotel room. His boot shuts the door behind them. There is a primal look in his eyes when he pins her against the wall behind her. His hands find the warmth of her skin under her shirt. Her hands wrap around the cool black leather of his jacket. She can feel the strong lines of his shoulders, hidden under the jacket. His hands roam over her shirt and panties. His mouth is warmth against hers. Her moan flows into his low grunt. He doesn't even take off her panties. He just moves them out of the way until he finds what he needs. His fingers move through her wet heat and soft curls. She eagerly and angrily yanks his jeans over his thighs, far enough to wrap her hands around steel and want.
He fucks her against the wall next to the door. He presses her against the wall, telling her she is still all his. She can sense it in his breathing. She can see it in the possessive look in his eyes. She wants to yell at him. She wants to punch him.
Bass can see all her hate and fire. He can taste all her want and rage. But he can't stop. He needs to fuck her. He needs to feel her body against his.
Her anger flows through her every time he thrusts deeper inside of her. But it is not enough to stop him. She should stop him. But him wanting her with his violent power, only makes her want to let Bass want to fuck her more. And she knows he knows, because he is fucking her harder.
His thrusts are deeper. His rhythm is faster. But with every deep thrust inside of her, his arm is pulling her closer. With every low moan that escapes form her lips, he kisses her harder and deeper. And she is not sure if they are fighting or fucking or destroying or finding each other.
She swore he would never kiss her again. But here he is. His mouth is warmth and his lips refuse to let her go. Before she can think about what she does and before she is able to stop herself, she buries her head in the space between his neck and strong, wide shoulder.
She can taste his deep sweat and him when her mouth moves against the skin of his neck. But then she remembers her anger. She remembers it is him who is fucking her against the wall of her hotel room. She opens her eyes to look at him. To tell him this is about all her anger and everything he should not have become to her. She tries to put distance between him and her, even when he is fucking her. But then she looks up to find his eyes. And she knows it is about them. This is about more than anger and loathing. It's still there. All of it.
His raw, deep look of want and hurt is filling her heart and mind in the same way he keeps on filling her. And she doesn't want to let go, but she has to. Bass is giving her no other choice. Maybe his name escapes from her lips. Maybe it is just in her head. It doesn't matter because she comes in strong waves around him deep inside of her, with his groans close to her lips and with her back against the wall.
She trembles in his arms when she comes. He pulls her closer. 'Charlotte…' His drunken mind betrays him right before he comes when he is buried deep inside of her. Her name is repeating itself like the rhythm of his thrusts.
When they are both out of breath, and she is still in his arms, he looks at her. And he can finally see more than her anger. He finds what made them who they were and still are, there in her eyes. She's there and with him again. He slowly moves some hair out of her face. He swallows when she leans into his touch. He doesn't let go of her eyes. It's still raining. Her hotel room is still dark. There is a chill in the air. But he can feel the warmth of her skin and her, deep inside his chest.
Author's Note: I really want to explore how they could slowly find their way to each other after season two in this story. Every chapter focuses on a different moment in their story. Last chapter was about the past, this chapter is about them and everything that is still there. I really enjoyed writing all their past, anger, lust and need in this chapter. Thank you for your follows, favorites and feedback for this story. I really appreciate it and I always enjoy hearing from you. Love from Love