They set off in the mid-afternoon, taking advantage of the shade trees along the sidewalks. The entire stroll was short; half a block down Myrtle, three blocks down West Cedar Street and halfway up Acorn to reach number eight. Charles felt a worrying anticipation in showing it to Charlotte: would she like it? Was it too close to his parents? Would it live up to all his glowing descriptions?
As they approached, Charlotte loosened her arm from his and stood back, studying the front of the townhouse, her head cocked in a way he recognized as an artist's assessment. She hummed a little and then turned to him, her smile sweet.
"A red door . . . it's beautiful."
A sense of relief flooded him and Charles hurried to unlock it, fumbling a little in his eagerness to open the door and usher her in. Charlotte waited, nudging his arm companionably. "This is cranberry, you know. A pretty shade."
"I did not know that," he murmured back, finally undoing the lock, "but I do now. Here's the vestibule . . ."
Part of him wanted to play tour guide and lead her through the house room by room, but Charles held back, preferring to let her set the pace. She stepped inside, looking up and down, nodding a little. The layout was similar to that of his parents' house but instead of an elevator, a winding staircase graced the back end of the central hallway, curling up to the second story.
At the moment Charlotte had wandered into the living room just off the right hand side of the vestibule and was circling the furniture, humming again. Charles stepped in and cleared his throat.
"The portrait there is of Captain Daniel Winchester, my father's great-uncle. I realize he's rather dour-looking, but it was a gift and I'm afraid I feel duty-bound to hang it somewhere in the house."
Charlotte looked up at the portrait for a moment and nodded, smirking. "I choose to believe he's dour because he would have rather done anything but sit for his portrait."
"Quite likely," Charles agreed. "I'm told it used to be a tedious affair."
"An artist likes to work in the same light when possible, so it was an investment of time over the course of months," she pointed out. "And for the captain, that meant being committed to an ongoing appointment. Still, he's got that Winchester nose and those blue eyes."
"That he does," Charles noted. "So this is the living room. I hardly used it to be honest. Most of my time prior to Korea I spent in the study or the bedroom."
"You won't have to change the latter on my account," Charlotte teased, and Charles felt his face heat up as he moved closer to her. The current living arrangement of Charlotte staying with his parents while he stayed here had been necessary and prudent, but still a nuisance, especially since they hadn't had a chance to do more than share a few chaste kisses since arriving in Boston nearly two weeks earlier.
As luck would have it though, today his mother was in the midst of arranging the wedding locale, so Charles had offered to show Charlotte the house. When Honoria volunteered to come along as well Charles had given her a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. His sister grinned and 'suddenly' remembered a book she needed to return to the public library. Charles knew he would be teased privately about it later but at the moment it was a small matter.
Charlotte moved to put her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I've missed you," she confessed. "Somehow sleeping in your bed isn't the same when it's without you in it."
"And I have missed you," he sighed. "I never understood how vital simple human contact can be until you, Beloved."
"Mmm," came her agreement. "We did get away with a lot in Korea, didn't we?"
"Propriety is a harsh mistress," he rumbled, kissing the top of her head. "Still, we have several places to examine, including the . . . bedrooms."
She looked up, hazel eyes twinkling now. "Doctor Winchester, I can hardly wait."
And that little admission made him tingle. Perfunctorily Charles led her through his downstairs study on the other side of the main hall, pointed out the kitchen and dining room in the back, then followed her up the winding staircase, allowing himself the erotic thrill of peeking up her skirt as he did so.
It was a lecherous thing to do, but dear God, utterly delightful as well, particularly when Charlotte turned at the top of the stairs and caught him at it. She dropped him a slow wink and sashayed a few steps back to let him clear the stairs.
"Did that give you any ideas?"
"Absolutely," he assured her, trying not to laugh. "Several of which I will gladly share with you."
"That's a promise I'm going to insist you keep," Charlotte giggled, and let him briefly show her the two back rooms before ushering her towards the front ones, culminating in the master bedroom on the left. Charlotte stepped in and squealed with delight at the sight of the tall four-poster bed.
Charles leaned against the doorway, watching as she looked over her shoulder at him, and after a charged moment of mutual staring, she purred, "The zipper to my dress . . ."
Slowly he pushed himself forward and caught the little tab, tugging it down her spine; it growled as he did so. Charlotte shrugged out of the sleeveless affair and stepped out of it, her pale pink brassiere, panties and garter belt seductively sweet against her skin. His mouth went dry and Charles felt the throb of his pulse through his thickening shaft.
"Charhlotte," he managed, and then she was in his arms, kissing him with little gasps and flicks of her tongue against his. The mingled scent of her clean skin and the Shalimar she wore had him dizzy, and he slid his hands down her warm back, pulling her closer.
They kept kissing, winding around each other and Charles felt her fumble with his shirt buttons and the zipper at his fly. His disrobing was less graceful than hers, but Charlotte's sigh of appreciation made up for it, and when they both produced condoms at the same time, they laughed.
"Great libidos think alike," she giggled. "Oh Charles . . . "
"How did you . . ?" he murmured, sidetracked by the image of her simply strolling into a drugstore in Boston to purchase them.
"Presidio PX. I thought it would be good to stock up before we left," Charlotte told him before tearing open the packet. Charles groaned as her talented fingers rolled the slick latex onto his prick. "Annnd now I'm SO glad I did!"
"I concur," Charles growled before pressing hard kisses to her neck, and walking her back towards the bed. He loomed over her, feeling hot and urgent and desperately in love with this sweet imp of a woman. She purred and kissed him from one corner of his mouth to the other, eyes bright.
"I want—" she wriggled, twisting in his arms until she was face down on the edge of the bed, her firm little ass pressed up against him, "This."
"Ohhh," he grunted, throbbing against the thin nylon of her panties. "Um, yes. Yes, that . . ."
Charlotte wiggled out of them and widened her stance, working a hand behind her to help angle his shaft, and Charles gritted his teeth, willing back the shudder of lust at her touch. That he, an intelligent, civilized man could be so utterly undone by the entrancing vision of her pert ass framed in a garter belt had him dazed.
Charles braced one hand on the bed and slowly pushed forward, fighting the desire to thrust hard, the way his entire body was urging him to do. Under him, the sweet cushion of Charlotte's ass ground against his thighs and she . . . yodeled.
That sweet joy-filled cry broke his reserve and he rocked into her, stroking deep, the pleasure almost more than he could bear. Apparently this particular position was as wonderful for her as well; Charlotte squealed, arching her spine. "Ohhhhhhyesyesyesyes!" she burbled, counter-stroking back onto him.
They found a lovely rhythm for a good while, hot and hard and filled with groans; Charlotte clawed the spread in front of her and the sight of that made him growl himself. It was a delight to catch her hips and feel the lace of the straps slide over the backs of his hands as Charles thrust quicker and quicker. Just before he knew he wouldn't last much longer, he felt the slick vise of her cleft squeeze as she shuddered, mewling as the pleasure overcame her.
That did it, and Charles let the heat drive him hard and deep, blinding him to everything but the sweetness of taking Charlotte and slumping over her damp spine, drained of fluid, passion, and all rational thought.
A while later, he roused himself, and Charles had just enough presence to grip the condom as he reluctantly disengaged himself from Charlotte and pulled it off, setting it aside on the carpet for later disposal. Charlotte turned her face to him, her curls damp and her expression utterly serene. "I needed that," she confessed.
"As did I, you beautiful bewitching woman," Charles admitted, laughing softly at himself. "Although perhaps the next room I should show you is the shower?"
Charlotte giggled.
She was quiet as they walked back to Myrtle Street at sunset, and Charles knew her well enough now to know it was something on her mind, so he slowed his pace.
"Charlotte, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. Well . . ." she sighed, looking up at him. "The house is lovely. It's charming and perfect and all . . . you."
Charles drew in a breath, instinctively knowing what she meant.
"I mean I'm just wondering where I fit in," Charlotte murmured shyly. "Everything's decorated and arranged and in its place. Everything but me."
"That's why I needed you to see it as it is, and figure out how to make it our home," Charles replied earnestly. They'd reached the crosswalk and waited for the light to change. "Beloved, the only room I'm unwilling to change is the study, which I need for professional reasons; the rest of it is in your hands. Hang the captain's portrait wherever you wish; change the furniture or wall colors or rug, I trust your taste and want you to be happy there."
Her eyes grew large and she nearly tripped stepping off the curb when the traffic stopped, but Charles steadied her with his arm. "Oh I don't want to change everything!"
"Then don't," he shrugged. "Frankly, I was hoping you'd convert one of the back bedrooms into a studio for yourself, and that we might consider making the bedroom across from the Master into a . . . nursery."
"A studio? A nursery?" it was amusing to hear the delight in her voice, and Charles nodded.
"Yes. Your gift with art needs a place of its own to thrive, Charlotte, and as for the latter, well it's good to think ahead, hmm?"
She stopped, tugging him to face her, and hugged him hard, right there on the sidewalk between Mt. Vernon and Pinckney Street in a display of affection that drew a few whistles and smiles from passersby.
And for once, Charles didn't give a hang for respectability as he hugged her in return.