She grabs her jeans and shirt from the bed. Her jeans travels smoothly over toned thighs. She leaves the top button of her jeans open with a small smile that plays with her lips. She decides to forget her bra.
The fabric of her shirt is brushing her nipples. They immediately respond to the touch of the fabric caressing her sensitive hardening nipples. Her breasts and the rest of her body are still awake from touching herself with the images fuelling her fingers. Her body is awake with thoughts and possibilities of him.
She walks out of her room and closes the door behind her. The book still there in her room on her nightstand, next to the candle in the candle stand.
With determination and with her bare feet touching the wooden floor, Charlie walks through the hallway of the silent house. The sound of her feet on the wood of the floor mixes with the nightly wind that is still roaming in squalls of autumn around the house.
She stops before his door, deciding she will give him the courtesy of a knock on his door, just to mess with Monroe and confuse him a bit more. Thoughts of heated angry payback for him being his crude presumptuous self, are filling her mind. The sound of her fingers making contact with his door pulsates through her belly.
One knock on his door and he knows it is her. He pushes himself up from the mattress as he leans on one elbow, the blabket now somewhere aournd his middle, as he he sits up in his bed.
'Yeah?' His voice is low and hoarse.
The door slowly opens. And then she is there. Charlie. All of her. The way she is closing the door behind her is the first thing that gives him an internal warning the size of Texas in his damn mind. She is stepping into the room like she is sneaking up on a deer right before she shoots the damn thing. She walks to the bed. His fucking bed.
There are about five whole fucking seconds where he can still pretend she is here because there is something that has to be fought or killed outside. But this is Charlie, and she would never ever ask for his help. Hell, she does not even need his help. She can fight or kill anything out there herself.
But then his eyes move to her shirt. No bra. And then they move even lower, to her jeans. Unbuttoned. His mind is busy as hell to answer the question of why the hell she would forget them. Bra and button. Her pants opened enough around her lower belly and hips to expose just a hint of god damn panties.
And hell, then he knows. She wants something all right . And with Charlie Matheson that could be a lot of things. From his head on a silver plate to just some plain good old fashioned insults with loathing and sarcasm.
But her eyes do not scream kill, or insult or loathing. They scream pay back and something else his cock is registering with craving and panic all in one. He swallows as the tip of his tongue wants to move over his lips. He fights the urge and wins that that battle.
Charlie watches his tall body in his bed, and even in the little light that reaches them from the moon outside, she can see his eyes and the lines of his jaws and moustache around his lips.
'Charlie...' his voice is raw and low and all him but there is just the slightest hint of overwhelmed panicked man in there as well. 'Anything wrong?'
Charlie cannot help but smirk at the way he is trying to be all casual Monroe.
It is dark but he can hear the small satisfied huff of air escaping from her lips that forms into a small predatory smirk. She walks slowly, so slowly, but with determination in her steps, to the bed. The light from a small moon and stars outside that moves through the gap between the curtains, falls on her face and her lush fucking hot as fuck lips.
Charlie watches Monroe. She takes in his tanned skin, the strong lines of his shoulders and chest. Strong lips under a moustache, scruff, eyes that still manage to find her, even in the dark room. The v-line of his shirt exposes the start of a wide chest.
He is in his jeans and shirt. She knows he still sleeps in them, even when they are not out there on the road anymore. His weapon on his nightstand. Always ready to go, never not ready to fight, kill or defend.
'I couldn't get any sleep,' her eyes are not letting him go, 'and I was thinking...maybe you are right, Monroe.'
'I... uhm.. you were huh?' He feels tension in his throat and jaws. Telling himself to not look at the way hee tits play with the fabric of her shirt. Charlie admitting he could be right about something is a first but right the fuck now it could only lead to a whole lot of trouble. Naked wet willing Charlie trouble.
Charlie enjoys every second of confused Monroe. She is soaking up every single second of this start to whatever is next.
But there is also something else beating with her wild heartbeat. It flows right under her skin. Something she is still masquerading. Desire. Trying something new. Surrender to wanting to feel what it could be. Images of the book that is on her night stand in the other room mixing with that pressure between her thighs in a strong powerful way. His raw words on that porch. The man before her. What he could do. To her.
'Yeah, you are right, sometimes there are more interesting ways to experience something than reading about them in a damn book.' Her voice is steady.
She is repeating his own words as she moves to the end of the bed and slowly places her knee on the mattress before her. His mattress. His thighs and legs hidden under the blanket and so, so close.
She watches how his mouth starts to move as he is about to curse something. She knows this without a doubt because she can see the tunder of those curses in his eyes. But she does not give him time to do anyting. her eyes lock with his. She keeps on moving, as they both hear the creaking noise of her body being moved onto his bed. Charlie easily moves her body towards him, as she still keeps her distance. Telling him, she is in control. She will dictate how much distance there will be between him and her. Dictating how much he cannot touch her now.
She straddles his legs, right under his knees and so very much out of reach for him. But his eyes, his eyes are on her, glued on her like nothing else matters now. It fills her with a powerful sense of control.
There is a moment where she is realizing she is too stubborn to stop this. And then that moment is followed by the moment where she realizes she does not want to stop this. Realizing she wants to try and taste this. She wants to know what it will be like.
What it would be like to touch herself, right in front of him. To come with him so close. To come with those eyes on her and her fingers inside of her panties.
Bass watches her, as Charlie has straddled his legs. Her strong thighs are pinning his legs in one place, only a blanket separating them now. The thought of her pussy so damn close to his skin is making him hard as fuck. He feels the pressure of her thighs and whole body on his legs as his heart is racing like an idiot in his damn chest and he presses his tongue against his teeth. There is a part inside of him that wants to yank her closer and fuck her right the hell now under him. The other part that is hard with anticipation where she will take this, wins.
Bass decides to sit back and enjoy the show.
One look, one arrogant and almost crude anticipating look from him and she knows she will see this through.
She keeps her movements slow to make sure he follows her hand. To make sure he will understand where her hand will travel to. She makes herself comfortable, adjusting her weight so her ass touches his legs now.
Her hand starts to slowly move over the lines of her neck. The image of the book close. The image of a man's lips on a woman's skin, slowly kissing and tasting the skin of her neck. She looks at Monroe, she looks at the moustache and scruff around his mouth and it is so easy to let go and imagine those lips on her skin, on her neck. She can almost feel him there as his eyes are there to follow her every movement.
Bass slowly shifts his body to give his damn balls and hard on some space and relive. He watches how Charlie touches herself, right there in front of him. He soaks up how she lets her hand move sensually over her tits, teasing them as she moves even lower. Her hand is now on its way to her belly, as she slowly plays with the fabric of her shirt.
Her breasts under the fabric are out of reach and out of sight. But those hard nipples of her, visible and strong and so fucking hot, are driving him slowly insane. And then, fucking hell, her hand moves even lower and is on her way to those tiny fucking panties that are barely visible with those jeans of her still around her hips and ass.
It is the moment her fingers start to slide into those tiny fucking panties his cock twitches in his damn pants. He can see the start of dark blonde curls just above the line of her panties, and hell, does he want to rip that jeans and shirt right of her.
Charlie watches a broody hot strong wave of lust wash over his face at the exact moment her fingers find her clit. And she cannot fight back the moan that was not supposed to escape.
His low grunt coming from the back of his throat fills her with sensual power and her hands stroke her clit again. And again. Her ass is rhythmically moving over his legs, creating a rhythm that will make her come, fast.
Bass looks at her as he cannot fucking do anything more than look at her. Free, wild, and god damn beautiful. He used to run a whole damn Republic but all he can do now is sit and stare and take in every second of her.
There are not many people who can mess with him the way she can, and there are even less woman that can fill his mind the way she does. But hell, Charlotte, she can. Over and over again, with every stroke of that hand in her damn pants, out of his sight, bombarding his mind with images of her wet curls and her hands moving through wetness between those thighs of her.
Charlie lets her eyes roam over the bulge in his pants, that is visible even through the layers of his pants and the blanket before her. And she knows, she does this to him. She is making him look at her with this raw Monroe hunger. She is doing this. To him.
The image of Monroe moving his hand over his cock under the blanket is what makes her come. She moans and smirks at the same time as sensual pleasure takes over and makes her forget the rest. And all there is, is her hand between her thighs, stroking herself, her breathing, her release and Monroe so close she can feel and hear every of his harsh intakes of breath when she comes against her own hand, buried in her jeans.
Her body is still shocking with lust and an orgasm that was like an autumn storm inside of her body. Her skin is wet with sweat, her hand is still in her panties as she is breathing harshly and her eyes are closed to control her breathing. One of her hands is resting on his left thigh, right above his knee.
When she opens her eyes he is still watching her, but there is also something else happening in those lust filled eyes of him. His eyes are harder and more steel.
Bass watches her as she comes down from her high. His dick is almost exploding with aching lust for her, as he watches how her lips are lush and wet.
Charlie licks her bottom lip. She has to, as she is attacked with that hungry wolf stare he is giving her and that smart crude mouth of his that is open in shock and raw awe and lust. She has seen his eyes like that once before, years away in a different part of the continent.
She almost gets lost in their eyes that stay connected. But then she remembers what she came here for. She remembers all the strenght of powerful control and desire that are still moving through her body. Wit a satisfied smirk, she determinedly pushes herself up from his legs as she easily gets of his bed.
Charlie is moving away from his bed and raw steel eyes. Her jeans are still open. She is still out of breath. Her thighs are still trembling, the fabric of her shirt is sticking against her breasts as it is wet with her sweat that got her all the way to her release.
She almost makes it to the door. Almost. Because in just four seconds he has gotten out of his bed. He pins her to the wall next to his door with his strong tall unsatisfied body right behind her. A raw low grunt escapes his mouth the moment he locks her against his chest and shoves her against that damn wall.
Her breasts touch the wall, and his lock is firm but not too much. It creates friction of the bricks of the wall against breasts and Charlie feels her whole body responding, again.
Bass smiles a crude smile with a fast jerk of his mouth. If she thinks he will let her walk after that little stunt she has just pulled, she is fucking wrong. She is not going anywhere. He uses his thigh and his hard on to keep her in place. Right the hell against that wall and his chest. She is staying there until he shows her what he can do.
Charlie waits, breathes, tingles as she feels his hard cock for the first time against her ass and lower back. She bites back the moan it threatens to draw out of her. She does not want him to know, she cannot let him know how much her body wants to add more pressure against his chest and thighs now.
But there is a small grunt and deep breath escaping his chest that tells her it is too late, that he might already know. Maybe he has always known.
Monroe is not touching her. He is not hurting her. He just keeps her there, between him and the wall of the room. He is just keeping her in place with his body.
The sound of a zipper behind her, and a hungry groan rolling from his chest makes her thighs spasm as she feels how he shifts his weight behind her. She is pulsating with wetness and forbidden want. She never knew that just one sound, the sound of his zipper, could almost make her come again.
His thighs are placed against and around her legs, showing her exactly how tall he is and how much control he has over this moment. Over this room. Over her.
With strong powerful strokes he answers to his throbbing cock in his hand as he keeps her pinned in one place. Right where he can feel her. He can take in her scent. He breathes in the scent of her touching herself earlier. Images of how her tits would look in his damn hands and how those wet curls between her thighs would look if he would slowly open her legs, right the hell in front of him.
Stroke after stroke builds up his throbbing release that he can feel shooting from his balls all the way to his thighs, her perfect ass bouncing against them. And it is the small aching needing moan escaping from her throat the moment his hand working his cock touches her ass, that makes him come.
He is breathing harshly as his head is close to her hair. She does not move as he feels how she shifts her weight to move it from the wall and more towards him. He almost gives in. But he can't. Not when he is not even sure what they are doing. What she is doing. What she is trying to do to him. The risks are too high to high to give in.
When he is able to catch his breath he moves away from the wall, giving her back her space. Charlie feels the sudden void that Monroe creates by stepping away from her body. She turns slowly, biting her lip and facing him head on.
God, he swears, it is what gets him into all kinds of fucking trouble with her. Mind, cock and a piece of his heart she does not even know she fucking has and that is unable to leave her behind, or hurt her or not save her ass when she gets herself into all kinds of fucking trouble again. Those eyes of hers, that heated eager stubbornness to always lock eyes with him with that challenging fire in her eyes.
He feels her eyes on him as she takes her time looking at him while he grabs a cloth to clean his hand. His fingers close the zipper of his pants, his cock aching behind the fabric again. He looks at her. She is looking at him like they are both trying to decide something. She speaks first. Her voice is hoarse but all kinds of Matheson strength too.
'Goodnight..' A small heated smile around her lush lips meets him when she walks to the door, not looking away from him.
He just looks at her. There is a huff of air that rolls of his lips at the way she leaves him standing like some moron in his room. This woman. Charlie. Fuck. He stands there, until there is a fast amused cruel, but also a softly heated grin apearing around his mouth as he remembers how to fucking use his voice again. 'Goodnight, Charlotte.'
And he knows, that she knows, that this is far from over.
Author's Note A special thank you to Threemagpies, for her feedback and friendship. And thank you to all of you. You are such an inspiration when I am working on my stories here. You have no idea how much your support means to me. Your feedback and support makes writing, something I always love, even more autumn gold! There willl be a new chapter for this story in the first week of January! Love from Love