Naturally, Charlie

by S. L. Scott

  With my eyes closed, I breathe her in. She’s all the air I need. “You did this to me. You made me want you.” I’m not just talking sexually, but I can’t tell her that, not yet.

  I press my pelvis harder against her hand and hope I can impress her even more. Her breath staggers as she grasps me tighter, making me moan in return. “That feels so good.”

  I can’t lie. It’s been a while and even longer since I liked a girl this much.

  Her smile turns mischievous, her fingers grip me with intention then she stops. “I was calling this impressive. As for your other skills, I hope you’re bringing your A-game tonight.” She winks then squeezes for emphasis before stepping back and letting her bra fall to the floor.

  I hold her eye contact, though, I desperately want to see her in all her naked glory. My confidence builds, with a little arrogance mixed in, and is in full effect. “Oh baby, let me tell you, I’m gonna be the best you ever had.”

  She cocks an eyebrow, playfully challenging me, her own confidence skyrocketing. “Don’t tell me. Show me.”

  I look at her, taking in her entire body. I’ve never seen anyone as sexy as she is in this moment. “I intend to do just that.”

  I lunge at the woman, moving her to the bed. Charlie’s not shy, but she shivers now that she’s exposed to me. Lying down together, I rest my elbows on either side of her head and push her hair away from her face. I look into her eyes, now that I can see them, feeling our connection deep inside.

  Pushing up on my hands, I see all of her displayed for me—her bare shoulders, her breasts, her stomach and belly button. Her eyes close as my own follow her lines, admiring her body. I like how feminine she is, shapely.

  This woman was already driving me crazy with lust, but now her perfection is here to tempt me into sin. I feel myself hardening from the fact that she’s beneath me and knowing she wants to be here.

  I jerk against her, an erratic, involuntary thrust that elicits a squirm and panting breaths from her open mouth. I watch her reaction as I touch one of her breasts, her eyes opening as I appreciate the feel of her in my hands. “Sexy. You’re so sexy, Charlie.”

  She lifts her hips, arching her chest further into my hands. With a gentle squeeze, and then one a little harder, I learn what she likes, what turns her on. Leaning down, I lick around her nipple, taking my time. It tightens and perks, teasing me until I kiss the pink tip like I’d kiss her mouth. She’s starting to move around a lot, the intensity getting to her as much as it is me.

  “That feels so good . . . been so long,” she mumbles. She turns her head to the side. “More.” She rubs her pelvis against me. “More.”

  Lowering my body again, I press hard against the apex of her thighs, giving her the pressure she needs, giving me what I want. I start a slow rhythm that builds as I suck on one breast while squeezing the other, then switch. Her hands are on my head, encouraging, encouraging, encouraging.

  That’s when I start to move quicker, our underwear keeping a safe barrier between us. Her fingers grab hold of my hair, and she pulls hard as she tremors beneath me, calling my name. Her warmth and demand overcome my focus, which is hanging by the last thread of strength I have, and I follow her into ecstasy. My mind is fuzzy as my body resonates with pleasure.

  I drop my head into the nook of her neck as my body falls on top of her. I give us time until our breathing has synchronized then look into her sparkling eyes.

  “Hi,” she says. Even in the dim light, I can see her cheeks blush with color.

  “You’re blushing—”

  “Yeah.” She looks away from me, and I don’t like that. “I do that. It’s annoy—”

  “It’s pretty on you.” I kiss her, hoping to wipe away the embarrassment that’s seeping in. “Hey, don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “It’s good. This is good.”

  She wiggles out from under me, sits up, and closes her eyes. “Good, yeah.”

  But I see through her. She’s going to blame the alcohol. I can tell because I see regret taking over. As soon as I sit up, I wrap my arms around her and pull her onto my lap. She leans her head on my shoulder, and I kiss her neck.

  I whisper, “It was good. It was fantastic, in fact, just like you are. Don’t overthink this or twist it into something bad.”

  She sighs. “Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Only if you stay tonight.”

  That makes her smile again. “Well, if you’re going to blackmail me then I guess I have no choice, I suppose.” She’s coming back around to her usual self, rolling her tired eyes as her smile widens.

  A playful hit to my chest tells me she’s happy, so I flip her down, onto her back again. I kiss her once, twice, three times nice and quick before she can escape. “Stay with me because you want to, not because you feel you have to.”

  She plants a kiss on my chin. “I want to stay. Now get off me, you big oaf. You got me all . . . sticky and sweaty. I doubt you want sticky and sweaty in your fabulously soft sheets. What thread count are these anyway?”

  I laugh, once again amused by how her mind works. “They’re eight hundred—the perfect mix between stiff and too silky.”

  “I think I should worry that your sheets have been so thoroughly thought out.”

  “Oh, you should definitely be worried, but not about my sheets.”

  She rolls out from under me and stands, her hands cupping her breasts. She’s covering herself, but she doesn’t understand how hot she looks—swimsuit model hot. Turning around and sauntering toward the bathroom, she wiggles her ass and winks. “Worried, huh?”

  I throw a pillow at her, making her giggle. “Yes, worried, very worried if you keep that up, you tease.”

  She peeks out from the bathroom. “I’m not a tease, and if I remember correctly, you’re a lot sticky and sweaty yourself.”

  I jump to my feet. “We should shower together then.”

  That makes her laugh. “Um . . . yeah, no. Too soon for that business.”

  On that note, she shuts the door, and I fall backward on the bed as if I’ve been shot. I realize, I have been shot—right through the heart by Cupid. Damn that little cherub. When I least expected it, my life has been completely derailed, and yet, I’m excited to move in the new direction.

  I rush to the kitchen and grab two bottles of water from the fridge, setting one on each nightstand.

  When she returns, I pass her, stopping to steal one more kiss. She happily obliges me. Her breath is minty, which makes me curious if she used my toothbrush.

  “Help yourself to something to eat. I brought you a bottle of water over there.”

  She slaps my ass and says, “Thanks.”

  As I shut the bathroom door, I can see her crawling under the covers with a smile on her face. I hurry, wanting to climb in bed and hold her until she falls asleep.

  When I come out, I slip under the blanket and sheet and scoot next to her until we’re touching. She rolls onto her side, her back against my chest. I take her hand and drape my arm over her, holding our hands against her chest.

  Chapter 12

  I open my eyes slowly. It burns, so I clamp them shut again. The silence is deafening, unsettling, and the weight over my ribs, although warm, is concerning. I startle, realizing there is a person snuggled against my back.

  My body stiffens, tense with unease as a million memories race through my head. Charlie. Happy eyes, wet kisses, tickles, sparks, tingling, release.

  The thoughts engulf me until I realize I drank too much. I shouldn’t have come back to his place. I knew this would happen. I felt the sexual tension building at the club. All the laughs, little touches, flirting, warm breath laced with Jack Daniels heated my face and sent sensations straight to my core.

  My body betrayed me when my mind was vulnerable and he whispered sweet words to me last night. I know they were lies to comfort me, but I became weak to the gorgeous man who has become my friend . . . was . . . is . . . oh God, I hope we can still
be friends.

  He might not want to be once he wakes up and realizes that after six months of abstinence, I’m a complete wanton whore. Maybe he already thinks that.

  Oh no! My hands dart to my vagina, and relief washes over me as I discover my panties are still on. I mean, I think I would remember having sex after all this time of, well, not having sex, but I needed the confirmation just to make sure.

  I slink out from under his arm, and although he stirs, he doesn’t wake. It’s 5:39 a.m., and I’m wide awake with worry. I should leave and give him his space to wake up in peace. Hopefully, he’ll forget about this romp, and maybe, just maybe, we can get back on track with our friendship. I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together too much to throw it away on drunken escapades.

  Though last night . . . yeah, that was quite enjoyable, too. I feel my face heat with embarrassment as memories of me shouting his name come to mind. God, he must think I’m such a narcissist considering that’s my name, too. He’s going to think I’m a total freak who gets off on Charlies or, even worse, someone after his money. I knew he was from money, but I’m reminded of it again as I look around his apartment in the dim light of the early hour.

  I trip over my bra, but I catch myself while stumbling. I put it on then feel around in the dark room for my dress. I find his pants, his shoes, and his shirt before I find my clothes.

  I slip the dress on over my head and let it fall into place before twisting my arm to zip it up. Shoes. I need to find my shoes. I locate them several feet apart, and they remind me of his strong hand caressing my legs and then taking my shoes off before we got even more worked up. I had already been worked up last night before we came here, but I think I held it together enough to cover my nerves.

  His face is so handsome and sweet while he sleeps. But once dressed, I don’t look back at him, though that’s all I want to do right now because I don’t want to just look back, I want to crawl into bed and cuddle with him. That might make him feel awkward in his own home, though, and how mortifying would that be, if he asked me to leave? Last night was near perfection, and I’m not willing to let the light of day mess with my memories. So, I’ll protect them and leave before being asked.

  I tiptoe into the hall and find my purse in the living room, on the table by the door. I look around once more before sneaking out. I like his apartment, and I’m envious of his balcony. Apartments with those are hard to come by unless you pay a fortune, which by the looks of this place, he might have.

  I leave the building without further debate. This is the right thing to do. It shouldn’t be, but it is. He was a willing participant last night, but I started it by asking him to kiss me, and the alcohol led to more. I just hope he forgets my forward behavior and, even more so, forgives it.

  Chapter 13

  The rustling at the end of the bed draws my attention, and the emptiness of my arm wakes me. I look toward the sound and see her standing there. Her dress slides fluidly over her head and down her body. The sun has yet to break the horizon outside the large window, but there’s enough light to see once my eyes adjust to it.

  I glance at the clock, 5:45 a.m., and it’s the weekend. We could have slept in. I wanted that. I had blissful dreams with her in my arms.

  Continuing to debate whether I should say something, she bends down and puts her shoes on. I should let her go. She’s embarrassed or regretful . . . the words make my chest ache. Or maybe she thinks I’m the one who’s regretful. I don’t regret last night. I never will. I would hand over my Man Card to be able to cuddle with her a few more minutes.

  I remain silent as she ghosts around the room gathering her belongings then disappears into the hallway. Did she not want last night? Is it going to be chalked up to a drunken mistake? It won’t for me. I remember every kiss, the feel of her skin under my fingers, her breath as it covered me, and the sound of her voice as she came apart. Anxiety fills my lungs and my heart, but I let her leave anyway.

  I grab her pillow and smack it down over my face, inhaling her scent and hoping we can recover from this.

  Damn! I forgot to get her phone number . . . again. It might have been the distracting nightclub or the alcohol or the kissing that made me forget my mission, but I’m irritated that I forgot all the same. Although I do know where Charlie works, it’s Saturday and she won’t be there. I contemplate calling Rachel, but there are no guarantees she’ll give it to me. Besides, I don’t want to go through her friends. I want her to give it to me, for her to want to give it to me.

  I never go back to sleep. I can’t. Images of being above her and feeling her orgasm under me have left my mind reeling. Remembering her sneaking out is starting to override the good that was last night. I’m left wondering what went wrong and, more importantly, where we go from here.

  She didn’t stay, so that makes me think she regrets last night. I hope not, but reality is descending into my chest, making my heart hurt that we may not be meant to be together. The start of this relationship is full of complications, and I don’t know if either of us is strong enough to work through those.

  I pull on a pair of athletic shorts, T-shirt, socks and sneakers. I have pent-up energy, ideas of settling down, and stress that needs to be burned off. Once I hit the pavement outside, I’m off. I feel sluggish until I reach the park, falling in line with the other joggers who are up early to take advantage of the peacefulness and cooler temperatures. It makes me wonder if they have a mind full of thoughts to sort through like I do.

  I push myself hard as I round the turn that leads back to my building. My goal is five miles, and I have two more to go to reach it. Somehow, it seems easier when I set my own pace—fast when I’m irritated and slow when thoughts of Charlie arise.

  I can’t stop my mind from lingering on all that I’ve learned of her. She’s complex and understated. Her personality sneaks up on you and wins you over. She doesn’t have to be the center of attention, but you can’t ignore her beauty—inside or out.

  She’s taken over too much of my headspace, so I try to harness it, pushing all thoughts of her to the back of my mind until I’m ready to deal with them. Today’s not that day.

  After showering, I pull on some sleep pants and sit down at my desk. I haven’t written anything this week, not being in the right frame of mind. Aunt Grace’s passing has been weighing heavily on my heart.

  The impending family dinner I have to attend for the reading of the will agitates me, even though it’s more than two months away. I shouldn’t go. I don’t think Grace would care. It’s going to be more hassle than it’s worth, but something inside of me, something way down deep, tells me I should be there. I should be the one to talk about my great-aunt, to represent her the way I remembered, to show who she really was. No one else understood her like I did. She didn’t hide her true self from me. She didn’t put on the charade in front of me. No one else will serve her memory as well as I will. I have to be there for her.

  I open my bottom drawer and pull out a thin flat box tucked under extra file folders and desk supplies. I haven’t looked in here in months, but I feel the need to now.

  The top photo is a black and white one taken of Aunt Grace last spring. She was lively that day, and in a mischievous mood. She’d just had her will changed and shared that with me. I wasn’t comfortable speaking with her on such matters, and I’m not greedy and don’t want for much, so I told her to give everything to charity if she wished. I would love to see my family’s faces when they are told she changed the will and gave it all away to strangers. But Aunt Grace never revealed what changes she made. She had a sly sense of humor, and we’ll find out soon enough if she had her last laugh.

  I smile before placing the picture on the coffee table and return to face a blank document on my laptop. The cursor taunts me, daring me to start a novel, daring me to step outside my comfort zone.

  I stare.

  Time passes.

  Nothing.

  My intimidation level peaks, and I close my laptop bef
ore walking away from it in frustration. I stand in my kitchen, leaning against the counter. Looking back at the computer, irritation stings, but I know this is not about the writing or lack thereof. This is about Charlie and her sneaking out this morning. I haven’t been able to shake that away, to let her go.

  I don’t fixate on women like this. I date, sure. But it’s been a while since I was in a committed relationship. Committed makes me scoff. My last girlfriend should have been committed. The irony in the word.

  I make up my mind on the spot. I’m going to find her. I’m going after Charlie.

  After throwing on a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt, I slip on my sneakers and jacket. I grab my wallet, phone, and keys before rushing out the door. The funny thing is I don’t know where I’m rushing to. I know I want to see her. Correct that—I know I need to see Charlie, but I don’t know anything about where she lives. In a city of eight million, it’s not easy to track people down without knowing a last name or phone number.

  I stop on the corner and dial Rachel. I’m not in the mood to be polite. I’m desperate to fix this mess or settle it once and for all. The phone rings four times before I hear a familiar voice.

  “Yo, bro, what’s up?”

  I pull the phone from my ear and look down at the screen, positive I just dialed Rachel. I stare at it in confusion for a second before I remember last night. “Justin?”

  “Yeah, why you calling my woman before ten in the morning?”

  “Your woman?”

  I hear him laugh. “Dude, you were holding out on me before. Why’d you never mention Rachel?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “She’s a bombshell, a total hottie.”

  “Bombshell? Is it 1952 and I forgot?” I shake my head needing to end this ridiculous conversation. “Hey, I need to speak with her. Is she awake?”

  “She’s awake all right, but she’s indisposed right now.”

  “Okay, seriously, I don’t want to hear about your sexual exploits. Ask her if I can get Charlie’s number. It’s important.”