by Rebekah Blue
He released one of her wrists and smoothed an escaped curl back behind her ear. Her hand fluttered to his chest and stayed there, flattened against his golden, sweat-dewed skin.
“Scared of me?” he murmured.
She stared into his eyes, so dark and intense, the pupils spreading like pools of ink. “Scared for you,” she choked out.
Then all further words were lost as he bent and took her mouth in a kiss that sent a shockwave of desire slamming through her body. She melted, and might have fallen if he hadn’t held her fast, crushing her to him with sure, possessive strength. She could feel his heart beating in his broad chest, strong and rapid, and she realized he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. His kiss was wild and urgent, and as she caught a ragged breath, he growled and pressed against her, stroking her tongue with his and tangling his fingers in her hair to hold her closer.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and arched against him, pressing her body to his in mute appeal. His cock was a hot, rigid length against the softness of her belly and she gave a little whimper as he rocked his hips, pressing his thick, heavy erection against her.
“Oh God…Charlie…” His voice was thick with desire, sending thrills of electricity skittering over her skin, but then he went rigid, freezing. “No,” he said. “Stop. Wait.”
Breathlessly, confused, she disentangled herself from him. Her nipples were pebbled against the thin fabric of her T-shirt, and she was sure he must be able to smell her sticky arousal and hear the frantic thrumming of her pulse.
The look Art gave her was pure agony. He trembled with the effort of self-control. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked her. “Even though you—”
“Shut up,” Charlie said. “You idiot.” And she kissed him, running her hands down his broad, smooth back to clutch at the taut globes of his ass, pressing mindlessly against him. He yanked impatiently at her T-shirt, pulling it off then lowering his head to kiss and suck the heavy, creamy globes of her breasts. He scraped his teeth over her collarbone, then lapped at the freckled flesh, and all the time his hands greedily explored her curves.
Her panties were soaked, her nipples stiff, aching points, and she whimpered as he brushed his thumb over one rosy nub, teasing it through the cup of her bra. He groaned in response, and excitement pooled in her belly and tightened her core.
They sank to the ground together, limbs entwined, and Art unhooked her bra and tossed it away as she wriggled out of her pants. Art rolled onto his back, drawing her with him so she was straddling his hips, clad only in pink cotton panties. Her upper body was naked, skin glowing in the firelight. Art palmed her breasts, squeezing and caressing them, looking up at her with lips slightly parted and pupils blown wide with desire.
The ridge of his erection was an erotic torment against her swollen pussy, even through the thick denim of his jeans, and she whimpered and writhed against him, biting her lip as the friction sent shudders deep into her center and a blissful warmth spread in her belly.
She leaned down over him and kissed him, nipping his lower lip and darting her tongue into his mouth when he groaned helplessly in response. She worked her hands down between them and tugged urgently at his belt buckle, then fumbled with the button of his fly, murmuring with frustration until Art brushed her hands away.
He shimmied out of his pants, freeing his erection, which sprang up full and proud. A glistening strand of precum stretched, gossamer-thin, from the slick purple head to the skin of his flat belly. He pulled her snug to its hot, hard length, rolling his hips, arching up towards her. The sensation, even through the sodden cotton of her panties, had her moaning with excitement, squirming and writhing with the need to have him inside her.
Art ran his hands over her full breasts, trailed his palms across the curve of her belly, dipped his fingers beneath the elastic of her panties. They locked eyes for a moment, breathing hard, electricity crackling between them.
Then he fisted the pink cotton in his big hand and tore it away, discarding the scraps of her underwear as he rolled her over, kissing her hard and pushing his way between her spread thighs, hooking her knee over his hip to open her up to him.
She was so wet she thought he’d slip inside easily, but he was so big… He grasped her hips and worked his way inside her inch by exquisite inch, coils of desire winding tighter inside her. She gasped and wrapped her legs around him, crossing her ankles at the small of his back and urging him to fill her, to fuck her, to take her and possess her and shatter her.
Art groaned desperately as he seated himself to the hilt in her grasping heat. He froze for a moment, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against hers, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. Then he began to move.
He thrust inside her, setting up a driving rhythm that barely gave her chance to catch her breath. With each flex and roll of his hips, each pistoning movement of his thick cock inside her, something inside her wound tighter and tighter.
She mewled helplessly and clutched at his back, digging her fingers into the sweat-slick skin, holding on for dear life. The scent of her arousal and Art’s masculine, musky scent mingled with the Starweed smoke. All she could hear was the thundering of his heart and her gasps of excitement.
Art increased the pace, pumping into her slickness, giving a small grunt of effort and tension each time he plunged fully inside her.
Charlie moaned, and the moan was snatched away by a surprised cry as she came, hard. She tensed, her muscles locking, thighs trembling as orgasm slammed through her.
Art’s rhythm stuttered, and he groaned, a low, hoarse sound – out of control. He spilled himself inside her, burying his face against her throat as he gasped out the last of his pleasure.
Chapter Ten
All Art could see of Charlie was her shapely bottom poking out from underneath the belly of the plane, where she was expertly tinkering with something. He took a moment to admire the view before he went back to work on the Cessna’s door. He slowly and carefully pressed the deep, ugly dents out of the door with his fingers, relishing the steady strength of his big hands. It was still buckled and uneven, but at least it was the right shape and would fit back into the frame. It was a satisfying feeling, but it was overshadowed by worry.
He knew Charlie believed him now…and that was a new and different problem. Dynamic Earth had shown they were killers. That was what he was asking her to walk into. And for what? For a fucked-up mutant who’d walked through a firefight that had killed most of his squad. His freakish strength hadn’t helped them, and it wouldn’t help Charlie now – even if he hadn’t burned the Starweed. Was he already starting to feel weak and sick, or was that just guilt and worry? This was why he needed to be alone, he reminded himself bitterly. When people were around him, they got hurt.
Charlie crawled out backwards from underneath the plane and swept her hair from her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a black smudge. Then she blew out a breath and wiped the oil from her hands with a rag.
“That’s about all I can do for now. At least until the team gets here with the replacement parts the old bird needs.” She looked at the ripped-off door propped beside Art. “Oh, wow, you’ve done an amazing job with that.”
He gave a faint smile and set the door aside. “It’s a bit like trying to un-crumple a ball of paper.” He shrugged. “There’s only so much I can do.”
“Are you kidding?” Charlie was bubbling over with energy. He wondered if it was because she was soon going to be back in civilisation, with air conditioning and running water and normal people – even if that was by Dynamic Earth’s standards of “normal”. “It’s fantastic,” she went on. “Like a circus trick or something.”
Art winced. “Roll up, roll up,” he said. “Free family-size popcorn when you buy tickets to see the freak.”
Charlie laughed. “I meant like the strongman,” she said. Then she bent a little to meet his eyes. “Hey,” she said in a more serious voice.
Art gave her a wan smile.
“Hey!” She nudged him with her foot, not particularly gently. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Big, sexy, macho bears don’t mope.”
That surprised a laugh out of him. There was something about Charlie that seemed to make him light up inside. Even though he knew that whatever happened they were both in for a world of pain and danger and uncertainty, she just made him smile.
He got to his feet and she wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. Her adorable freckled nose scrunched up, still pink and peeling from the sun, and she said, “I’m all dirty.”
Art gave a playful growl and dipped her backwards, kissing her soundly. “That’s just how I like you,” he told her, and ran his hands down to pull her hips against him, squeezing the soft globes of her backside and nuzzling the side of her neck.
When they broke apart, she smiled seductively at him, then took his hand in hers and led him to a patch of shade cast by an overhanging rock. She pushed him back against the rock, then kissed him, pushing her body against his so her full breasts were crushed against his chest. She pushed her hips against him, and his cock hardened, the friction quickly arousing him even through the barrier of their clothes.
Her tongue darted against his, quick and clever, and he tried to wrap his arms around her, meaning to turn her, press her against the rock, explore her sweet body with his hands and mouth and drive inside her welcoming warmth, but she danced backwards away from him, a wicked light shining in her big brown eyes as he reached for her. She slapped his hands playfully.
“Nuh-uh,” she said. “I made you a promise, and I always keep my promises.”
His brow wrinkled in puzzlement. His brain was fogged with lust and he was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the humming sensation thrumming through his body and the uncontrollable urge to haul her into his arms and have her.
“What promise?” he asked. He snagged the waistband of her pants and hooked his fingers into her belt loops, pulling her closer and trying to kiss her again.
She placed one palm on his chest, teasing him with tiny, fleeting kisses, and slowly trailed the fingers of her other hand downwards. He growled with frustration.
“When we first met,” she said, her lips a scant inch from his, tempting him beyond endurance, “I said I was going to blow your brains out.”
Then she slithered down his body until she was kneeling at his feet, her hands working at his belt buckle.
Art almost came then and there.
* * * * *
Charlie took Art’s erect cock in her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and smiling when it twitched in her hand and he gave a low, tortured groan. She allowed her breath to ghost over the slick head, deliberately teasing him. He buried his fingers in her hair, and she ran her palm from the tip of his length to the base and back again, coaxing a pearly drop of fluid from the slit.
She ran her free hand up the inside of his strong thigh, taking his balls in her palm and gently rolling them, making him groan and gasp again. She circled her tongue over the head of his cock, delicately dipping her tongue into the slit at its tip with shallow, darting movements, then sucked on the dark, bulbous tip like a lollipop.
Art gasped, his fingers tightening in her hair as she slid her lips down his shaft, taking him all the way in, humming to herself. She felt the petals of her sex dampen as the vibration made the little muscles in his belly twitch, her excitement feeding on his.
His breathing was ragged, and she could feel him trembling as he resisted the urge to thrust. She bobbed her head, taking him in and releasing him again, his length sticky with saliva and precum. As she moved, she hollowed her cheeks, sucking him and tonguing him.
Art moaned, his voice becoming more urgent as she moved, his hips rolling slightly even as he fought to stay still, to let her blow him.
Within moments, his moans turned to a hoarse, helpless groan, and he jolted and shuddered with his climax, alternately cursing incoherently and murmuring sweet nothings as Charlie swallowed down his cum.
* * * * *
Later – much later – Charlie propped herself on Art’s chest, gazing down at him and smiling contentedly. She was sore and aching and sated. There was nothing but a blanket between them and the night air.
He smiled back at her…but she could see something haunted in the depths of those dark eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked him. She stroked his high cheekbone with the backs of her fingers. “Do you feel sick? Are you worried I won’t come back with Starweed for you? Because I will. I sw—”
He placed his fingers over her lips, cutting off her promise. “Starweed isn’t my priority. Haven’t I proved that? I’m not worried about myself. I’m worried about you. It’s a dangerous game we’re playing, Charlie. You’re going to be shining a light on plans Dynamic Earth wants to stay in the dark, and if they find out what you know…” He trailed off. Then he took her face in his hands and gave her a sweet, lingering kiss. “You don’t have to come back for me…but Charlie, you have to come back.”
Before she could open her mouth to reply, a familiar voice piped up from behind her.
“Oh, blech. Romance. I could be scarred for life. Won’t somebody think of the children?”
Art and Charlie scrambled to make sure all the important bits were covered by the blanket as Titch plunked herself down by the ashes of the campfire and started to rifle through Art’s pack.
“Got anything to eat?”
Chapter Eleven
Charlie had wrapped the blanket around her as a sort of itchy sarong, and Art had yanked on his jeans. They stood staring down at Titch, who was perched casually on a rock, munching nonchalantly on a granola bar. She’d obviously bathed and been given clean clothes to wear. Her hair was clean and fluffy-looking, though still a dark dishwater blonde. The too-long jeans had been rolled up and the hems were already grubby, and she was wearing a pink T-shirt with frilled sleeves that seemed very un-Titch-like.
Art put his hands on his narrow hips. “What the fu—” Charlie smacked him on the arm and shot him a warning look. “What the…fiddle are you doing here?” he demanded. He obviously felt some of the impact had been ruined, so he added, “Young lady.”
Titch just rolled her eyes at him and continued to gnaw at her granola bar.
He strode over and snatched it out of her hand. “Hey,” he said. “Look at me when I’m talking to you. Why aren’t you back in Cottonwood with your folks? Did you run away again? Are you trying to show me up in front of the Chief?”
Titch glared at him with hurt in her eyes, then shrugged and said, in a chipper, cheerful voice that wasn’t fooling anyone, “I decided to join the travelling circus. They said no thanks. They said they’d already got one and it was too difficult to train.”
He pointed a commanding finger at her and brought out the big guns. “Indica Indigo-Ch—”
She threw up her hands. “Okay, okay. No need to fight dirty.” She looked at her granola bar, sighed, and set the rest of it down on the rock. She was a picture of misery.
Art sat on the rock next to her. He looked weary, Charlie noticed, with faint purple shadows under his dark eyes. “Titch,” he said, “we’re not stupid. And you’re not crazy – at least not the kind of crazy that would make you prefer sleeping in an alley full of rats in No Man’s Land to a nice warm bed in Cottonwood.”
Charlie knotted the blanket to secure it, and took the girl’s hand. The look on Titch’s face was mutinous, and from her body language she looked absolutely furious – which Charlie thought meant she was probably on the verge of tears. “You didn’t run away, did you?” she said. “When your mom met her mate and they had cubs, they moved to Cottonwood and left you alone in Darwin.”
Titch pulled her hand away and wiped angrily at her eyes. “They don’t want me and I don’t want them, okay? I’m better off without them.”
Charlie could have cried for her – except she knew that would just hurt her pride. “Why didn’t you te
ll us?”
Titch jumped to her feet. “Tell you what? That as soon as my mom got married, she wasn’t interested in me anymore? She just wanted to move to Cottonwood and live happily ever after with the new babies. Marco – that’s the loser she married – said he didn’t want some human kid hanging around, eating him out of house and home. Well, I guess you know how he feels, because you don’t want me either.”
Charlie and Art exchanged dismayed glances.
“Hey now,” said Art. “Let’s not be hasty. What happened in Cottonwood?” His voice was gentle, but he added, “And I don’t mean pirates or mer-sharks or circuses. There’s only one dancing bear in these parts.” He did a little bop on the spot.
Titch smiled bleakly. “More like a clown,” she said, unable to resist the easy jab, but there wasn’t a lot of spirit in it.
“So what happened?” Art prompted her.
Titch shook her head. “That lady, Sarah – the one who looked like she ironed her undies” – Charlie had to grin; it described the Chief’s secretary perfectly – “pulled some strings. She found out Marco’s in jail, for DUI or A&B or being an asshole or something.”
“I don’t think that’s a crime,” said Art.
“Well it should be,” said Titch. Charlie couldn’t disagree. “Mom left the Badlands with the babies – or left Cottonwood, anyway. Didn’t even leave a forwarding address.” She kicked the rock she was sitting on, viciously. “At least she took them with her. Until the next handsome asshole comes along and wants her to get rid of them, anyway.”
Art frowned. “Does the Chief know about this?” he asked.
“Oh yeah,” Titch replied. “And Sarah said he’ll keep on looking for my mom. Well actually, she said” —she adopted a high-pitched, nasal voice— “‘I can assure you Chief Brown is highly competent and will bring every resource to bear,’ but that’s what she meant.”
