by Elise Faber
“Mmm…” he moaned, his voice pitching low. “May I kiss you here, Charlie?” His game of sweet torture forgotten, Hutch now seemed at the mercy of his own desire.
When she nodded again, unable to form the words now that his thumb caressed her nipple, Hutch slid up her body, pushing the hoodie up with him. His mouth closed over her right breast while his other hand found her left, and Charlie threw her head back in sweet anguish. She felt the urgency of his erection along the outside of her left thigh, and she thanked God he obviously wanted her as much as she wanted him.
He sucked and kissed, teased and licked until he coaxed cries from her throat. Then he pulled the hoodie from her, kissing her wildly. Her face… her neck… her breasts…
“You’re beautiful,” he swore, marking the words with kisses on her skin. “Every inch of you is beautiful.”
She couldn’t take it anymore. Her fingers fought their way to his shirt buttons. “Take this off.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed, sitting up and helping her conquer each button until he shed the dress shirt and flung it to the floor.
Kneeling on the bed, towering over her, with his bare chest and unbound hair, Hutch Barlow was enough to make a woman believe in God. Only a hand, divine and benevolent, could have made anything as beautiful as he was.
What astounded Charlie even more than God’s handiwork was that Hutch gazed down at her with the same look of awe and hunger that she surely wore.
He stalked forward, inches above her, taking his weight in his hands, and he held her in that unblinking stare. She wanted to ask him what he saw in her, why she of all people had captured his attention. His affection.
“What are you looking at?” she asked instead.
A smile both hopeful and serene lifted one corner of his mouth, sending a dimple her way. “My future, if I’m lucky.”
The words unlocked something deep within her, and Charlie pulled him down to her mouth. The next seconds were a frantic scramble of fingers, drawstrings, and flies until her panties and pajama bottoms joined his slacks and boxers somewhere on the bedroom floor.
His hands were everywhere, and Charlie had only a moment to admire the shape of his toned backside, his powerful quads, and the darker blond hair that dusted his thighs and calves before her eyes fell on the mythic wonder of his manhood. It was imposing and vulnerable all at once.
She wrapped her hand around it, and the room went still.
“Charlie…”
The surrender in his voice made her smile. A giant tamed by her tiny, little hand. His long lashes shuttered his eyes as he gave in to the command of her touch, seeming to offer her whatever she wanted. No, Hutch was no giant to be feared. He was a friend, a lover, an equal to be discovered and — if she were lucky — loved.
He opened his eyes as if he’d read her thoughts. “…Charlie, I want this. I want us.”
She didn’t have to question whether he meant making love or falling in love. If he meant tonight or tomorrow or the day after that. She wanted it all every bit as much as he did.
“I want us, too,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his. He responded by claiming her kiss, his tongue ruling hers, his hand that spanned her waist now sweeping its way down between her thighs.
He gasped in delight when he found the secret of her arousal. His smiling eyes locked with hers. “Hi.”
His whispered greeting should have struck her as funny and out of place, but Charlie found she knew exactly what he meant. They were meeting here, coming together in this new, sacred space for the first time. A space that belonged to no one but them. A space where they wanted the exact same thing. Each other.
Charlie smiled back. “Hi, baby.”
They were the last words she uttered that made any sense because the circles he’d traced along her belly just minutes before were now being reprised in that most sensitive of places. When she tried to do the same to him, Hutch gripped her wrist with his free hand and pinned it to the bed.
“Can’t…” he choked.
Charlie understood. Oh, how well she understood. She couldn’t either. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t wait another minute to have him inside her.
She gave a desperate cry that somehow carried all the meaning Hutch needed because he freed her wrist and nearly rolled them off the bed as he rifled through the drawer of his nightstand.
Thank God, she wanted to crow when she saw the foil square glint under the light before Hutch brought the corner to his teeth and ripped it open.
His eyes found hers again, and though he panted as hard as she did, his gaze was clear. Charlie knew he needed to be sure.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Yes… oh, yes.”
His look of thrilled relief was the last thing she saw before he fell into her and brought all of his dear, aching sweetness with him.
“My God, you feel amazing…” His left hand found her right, and their fingers interlaced.
“…I love the way you taste…”
His lips met hers and she swallowed the sound of her name.
“… I’d chase you forever…”
And at those words, she cried his name, reaching for the anchor of his hips as wave after wave of pleasure rocked her. His pace never faltered, and his control never slipped — until the last of her cries drained away, and she floated in a sea of bliss.
“Incredible,” she murmured in his ear. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, and she felt the muscles in his back and down his legs turn to iron. She wanted to tell him how good he made her feel. How desired. How special. She wanted to thank him for chasing her. For catching her. For coming back every time she’d pushed him away. But as he drove into her, seeking his own release, she couldn’t form all of those words, so she offered back the ones he’d given her. “I want us, Hutch. I want us.”
His cry ripped through the room, and with his fingers digging into the back of her thigh, he planted himself so deep inside her that her world spun again, and she lost herself around him.
Obviously exhausted and both gasping, neither of them spoke. They just held each other. Charlie loved the spent weight of him on top of her. She kissed his shoulder, ran her hands down his back.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m crushing you.”
“I like it,” she murmured. “Don’t go.”
Hutch lifted his head from her shoulder and looked down into her eyes. Dimples. Heat. Happiness. “I won’t go anywhere. Not without you.”
Then he tucked his arms beneath her and rolled them onto their sides, pulling her into him. Charlie had to admit it still felt pretty damn good.
Her leg was draped over his hip, he was still inside her, and she smiled as she let her fingers trace the line of his jaw, the shape of his lips.
“Bonus,” he said, smiling.
“What?” She giggled.
“You like to cuddle after sex.” His smile grew.
She raised a brow. “You thought I wouldn’t?” How could she not? His body felt amazing. She wanted to touch and kiss and cuddle with him for days.
Hutch shook his head. “I didn’t think at all. But you’re just so intense, so driven, I didn’t realize you’d slow down enough to cuddle. It’s definitely a bonus.”
“Intense, huh?”
He winked at her. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing. I like that you’re intense. You impress the hell out of me.”
Charlie blushed. He’d seen her naked. He’d watched her come, and she didn’t blush until now.
Hutch bit down on his smile. “Will you still feel like cuddling if I get up to take care of things?”
She nodded. “I promise.”
He pressed his lips to hers as he eased away, and he dragged the sheets and his spectacular duvet over her body when he left the bed. Charlie sighed with contentment, fully aware she had no desire to leave. No wish to return to the real world.
Even though the real world awaited them.
Hutch cam
e back to bed and wrapped her in his embrace once again. “Is it too soon to ask you to stay the whole weekend?”
Laughter bubbled up from her heart. It looked like the real world was going to have to wait a little longer.
“I’d love to stay the whole weekend.”
Hutch planted a kiss on her forehead. “Good.” Then he gave a colossal yawn. The yawn of a giant. “You’re not tired?”
“I’m tired,” she said with a nod, but it was no surprise to her that Hutch Barlow’s relationship with sleep was as easy as he was with anything else.
“Can I hold you all night?” His voice was going heavy with fatigue, and she thought it was so sweet that he wanted to hold her even though he was so clearly exhausted.
“You’d better hold me all night.”
He gave her a sleepy smile. “I’m gonna turn out the light.”
And he did, drenching the room in darkness, but his massive body surrounded her, so Charlie had no doubt about where she was. Where she belonged.
“Goodnight, Charlie. Thanks for coming over.”
“Goodnight, Hutch. Thanks for giving me no choice,” she teased.
His hand moved to her bottom, and he gave her a pinch.
“Ow!” she bluffed.
“Faker,” he whispered in the darkness.
“I’m not a faker.”
“Oh, I know,” he teased, his voice going sultry.
Charlie’s giggles filled the room.
“God, I love that sound.” All teasing had left his voice.
Her breath stilled. “Goodnight, Hutch.”
“Goodnight, beautiful.”
As if he’d flipped a switch, Hutch’s breathing leveled off beside her, and his body sagged against hers. She turned in his arms so they could spoon, and he tugged her closer.
Charlie Woodruff hadn’t shared a bed with anyone in almost a year, but even thinking back to boys in her past, she could draw up no memory of feeling this centered, this sheltered, this safe. She let go a sigh, closed her eyes, and slept.
She awoke a couple of hours later, desperate to pee and aching to brush her teeth. As carefully as she could, Charlie slipped out of Hutch’s embrace and sneaked out of bed. She padded along the floor until she found the discarded hoodie and pulled it over her. It hung past her hips, so even though her legs were bare, she felt decent enough to go back to the front of the house in search of her bags.
She found them by the stairs and quietly carried them back to Hutch’s room where she silently shut herself into the bathroom. Flipping off the light switch before she emerged, Charlie was sure she’d managed the entire mission without waking Hutch.
“You okay, babe?” The sound of his alert voice in the dark made her jump a foot.
“Holy crap, you scared the shit out of me!”
His deep chuckle rippled through the shadows. “Come back to bed, Charlie.”
“I’m there,” she said, crawling to him under the covers.
His hands found her, and he tsked. “Yeah, but you got dressed.”
“Sorry, Hutch, it’s too cold to walk around your house naked in search of my toothbrush.”
“But I could warm you,” he protested, the mock offense in his voice making her laugh. He pulled her to him. “It’s not even four o’clock. Why are you awake?”
“Needed to pee,” she said, snuggling into him.
He was quiet for a moment. “I woke up, and you were gone.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “For just a second, I thought I’d only dreamed you’d been here.”
The raw need and the hint of fear in his voice made her chest quake. Her hands found his face in the dark. Her palms rubbed against the friendly stubble of his cheeks. Her thumbs caressed the softness of his lips. And she felt him relax under her touch.
How was it that she had the power to put him at ease? How was it possible that having her here mattered so much to him?
“It’s so early,” she whispered back in awe, half afraid to give voice to her worries. Couldn’t his feelings for her vanish as quickly as they’d formed?
His hand moved through her hair and cradled the back of her head. “Then go back to sleep,” he said, misunderstanding her.
She shook her head. “No, I mean…” She hesitated. Would she only make a fool of herself if she shared her thoughts? Maybe she was completely wrong about what he felt.
But Charlie had no illusions about what she felt. It was as powerful and as consequential as gravity, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d wind up smashed to bits.
“What do you mean, baby?”
Charlie bit her lip and leapt. “I mean us.”
His soft gasp of understanding came just before she was crushed against him. “Ohhh.” He drew out the word so that she heard clearly the happy discovery in his voice. “It’s scary, isn’t it?”
Charlie breathed a shaky laugh. “Terrifying.” But, she had to admit, being pressed against him made it a lot less terrifying.
“Yeah, I’ve been scared shitless all week. Ever since I told you my name, and you said you couldn’t see me.”
“Hutch, I’m sorry—”
She felt him shake his head. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry I feel this way. It’s given me clarity. There’s no guesswork when there’s only one path.”
She lay in stunned silence. Was he really talking about her? A few days ago, she’d kept her distance because she was afraid of losing her job. But now she was in much greater danger of losing her heart. If Hutch was to be believed — and she did believe him — so was he.
Coming just short of saying it outright, he was scared she’d walk away. She wasn’t going to. Not now. Even if she could, the thought of hurting him felt like a knife in her own heart.
“Just keep saying yes,” Hutch said, brushing his lips across her forehead. “And we’ll be alright.”
“I’ll keep saying yes,” she vowed, running a hand down his chest. “I just wish I didn’t have to keep it a secret.”
She felt his body stiffen before he took a deep breath and relaxed again. “We’ll be alright,” he said again.
Charlie should have paid attention to the note of resolve in his words, but the lips that issued them were now on her neck, and a massive hand grazed up her thigh.
A few minutes later, a certain neglected hoodie landed on the floor again, and Charlie kept saying yes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHARLIE DIDN’T CARE that she was smiling like a fool when she stepped into the office Monday morning. She’d spent the entire weekend with Hutch, returning to her apartment only once Saturday afternoon to get enough clothes to see her through Monday.
The days had glittered. The nights had burned.
On Saturday morning, they’d slept until ten and then spent another hour in bed. By the time they’d showered and retrieved the necessities from her apartment, they had both been faint with hunger. Over a bowl of pho and a plate of lemongrass beef that they shared at Mai’s, a Vietnamese restaurant in Hutch’s neighborhood, Charlie found the courage to ask Hutch to help her sketch out a meal plan that would keep her lean and competitive but also reverse the damage she’d done to her body over the last year. His look of hushed awe in response was all she needed for her nerves to settle.
After a morning run on Sunday, they’d gone to the Wave Organ at high tide — just like Hutch had wanted. Charlie had gotten a little sunburned on the jetty in the noon sun, but it was worth it to watch the wonder on his face as they climbed over the massive instrument. That night, Hutch had made rotisserie chicken on his grill for their dinner. With the leftovers, he’d packed her a wrap of avocado, grapes, and spinach for Monday’s lunch, and he’d given her a Granny Smith apple and some almond butter for her snack.
After a weekend under Hutch Barlow’s expert attentions — in the kitchen… and the bedroom… and the living room — Charlie felt like a new woman.
So she couldn’t even pretend to be the same Charlie Woodruff when Darius homed in on her with his sixth se
nse for juicy news.
“Girl, don’t even try to lie,” he scolded by way of greeting. “It’s Prince Harry, isn’t it?”
Charlie could only shrug. “Maybe.”
“Oh, no you don’t. You give me the skinny right now, you skinny, white witch!” he insisted, neck snapping. “You know what I got outta this weekend? A Bloody Mary stain on my pinot noir suit and a kiss on the cheek.”
His wide-eyed look of outrage had her fighting giggles, and her giddy mood wasn’t helping.
“A kiss on the cheek!” he echoed. “Lover, if you gonna keep me dancing all night until they pushing a broom and sweeping us out the door, and then you go and spill your last-call-lame-ass Bloody Mary on my beautiful suit, there better be more than some sorry dry-lipped cheek kiss for all my blood, sweat, and tears. That’s all I’m saying.”
Charlie managed to stop laughing long enough to get out one question. “What was his name?”
“Oh…” Darius sighed, knuckling his brow. “…Raphael. Just like the archangel. And I a mere mortal.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Darius was a conqueror.”
He pursed his lips. “So Grandma Letty wasn’t just making that up?” he asked, eyeing her with suspicion.
“Nope. Google it.”
He threw his shoulder in front of him. “Well, I just might. But first…” he said, pointing his long index finger in her face, “…spill. Prince Harry. I want to know everything.”
The door to Kurt’s office opened then, and their boss stepped out. “Charlie, great job, again. Friday was a grand slam. I’ve already got calls from a couple of Barlow’s teammates,” he said, practically gushing. Charlie’s already bubbly mood lifted even higher. “I’ve got something for you to get cracking on. Let’s talk.”
“Great,” she told Kurt. Then she turned to Darius and spoke under her breath. “Sorry, hon. You’re just going to have to wait.”
As it turned out, Kurt wanted her to help a giant. A San Francisco Giant. The relief pitcher, a Prestige client, who’d be filling in for the team’s injured star was slated to see a lot of time on the mound that week. The Giants were at home until Thursday, and Kurt wanted to get the guy as much media attention as he could to boost their chances for next season’s negotiations. In addition to a Twitter campaign Charlie would manage during the actual games, she needed to write up a piece every day this week to float to media outlets.
