by Janie Crouch
His arm moved, and she could see in his eyes the demons he was fighting. There were a lot of years between them. A lot of pain. A lot of lies.
She reached down and grasped his bottom lip between her teeth, biting gently. He hissed, and his hips pressed up against hers.
She let go of his lip and whispered, “I’m not little now. Not weak. I know what I want—what I need—and that’s you. I owe you an explanation, I know that. But first give me this. Give me you, strong, courageous, and big with me. Around me. Inside me.”
His growl was her only warning.
Her shirt was ripped over her head and he had her flipped around and tucked under him almost before she could finish the last word. She’d forgotten how fast he could move.
“Damn you, woman, you have always known how to push my buttons.” He fisted her hair tight, pulling her head to the side, giving him access to her neck on the unmarked side.
Now she was the one hissing as his mouth nipped and sucked along her throat until he reached that tender place where her neck met her shoulder, biting gently. His hand slid to her distended nipple, fingers pinching just short of pain, sending a bolt of lust through her whole body.
She ran her hands along his shoulders and biceps. His body was still perfect. Not bulky, but powerful. She hadn’t been exaggerating before: strong and courageous and big.
She relished the moan that seemed torn from his throat as she reached between their bodies, down those hard abs. He held his breath as her fingers slid under the band of his sweatpants and stroked the length of him. His face collapsed against her neck, his breath uneven.
She smiled. “Hmmm, this button still seems to work too.”
He lifted his head, staring down at her with hooded eyes. “Keep it up and this is going to be the shortest lovemaking session you and I have ever had. You still make me crazy, princess. That hasn’t changed, for sure.”
Short and crazy was more than fine with her. He had no idea how long it had been. If she told him, he wouldn’t believe her. Over four years. Way over. She and Brandon had stopped having sex long before they’d divorced.
She let go of him and brought both hands up to cradle his head, so she could look right into his eyes. She wanted him to know how sure she was of this. “I want crazy. I want you inside me right now.”
She wanted him to chase away all the distance, fear, and lost time between them.
His lips fell hard on hers for a moment before he moved off the bed with a groan and went into the bathroom. He came back out a moment later, condom in hand and gloriously naked.
She couldn’t even think of words.
Now it was his turn to grin. “Hell, princess, if I had known seeing me naked was all it took to strike you dumb, I would’ve been walking around in my birthday suit for a while now.”
“Shut up and get in the bed, Bollinger.” She sat up on one elbow, barely refraining from licking her lips as she stared at him.
She squealed as she found herself dragged to the edge of the bed until her legs were hanging over the side. All the air whooshed from her lungs as he lowered himself onto a knee on the floor and grabbed her underwear, sliding it down her hips.
If he noticed the material wasn’t nearly as expensive or lacy as what she used to wear, he didn’t mention it. The way he was staring at her body, she didn’t think he noticed at all.
“I’ve decided fast and crazy isn’t the way I want to go,” he whispered, staring at her.
His lips started a path up her knees to her inner thigh, but just as they were getting close to where she desperately wanted them, he started back down the other side. When he repeated the pattern again, her hips began a restless slide against the edge of the bed. It had been so long.
“Finn . . .”
She started to sit up, to argue her case, but one of his strong arms stretched, his hand skimming a delicious path along her stomach until it rested between her breasts and pushed her back down.
“Stay,” he murmured against her upper thigh. His hand slid back down and spread her legs wider. And finally—finally—his mouth moved onto her core.
It was too much, her body was already too sensitive. After just a few gasping moments, she was torn between wanting to hold his head tighter to her and trying to move away from that vastly talented, too-gentle tongue. He took the choice from her, those strong hands holding her in place as he softly sucked, circled, and laved her right to the edge of sanity.
“Finn. Finn. Please, come up here.” She needed more. Less. Everything. That desperate orgasm was looming in front of her just out of reach and she couldn’t figure out how to—
“Please, Finn.” Her voice was a wail she hardly recognized, her head thrashing back and forth.
He knew what she needed. He stopped the gentle touch and flicked his tongue firmly against her clit, finally giving her the pressure she needed exactly where she needed it.
Her back arched off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure drenched her. Finn’s tongue continued to lave her as she came down from the explosion of sensations.
Coherent thought might not ever be possible again.
With the beautiful taste of Charlie still on his tongue, the sound of her orgasm ringing in his ears, he stood. He scooped her up in his arms and slid her back on the bed, loving the flushed, dazed, look on her face. All that blonde hair sprawled out everywhere. He’d never thought he’d see this again. Part of him wanted to just soak it in. He crawled in beside her.
She pushed on his chest until he was lying on his back. “My turn.”
He shook his head. He wasn’t going to last one minute if Charlie got her hot little mouth on him. “Next time.”
They stared at each other for just a second. Would there be a next time? Charlie just gave him a little nod.
He made quick work of the condom, then grasped her hips and pulled her until she was straddling him once again. Their eyes met, fire burning between them, as she slowly sank down onto his erection.
He kept his eyes locked on those bright blue ones, as if it wasn’t taking every bit of his restraint not to thrust home. Holy hell, she was tight. He gripped her hips, easing her forward and back, hissing as she slid down farther, still agonizingly slowly.
“Help me,” she panted.
“My pleasure.” There wasn’t anything on this earth he’d rather do more.
He slipped one hand into her hair, pulling her down for a kiss. He slid the other between their bodies and began to circle her clit, knowing it wouldn’t be enough, just like it hadn’t been when he’d used his mouth. A desperate whine fell from her lips and her hips began to jerk, seeking more as he toyed with her.
God, would he ever grow tired of that sound? Of the feel of her body wanting what he could give her? It didn’t matter how many years had passed, this heat was still the same.
Unable to hold out any longer, he gave her the firm touch she wanted, rocking her body forward until she’d sheathed him completely. His breath hissed out, his hands gripping her hips, as he reveled in the feel of being inside her once more.
Then he began to move.
Rolling Charlie so she was on her side, he hiked one leg over his hips, giving him a deeper angle. He thrust hard and caught her cry in his mouth. He stopped, afraid he’d gone too far—damn, she really was tiny—but then she rolled her hips forward in feminine welcome.
“Charlie,” he groaned. “You feel so damn good.”
He thrust into her repeatedly. Deep. Hard. Slow.
He watched as her eyes glazed over. Her body moved in a primal rhythm, past talking now, just holding on to him. The way he liked it.
He picked up the pace, his hand sliding under her thigh and lifting it, opening her to him further. Her cries echoed in his ears, a sound he’d never forgotten. Would never forget. He continued to thrust until she came apart around him, her cries turning to keens. Only then did he let himself go, his blood thundering in his own ears as he shouted her name.
Being with Charlie
was like coming home.
Chapter Seventeen
They lay in silence, collapsed in each other’s arms, trying to catch their breath. They were silent when Finn picked her up and carried her into the shower. They were silent as they stood together, arms wrapped around each other, under the spray.
They were silent even as what started as the innocent washing of each other’s bodies turned into him pinning Charlie against the stall wall. The only sound was their desperate breathing and skin slapping against skin in their attempt to get closer.
The silence was unusual for them, but not awkward. So much needed to be said, but neither wanted to break their closeness to say it.
So . . .silence.
But that was a fantasy world. It wouldn’t protect him from Charlie, from a past that had left him broken and bleeding. No matter how much her body called to him, how perfect they were together, how much he wanted to lay her on the bed again and never let her out of it, some things never changed.
The worlds of Finn Bollinger and Charlotte Devereux did not mix.
She was the one who finally broke the silence. Sitting on his bed, back in one of his T-shirts—Finn painfully aware she had nothing on underneath it—she whispered, “I know you have questions.”
He didn’t want to respond. If he stayed silent, if he walked over to her and peeled that shirt from her body and told her to get on her hands and knees on the bed, she would do it. They would lose themselves again—as the silence turned into pants and groans and cries—as his body drove into hers. He was so damn tempted.
But even if he did it, they would still end up right back here.
He did have questions.
So, he broke the silence too. “I’ll make you something to eat while we talk. Annie said you need to eat as much high-calorie, nutritious food as you can.”
She nodded and suddenly getting answers was more important than getting inside her. Not something Finn would’ve ever thought would be true. “Can you make it to the kitchen?”
Her glare made him chuckle, which got him the look of death. She was so damned independent.
He still followed half a step behind her as she walked just in case she was weaker than both of them thought. She didn’t stumble, but he didn’t like how slowly she had to take it. He probably should’ve taken that into consideration when he was utilizing all her energy upstairs the last couple hours.
He pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table, then moved to the refrigerator. He opened it without really seeing the items inside. There was one question he had to have answered first, before anything else. Something he probably should’ve asked before their lovemaking.
He didn’t turn to her. “I want you to tell me the truth about this one thing. Hell, I want you to tell me the truth about all of it, but this one question, Charlie . . .If there was ever anything between us at all, you have to promise me you’ll be honest about this.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
He took a breath and faced her. “Are you ill? Like really sick, cancer or something? Is that why you were so weak last night?”
Surprise lit her eyes. “Finn, no. I promise. There’s nothing wrong with me like that.”
A relief so profound it took his breath away washed over him. She wasn’t dying. Everything else was secondary.
“I’m sorry that’s what you thought,” she whispered. “That I scared you that way.”
“What the hell else was I supposed to think? You’ve been asleep in my bed for over eighteen hours. You’re basically skin and bones.” He punctuated the sentence by bringing her a nutrition shake. The same kind he’d used when he first got custody of Ethan, full of the calories the small boy had needed. Just seeing those bottles gave him a sick feeling in his gut, and knowing Charlie needed them now did not help it go away.
“I guess I’ve been working a lot and haven’t really been taking care of myself the way I should.” She opened the bottle and took a drink. He waited for her to continue but she didn’t.
Charlie wasn’t going to offer information easily. Finn would have to drag it out of her.
This wasn’t his first interrogation. He rested his weight on his arms on the table, not caring if that meant he towered over her. “Okay, why don’t we start with that: your jobs. I think I’m aware of two of them. Educating tomorrow’s future by day and serving drinks at a strip club by night. Are there any more I should know about?”
He said it in sarcasm, but when she looked away . . . “Oh my God, you have another job?”
“Sort of. I clean the bar during the day.”
“Like, as the janitor?” She nodded as she took another sip. If his hair were long enough, he would’ve pulled it. He took a deep breath and straightened, walking back to the fridge.
Stay calm, Bollinger. Escalating things into a yelling match wasn’t going to help anyone.
“What would you like to eat?” he asked in the most relaxed voice he could find. “I’ve got stuff for a full breakfast, or if you prefer, I can make pasta. Or steak and potatoes.”
“Breakfast food would be fine. I can help.”
He glared at her over his shoulder, pointing at her chair. “So help me God, Charlie, if you get up right now and try to do any work, I’m going to lose my shit. Your only job right now is to answer questions.”
The word job had him cringing. Three? What the hell? He turned back to the fridge and got out bacon and eggs and the items he needed for a small batch of pancakes. Maybe it wasn’t the most nutritious meal, but at least it had calories.
He laid the bacon in the pan, trying to get his thoughts together. He had so many questions, he wasn’t sure where to start.
“Why are you working at The Silver Palace?”
“The money is good, much better than at a regular bar. The cleaning part is more convenient than lucrative.”
He turned the flame on under the pan and began mixing the pancake ingredients on the kitchen island, so he could face her. These were the wrong questions. Obviously, she was there for money. The real question was, why would Milton Devereux’s daughter need money? Why would he let her work somewhere like that?
Those were the right questions. Or at least in the right direction.
“Where are your parents?”
Surprise lit her blue eyes. Bingo. This all had to do with her parents.
“How did you—I mean, what makes you think anything has to do with them? I’m an adult.”
“I may not have always gotten along with your mom and dad, but one thing I know for sure, your father would not allow this,” he flung a hand at her, “if he knew about it.”
She began peeling the packaging off her empty bottle. “Dad is sick. Prion disease. It’s a rare condition that attacks the brain. He’s at a care facility in Denver. Mama moved with him.”
Okay. Now they were getting somewhere. He set out another pan to heat for the pancakes and flipped the bacon. But there were still a lot of things that didn’t make sense.
“But why would that mean you need to work three jobs? I know your father had to have insurance. Or hell, even if not, he had the money to pay for being in this facility.”
She shook her head. “We got hit really hard in the stock market crash a few years ago. It also happened right when oil prices skyrocketed and devastated the factory in Oak Creek. Dad sold the business but didn’t get a fair price. We lost almost everything. There’s just no money.”
He poured the first batch into the pan and tried to work out the timeline in his head. This all must’ve happened after she married Kempsley, but before Finn had gotten out of the Army. She must not have gotten very much out of her divorce settlement.
Given the fact that she had married Kempsley for money, the irony that she was working three jobs now just to survive wasn’t lost on him. Nor was the fact that had he and Charlie still been together, he would’ve given every cent he had to help her dad. To help her.
“Your dad can’t be happy that you’re having to work
this hard.”
“He’s not very lucid a lot of the time. He’s lasted a lot longer because of an experimental drug treatment he was a part of. But his condition has led to advanced dementia, so most of the time when I see him he doesn’t even recognize me.”
That sucked. Charlie had always been close with her parents. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” And he was. About it all. He wasn’t so much of a bastard that he would wish this on her.
“It’s not forever. That’s what I tell myself. Despite . . .everything, I know Dad doesn’t have much longer. So, I just keep working. It’s the least I can do after everything they did for me.”
Finn’s own father had died over a decade ago, but there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his mother. Especially if she was in the end stages of her life. So, he understood what Charlie was saying.
But she had to find a better balance. Mr. Devereux would not want her working herself into this state, even to prolong his life.
Finn made the eggs, took the rest of the food off the burners, and plated their food before carrying it over to the table.
They began to eat. He knew the question he had to ask, but he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t on any day, but he particularly didn’t want to while she was sitting across from him, hair tousled and cheeks still flushed from their lovemaking.
“What about Brandon? I know you guys are divorced, but the Kempsley family has a ton of money. Could he help you out? Even if it was a loan or something?”
It was like watching an iron curtain slam down over her features. “No, the Kempsleys aren’t an option. Period.” She stared down at her plate, shoveling more food into her mouth.
Not an amicable divorce then. He was man enough to admit that the idea didn’t make him sad. At one point he might’ve been tempted to lord her mistake over her, try to get her to admit what she had lost, ask her if giving up their relationship had been worth what she’d gained. But that would just be petty.
Finn wasn’t above being petty when the occasion called for it, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Even if she admitted she’d made the worst mistake of her life by marrying Kempsley, what would it get him? Seeing Charlie this way—almost broken, exhausted, hopeless—didn’t bring him any joy. Even at his most angry he’d never wanted to see her like this.
