by D. C. Stone
“Charlie, wait, as much as it pains me to say this, I have to. Instead of continuing on as we were, we really do need to talk.” He was an idiot, had completely lost his mind. Really? Stopping a sure thing? Insert the mental head smack here. Dude…
She dropped down on him, plastered her gorgeous body along the length of his, forearms resting next to his head, her hair sheltering them in from the world around.
“I don’t want to talk. I want you to take his touch away.”
He groaned as her words caused a rush of want to pulse along his shaft. She matched his moans and tried to move her hips. His hands held her immobile, so apparently, she decided take things in her own hands and dipped her head, kissed along his neck.
Oh yes, that’s the way he really liked it.
Her chest rubbed against his and the spike of her nipples pushed through her thin shirt. Really, there was only so much of sainthood he could take. His resolve wavered.
“Charlie, you’re not ready for this. I don’t want to push you.”
His hands tightened on her hips. Threads of restraint snapped with each damn pulse of her breath.
“Help me.” She trailed kisses along his neck, hot, delicious sparks of pleasure as she spoke. “I want to remember the pleasure of your touch.”
Trent hissed as she opened her mouth on his skin and sucked. His balls drew up, and the edge of sweet release hovered.
Already?
Christ.
Goddamnit, he hadn’t been this randy since he was a teenager. He cursed, and she lifted her head, confusion across her features.
“Charlie, sweetheart,” he soothed, fighting to find the words when his body was screaming to do anything other than talk. He wanted more, but needed to work things out with her first. They needed to talk, discuss what she had been thinking right before he left. A million things needed to be said, but he wanted her to come to him, and him only, without the thoughts of another. Without any reservations. And giving him what every basic relationship needed to be built on. Trust.
“When you come to me, I want it to be just me in your mind. No one else. I don’t think you’re ready for this. And as much as it fucking pains me to say this, I think we should stop. We need to talk about a few things before we go down this path.” He let his head fall back to the pillow and growled. “I must be a fucking idiot to turn you down. In fact, I know I am.”
She frowned and bit her lip again, and turned her head away, but not before he saw the pain clouding her eyes. Pain that he caused because of his words. And didn’t that just make him feel dandy?
“I don’t know what you want to hear, but you are on my mind, Trent. I am ready, trust me.” She shifted and slid the sleek muscles of her body against him. He clenched his teeth and gnashed his jaw tight, his eyes rolling to the back of his head in pleasure. Fuck, what he would give to be that guy. One who operated without consequences. He couldn’t, though. Not with her.
“Charlie,” he tried again.
“Stop talking,” she snapped. Before he realized her intent, she wrapped her palm around his cock. His hips jerked and pushed into her touch.
“Fuuuuck.”
“I thought I told you to shut up.” She dropped her head and covered his mouth again. This kiss more forceful and demanding. Her tongue pushed its way inside, tangled around his, stroking in much the same rhythm her hand did. He got lost in the pleasure she elicited, rolled his hips against her palm, wrapped his tongue around hers, and strained to get closer.
She was all soft, warm woman. Charlie’s hand moved away without an explanation. He blinked up at her as she lifted her body and sat astride him. His hands went to her waist and just as quickly, she tore her shirt off, reached behind and unsnapped her bra, then tossed it aside.
Her dark, tight nipples beckoned, and his hunger grew, thoughts of talking a thing of the past. She scooted to the side, and slid off the bed, peeling her panties down her legs. Too entranced to say anything, he felt as if he were dreaming now, instead of before when he had first woken.
Charlie was beautiful bare. Curvy in all the right places, her hips enough for a man to hold on to, her waist small. Her breasts, as he well knew, were the perfect size for his hands. And her skin looked as if it had been kissed by the sun, glazed with golden highlights accentuating her muscles as she moved.
She grasped and tugged on his boxers. Like a muted puppy, too caught up in the sight of her before him, he lifted and let her remove the last stitch of clothing keeping his resolve in place.
Thinking she would mount him again, he let out a hoarse shout as her hot mouth wrapped around his cock. He tried for purchase on the sheets, looking for something to hold on to. To maintain control, he clenched his jaw so tight he thought he heard something snap. He focused on the fan above, fighting, trying like hell to remember every trick in the book to keep from coming in her mouth.
One plus one equals two.
Her sweet tongue curled around his shaft and sent his eyes rolling back in his head.
Hell, Sammy Sosa, Babe Ruth…
Her fist moved to his length, and she combined the pumping of her hand with the motions of her mouth. Her saliva helped glide her movements. His toes curled, and he tried to breathe slow and steady.
“Stop fighting it, Trent. Let me give you this.”
Her breath tickled over the head of his cock before his hips bucked. She took him to the back of her throat…and swallowed.
Snap.
That was the sound of his control.
He thrust his hips and gave in. Taking her head in his hands, he groaned some animalistic sound. Pleasure bound its way up his shaft and pulsed out as he came. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His limbs tingled.
Her eyes locked on his face and the triumph sitting there shocked him, then softened his resolve toward holding anything back.
He sat up, pulled her off with gentle hands, and tugged her to his chest. He dragged her down until their mouths met in a clash of tongues. His body still hummed with release but remained primed, his desire for this woman lighting a match.
He tasted his seed on her tongue and with a jolt, it upped his want. Lightening zinged between them, and he rolled their bodies, settled above, thick and heavy between her thighs.
He rolled his hips forward, his length gliding between her lips, over the sensitive nub at the top of her mound. She whimpered in his mouth, sucked his tongue inside.
Trent pulled back, stilled for a moment, just needing to catch his breath. He didn’t want to rush this, didn’t want things to get too out of control between them again. Her face held a rosy hue, the same one he’d remembered from before. He ran his fingers through her hair, tugged it out across the pillow, her dark brown curls a stark contrast to the white linen.
She froze.
Trent held his hand, didn’t move, and studied her.
“Charlie? What’s wrong?”
She blinked as if lost in another thought.
“He—he played with my hair like that.”
Like a punch to the gut, flames of desire started to ebb.
“You know I’d never hurt you right?” He watched her reaction for any signs she didn’t believe him. To have her take him at his word was more important than he could let her know.
Seconds ticked by, and she refused to meet his gaze. His stomach twisted and turned, tightened with the pain of betrayal. His fists clenched at the sides of her head, and just as he was about to get up, she wrapped her legs around his hips, somehow sensing his withdraw. She met his gaze, her hazel depth swirling with emotion.
“I do know. I can’t…I can’t explain what’s going on in my mind right now. However, what I can tell you without a doubt is I know you won’t hurt me. But, that isn’t why I didn’t answer. I was thinking on how much you’ve actually done to show me that. Well,” she added, a wry smile tugging at her lips, “except that one time I followed you, of course.”
He swallowed. “I want to talk about what you said before I left.”
/> She huffed, brows drawing for a second before relaxing. “Really? With me naked beneath you, you want to talk? Please, Trent. I’m so used to being in control of myself. I’ve been alone for a long time. I don’t want to be alone any longer. Not right now, at least.”
Trent dropped his chest to hers. The pleading in her voice broke his heart, and while they needed to talk, there would be time for conversations later. There had to be.
“Tell me,” he murmured, studying her. “Where does Charlie come from?”
One corner of her mouth twisted in a sardonic smirk. It was the look he had come to know that she used when she teased.
“From what I understand, the name derived in England.”
He growled, tugged on a tendril of hair wrapped around his finger.
“Smart ass. How did you get the name?”
She arched a brow. “My father gave it to me.”
He sighed. With a roll his hips, he made sure to hit the exact spot he knew she wanted him to touch. A haze of pleasure dropped her eyelids.
“Want to try again, Charlie?”
“I want you?”
He chuckled and nipped at her ear as she had done earlier.
Funny how the tables turned.
“Where did you get the name?” He slid his tongue along the shell of her ear, delighted when she shivered.
“You’re good at this, Rossi.”
Her heels dug into his ass, and she tried to wiggle to take him inside. He kept the angle at just the right position and pinned her with one hand. He didn’t think she noticed, but her fear disappeared, and instead of the frightened woman, only lust and desire remained. Oh, and a woman who could drive him absolutely insane.
“I could be really good if you’d answer the question.” He hovered his mouth over hers, and her breath tickled against his lips. Each time she tried to raise her head, wanting to erase that last scant space between, he dodged her move, and instead nipped at her pouty mouth.
Trent reached down, wrapped a hand around his cock and set the head at her entrance. His length pulsed with small movements, not letting anymore into her than an inch. Sweat broke out on his brows, down his spine as he held back from solace inside her tight sheath.
“Where, Charlie?”
Panting, she burrowed her nails into his ass trying to force him down. Her lust was a heady thing. He seized her hips, and dropped to nip and sucked on one perfect disk of her nipple. She moaned in both frustration and pleasure.
“Charlese. Charlese Dawn Lopez. Please.” She lifted her angry gaze to him. Impatience swirled with yearning, giving her a savage, wanton appearance.
Her hands kneaded at his hips, and he smiled and captured her mouth. Sweet need touched his tongue, her craving a physical taste. She clawed against his skin, her small whimpering moans driving him insane.
He eased from the kiss, slowed until she matched his pace. “We’ll do this my way this time, Charlese. I want to savor you, us.”
He pushed his hips forward, moved so damn slow he thought he’d never fill her to the hilt. Heat encompassed him, wrapped like a vice around his length. Beads of moisture rolled down the sides of his face, and his breaths blew out harsh. Charlie gazed up at him, hands rubbing against his back. With each inch, her mouth parted, eyes alight in wonder. He could not deny tasting her any longer.
He widened his knees, his pelvis flush with hers and kissed her, starving for her taste—and he was—with unhurried caresses, learning every crevice of this woman. Her tongue returned his embrace and withdrew, plunged back in with much the same movement as his hips.
Trent drove into her silky heat with powerful, driving strokes, filling her and withdrawing. He drew out the thrusts, leaving just the head of his cock. The rhythm didn’t falter, their hips meeting together, their sighs catching as one, and their bodies moving in a dance older than time.
His hands roamed as hers sought. Pulling and tugging one another closer, needing more. She sobbed, a catch of her breath and pleaded for more. Trent matched her moans, and heat dug deep in his stomach, a tingling at the base of his spine. The pressure hovering, promising to be oh-so-fucking good. Surging forward again, he finally understood this female would forever ruin him for any other.
Charlie had snagged her way into his chest, embedded herself, and set up house. Without his permission, and as good luck would have it, he gave her the key, never thought twice about handing over his heart.
Her movements grew frantic. She met his hips, tensing and seeking what he wanted to give. He increased his drive, pumped in and out of her body, then drew up to watch her face. Her hazel gaze stormed like a hurricane’s clouds, pleading to release the pressure. He wrapped his hands around the rounded globes of her ass and tilted her hips, sinking deeper. She was around his cock like liquid hot silk. Tighter.
She tossed her head into the soft pillow and tensed. Perched, she stared with wonder into his eyes, motionless for a few seconds before crying out his name. The walls of her sex milked him, tightened like a velvet fist, and his orgasm slammed into him, took his breath away. He held her gaze, refused to break the connection, and rode the wave of pleasure with her.
What seemed like an eternity later, he collapsed on top of her. Her fingers danced along his back. He should move, was too heavy, but couldn’t quite function yet. She pressed her lips to his temple, sweet. Calming. The touch was almost enough to send him falling inside a pit of affection. Holy hell, he had never experienced this kind of regard, wonder, and desire for a female. Ever.
“Thank you. I’ll never forget that.”
He chuckled and rolled over, bringing her with him into his arms. His vision faded as exhaustion called. Just before it claimed him, he wondered at her words, grew uneasy as they sounded very much like a goodbye.
Chapter Twenty
Charlie woke to a shrill noise piercing the air. She groaned and reached for the offending item before encountering a wall of warm chest. The noise ceased, and Trent’s gruff voice replaced it. She burrowed against him. Deep rumbles vibrated through his torso as he talked on his phone.
Soft hairs on his chest tickled against her face, but she didn’t care. This, here, this moment was something she didn’t want to forget. His body was muscular, yet she felt comfortable laying beside him. With her face against his skin, she drew in a breath, loving the feel of him. He smelled of man and sex, a heady concoction that had her wanting to nestle closer. So she did.
He sighed and let out a few more gruff answers before she heard the metallic clang of something hitting the wooden tabletop. She didn’t want this to end but understood nothing lasted forever.
“Charlese.”
She groaned and tilted her head up to his face. His hair was askew, eyes a striking blue she’d never tire of. A light five o’clock shadow dusted his face, giving him this rugged, sexy man guise. A feminine sigh of appreciation caught in her lungs. One of his perfect brows arched as she stared. Something must have shown, giving her away.
“Have something you want to say, Charlese?”
“You have to call me by that name?”
The other brow went up, and his full lips split into a smile. “It is your name, isn’t it? Or was that the woman from last night?” he teased, and rubbed his chin in mock thought. She laughed.
“Smart ass. No, it’s just that no one calls me that. The last memory I have of anyone using that name was when I asked my parents to call me Charlie.”
He propped a pillow behind him and settled back, reaching to tug a few strands of her hair through his fingers.
“Do you not like it?”
She tried to remember what she hadn’t liked about her name. Why she insisted people called her Charlie. It’d been so long that she really couldn’t pinpoint it. One could figure it was because she was brought up by her father, surrounded by cops, but for some reason that just didn’t stick with her.
“Well, I guess I’ve used Charlie for so long, it feels weird if someone calls me anything else.”
<
br /> He grinned and drew her up until their faces rested inches apart. She couldn’t hold back the sigh this time as he resumed trailing fingers through her hair.
“Tell me why you don’t use it.”
She scrunched her brows, indecision over giving him this, the memories and details of her past. Letting him in that much might be more than she could handle. He studied her intently, his features showing he was fully enraptured in what she had to say.
“I stopped using it after a man I loved died. Everything in me, the woman I had been, crumbled.”
He continued to stare, silent, watchful.
She went on. “Tony and I were together for three years. I thought he’d be the man I would marry. He didn’t push me to be someone I’m not, but instead he encouraged me to become better. It was what I needed. His affection was something I craved. And his guidance and support was what I had been missing from a male figure in my life, more aptly my father. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t looking to replace daddy, but I did crave the closeness I lost at such a young age.”
Trent frowned, confusion evident. “What are you talking about? You lost your dad?”
Her eyes burned with emotion, the night still so clear it was as if it had just happened. She swallowed the thick lump in her throat. “My father was shot in the line of duty when I was just a kid. Taken down by some drug user looking to get his fix. Woolsey and Pops had come across the dealer who had been taken out already and after a quick search, the guy found my dad before Dad saw him. But,” she said and took a huge breath. “That isn’t all. I had to encounter it twice. The loss of a family member through violence. Once with my father, the next with Tony, my fiancé, when he was gunned down during a routine traffic stop.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”
She shrugged, blinked fast to discourage the tears threatening. “After that I hardened myself. I didn’t let anyone in for a long time and I started telling everyone to call me Charlie. Before, it wasn’t something formal. Now it’s all I’m known as. Hell,” she said with a humorous laugh, “sitting here now talking about it, I realize I think I did it in an effort to get distance from my past life.”
