“Listen,” I cup her chin and lift her gaze back to mine, “I can stand here and tell you how many times I’ve tried to call you, but you know that don’t you?” She looks away and bites her lip. “Yeah, and that’s fine, this whole thing got fucked up fast. I’m sure it’s been a lot to digest.”
“It’s just, I wanted to answer, I really did, but Marcus is the only family I have left. I don’t want to hurt him, even if he hadn’t given up his entire adult life to look out for me, I still wouldn’t want to hurt him.” Her chin quivers and I pull her into my chest.
“Hey, don’t cry. I get it. I’m not upset with you, blood is thicker than water. You’re a good sister,” I run my hand over her hair as she buries her face into my shirt.
And I’m a bad brother. Blood brother at that.
My mind drifts back to the crimson streak dripping from my palm in the woods behind the elementary school.
“Now what?” The blood pooled in my hand as Marcus took the same razor blade I stole from my Dad and slit his skin open just below the lifeline and bright red smeared across his own palm.
“Now we shake hands, this makes us blood brothers. Just like real brothers,” Marcus reached out and his black hand enveloped my pale white one as we shook on it, making it official.
“Blood brothers for life,” I smiled.
“For life,” he agreed.
I push the thought away, letting the eight-year-old versions of us and all of the optimism and innocence that came with that age all float away. That was a decade before I destroyed our friendship. Before I killed the ties with my only brother. Sure, in the SEALs I got more brothers, but nothing compared to the friendship I had with Marcus.
“Charlotte,” I swallow the lump in my throat and grab her arms, looking down at her, “I haven’t seen you in two months. Sixty days. You know how I know that? Because each one has been painful without being able to see you, to talk to you, to feel you,” I rub my hands over her arms. “If you want me to bare my soul in a pharmacy, then I will, but I would really like you to come home and talk this out with me. Give me a chance, please.” She looks up at me from under her wet lashes and nods her head.
“Let’s go,” she agrees.
I drop my basket of toiletries on the floor and grab her hand, leading her to the door without hesitation. I’ve been waiting for months to just hear her voice again, and I’m not going to wait around here for another second and risk her changing her mind.
“I parked over there,” she vaguely waves across the lot but I open the truck door for her. “Let me take you, I’ll bring you back to your car, I promise.” I don’t want to watch her walk to her car, I don’t want that space between us, no matter how short of a time it would be for. I need her next to me now and I don’t want to let her go.
“Okay, sure,” she shrugs and I give her a hand getting inside before making my way over to the driver’s side and sliding in beside her on the old bench seat.
“So, we’re going to your place?” She looks up at me and it takes every fiber of self-control I have in me to resist wrapping my arms around her and kissing those full, pouty lips.
“Yes,” I manage to answer through gritted teeth. As if, by opening my jaw, I might not be able to contain the desperation of my tongue, longing to find hers.
“Just to talk, right?” She tilts her head and the sunlight gleams off her dark hair.
“That’s right,” I nod curtly, not taking my hands off the steering wheel.
She nods and slides across the beat-up seat to me as I turn the key and the ancient engine roars to life. As I pull out of the parking lot, Charlotte nuzzles in against me, her sweet scent filling my nose and getting me drunk with passion.
I know we’re just going to talk but as she relaxes against my chest, as I breathe her in like the very oxygen I need to live, I can’t help but wonder where else this is going.
13|Charlotte
Connor opens the door to his beautifully renovated cabin and steps aside to let me walk in first. As I stride into the open concept living room and kitchen with a huge loft overseeing the main floor, I can’t help but feel proud of him for how much he’s changed this place. I remember when this was old man Lou’s “haunted” shack. He was a legendary recluse who only came into town a couple of times of year to buy some food and supplies to make moonshine. As a kid, we all heard crazy stories about Lou. Some were tame, like that he was running from the law and trying to keep a low profile, others were crazy, like that he was some kind of modern day witch from Hansel and Gretel, participating in cannibalism as he ate the children he’d steal away in the night. Of course, no one ever knew of a child being kidnapped. Not firsthand. Always some distant cousin, twice removed on their mother’s side.
Anyway, I remember seeing this place in all of its “glory” and by glory, I mean its decrepit, run-down, borderline forced eviction status back when Lou was alive. My father worked for a charity that delivered Christmas hampers to people and Lou was the last stop on our drive. I cowered in the car as Dad took him the food. When he returned, I asked him why he gave him any. I was a bit angry. Didn’t everyone know what kind of monster Lou was?
Dad said, “Lou isn’t a monster, but he fights them. When you get older, you’ll understand that monsters aren’t scary creatures in the closet, they’re demons we fight from our past. Some people win the battle and some are consumed.” He set his jaw and we drove home in silence as I thought over his words.
“Want a beer?” Connor interrupts my thoughts and I spring back into the present.
“No!” The word forcefully blurts out of my mouth like a sharp slap on the wrist of a child who was only looking at a cookie.
I turn away, my cheeks blazing at my overreaction and try to fight my instinct to rub my hand over my belly.
Searching the room for a distraction, my eyes fall on his books haphazardly strewn on the shelves of his bookcase. I glaze over the titles I’d expect Connor to be interested in, American Psycho, Revolutionary Road, stopping to stare at the odd book out. It reminds me of that old Sesame Street tune, “One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesn't belong. Can you tell which thing is not like the others, by the time I finish my song?”
“Charlotte’s Web?” I look over my shoulder with a cocked eyebrow and don’t wait for an explanation before I cross the room and pluck the curious selection from the shelf.
“It was a gift. More of a joke, really,” Connor grabs his beer and lets the fridge door slam shut, following me across the room. I flip open the cover and admire the beautifully handwritten inscription:
Connor,
Just remember, you can be the most “Terrific” pig in the world, but at the end of the day, you’re still just a pig.
Cynthia
“Who’s Cynthia?” I snap the cover closed as jealousy burns over the back of my neck.
“No one,” he laughs, but the noise dries in his throat when he meets my eyes. “Well, not ‘no one,’ but not what you’re thinking. She was a military clerk I knew. She always called me a pig, but I figured she had the hots for me. So, when she gave me a Christmas present I was sure she was finally admitting her feelings, but, as you can see,” he sweeps his hand to the book in my grasp, “that wasn’t the case. I thought it was funny, so I kept it,” he shrugs.
My tense shoulders slump with relief as I put the book back down. Why am I feeling so worked up anyway? It’s not like Connor is mine. And even if he was, he had a life before me. That’s not exactly a surprise. Even when I was a little girl, I noticed how he had a different piece of flaky arm candy dangling from him every week.
A leopard doesn’t change his spots, my brother’s voice echoes in my mind.
I clear my throat, “I didn’t take you for the sentimental type, I guess.” I finally let myself look into his eyes and am suddenly lost in a jungle of green.
“Oh no?” Connor steps toward me, and I can feel that buzz of electricity spark between us that I’ve ac
hed for. A current races over my skin making my nipples taut and my pussy slick. I can smell the faint trace of beer on his breath mixed with the natural, woodsy musk he’s picked up by living out here in the forest. If raw, feral, rip-your-clothes-off man had a bottled scent, it would be him.
He moves in closer, his lips inching toward mine and I let my worries, the ones that haunt me about his past and my future, all float away as I let my eyelids slide shut and wait to feel the warmth of his mouth on mine.
“Then how would you explain this?” He lifts an old-fashioned photo album, covered in colorful hot air balloons, from the shelf.
“I haven’t looked at a photo album since Mom died. She loved scrapbooking and putting old pictures in. She would say ‘it’s a shame to let anything collect dust, but especially the blessings life gives each of us.’ Then she’d tell me the stories behind every single picture. I was always amazed at how much detail she remembered,” I run my hand over the cover and feel a pang in my gut as I wish I could listen to her tell me just one more of those tales.
“I’m sorry about your parents, Charlotte,” Connor squeezes my shoulder with his broad hand and I fight back tears I haven’t cried in years.
“Me too,” I swallow hard and blink quickly. “So, what stories are you holding onto? What memories are you making sure don’t collect dust?”
14|Connor
I take a swig of beer and lead Charlotte back to my sofa as she eyes me with curiosity. “I’ll show you,” I answer, plopping down on the navy blue cushion. I watch her bubble butt grow rounder and even fuller as she eases down beside me. For a second, I want to throw the photo album on the floor and tear her clothes open. I want to lick every part of her, taste every inch of her skin, and swallow every bit of her sweet nectar. My cock twitches, but I snap out of it, forcing myself to focus. I told her I would bring her here to talk, nothing else. Unless she shows me that she wants more, I’m going to be a man of my word.
I take another mouthful of beer and run my hand over the cover of the album. It feels like the pictures inside, the details and the moments were a lifetime ago, and at the same time, like they were only yesterday.
“Come on, let’s see what’s hiding in here,” Charlotte nudges me playfully. “Got a bunch of pictures of you done up in camo, maybe posing with a gun as you burst out of the water? Isn’t that what they show on the commercial for the SEALs,” she jokes. “I bet you were their cover boy, weren’t you?”
“I must have those in another book,” I smile and crack the cover open. “This one is all…”
“It’s me,” she breathes the words lightly running her fingers over an aging picture of little Lottie King with her frizzy afro and pink overalls, sticking her tongue out at the boy behind the camera. Me.
“Yep,” I let my eyes scan the page as memories swirl back in full force. “And Marcus. And me.” I turn the page and Charlotte laughs as a much younger version of her brother who is holding up a bullfrog proudly while in the picture below I’m showing off on the monkey bars in the park.
“I forgot how you used to carry that camera around all the time,” she sits up straighter and pours over the pictures. “Didn’t you get it as a gift or something?” Charlotte looks up at me, her eyebrows reaching skyward and her brown eyes softening.
“Yeah, my Mom gave it to me for my birthday,” I nod and finish my beer in one gulp before putting the bottle down on the end table.
“You were obsessed with taking pictures,” Charlotte flips the page and laughs loudly as she glances down at herself in puffy pigtails, giving me the finger. “I forgot how bratty I was to you guys,” she chuckles.
“You just kept me in line,” I smirk. “I deserved it, most of the time,” I look over at her as she flips through the book. I’ve seen these pictures more times than I can count. Watching her reaction to each new page is impossible to look away from.
Charlotte crinkles her nose at the pictures of the dog taking a crap, boy stuff, and she laughs until she’s gasping for air at the picture of Marcus dressed up in spandex with a blanket for a cape.
Charlotte taps her finger on the picture and tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes as she struggles to breathe.
“What’s so funny?” I glance down.
“That’s my bodysuit I wore to dance class,” she giggles at the skin-tight onesie Marcus wore under a pair of blue shorts in his homemade Superman costume.
Laughter bubbles up inside of me, “Really? I didn’t know that.” I wrap my arm around her as she flickers through more pages, each one that she flips, turning into later years of our childhood.
“Oh, look how handsome you two looked for prom. I remember I was so jealous of, what was the name of the girl you took?” She tears her eyes away from the past and looks up at me.
“Fiona.”
“Yes, that’s right. Fiona,” she spits out the name like a bitter taste on her tongue. “I never liked her,” she lifts the page.
“You didn’t know her.” I laugh.
“What I knew, I didn’t like,” she turns over the cardboard page and stops, her fingers hovering over the envelope tucked into the back of the album. “Is that?”
“It is,” I lift up the letter Charlotte wrote to me fourteen years ago. She gave it to me as I was getting ready to board my bus to start my new life in the military.
Her hands shake as she holds out the envelope and fat tears fall over her cheeks. I remember I looked over her head to see if Marcus might be with her, but he wasn’t. The friendship was already dead by then. Prom night could never be taken back.
“I don’t know how I’m going to get through you leaving. I don’t know how I’m going to keep living my life without you in it,” Lottie sniffed. At thirteen, she was tall for her age and her limbs seemed to be growing faster than her body.
“I’ll be back someday, I promise,” I answered.
“No, you won’t,” she cried. “I know I’ll never see you again.” I remember how her heartbreak made her voice crack. How her chin trembled as she tried, but lost the battle to hold back her tears.
“Listen, I’ll be back. You have my word on that,” I looked into her eyes. I knew for years that Lottie had a crush on me, but it wasn’t until that moment that I saw the depth of it. She’d always been my best friend’s little sister. The annoying one who tattled on us or tried to follow us around like a lost puppy dog. It wasn’t until I was ready to leave that I could see a glimmer of who she would grow up to become.
“I’ll miss you,” she wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, trying to be brave. Lottie pulled the envelope from her back pants pocket and shoved it into my hands then marched away quickly.
She didn’t know I watched her walk away. She didn’t know I saw her collapse against the doorframe to the bus station and shake as tears spilled from her. She didn’t know I witnessed her heart being torn in two. Because I boarded the bus, took my seat and watched from the window as it pulled away.
“You still have my letter? Why?” She searches my face with her chocolate eyes and leans into me.
“Because I wanted to remember what I was coming back here for,” I admit, “I promised you that I would return, remember?”
“I do,” her fingers intertwine with mine and she looks up at me with wonder.
“I’m a man of my word, Charlotte. That’s one thing you can always trust. I promised you I’d come back and I did. Your letter, through all these years, grounded me, it kept me rooted here, it brought me back here… to you.”
Charlotte leans into me, her breast brushing against my hand as her lips tenderly press against mine. I let go of the album and it drops to the floor as I scoop her up from the sofa and pull her into my lap. Wrapping my arms around her, my tongue presses against her lips and they open for me. I can taste her desire, the fire that never stopped burning for me, her desperate need. I know it all too well, it’s the same things I’ve been feeling since the night we went home together. Since the night destiny and
fate danced through our lives and brought us back together.
15|Charlotte
I slide my legs open and my dress slips up around my waist. Through my panties, I can feel the heat of his hard cock pressed against me. My pussy clenches as I throw my shoulders back, pushing my breasts forward into Connor’s face.
He cups my ass, squeezing my cheeks hard, pulling them open so I can feel his rigid member urgently pressing into my mound. Connor combs his fingers through my hair, sweeping it to the side so he can unzip the back of my dress. Does this feeling ever go away? It feels like every time Connor fucks me, every time I give myself to him, my senses are overwhelmed. My heart threatens to beat out of my chest and my breathing grows ragged as I tremble with anticipation. I’ve never felt anything so intense before. It’s like my soul is jumping to the edge of my flesh, like a fish leaping from a pond, to graze against his. Each time, it feels like a tingling intensity rushing over me, like every cell in my body has woken from his touch.
Zwwwip!
He opens my dress and the light fabric slides down, exposing the cream-colored bra with little pink cherry blossoms on it, covering my full breasts.
Connor wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me into him, nuzzling between my plump tits. He drags his tongue slowly over the tops, leaving a shimmering trail, marking me.
I didn’t even feel his hand on my bra strap until he flicked it open, my tits fall slightly as he quickly tugs the bra from my body and tosses it to the floor.
“You have such beautiful tits,” he growls and sucks my dusky nipple in over his rose petal lips as I flutter my eyelids closed. Rolling my head back, I press my breasts into his face as I grind down against his thick cock, wishing I could feel every inch of him stretch me out, claiming me as his.
“Oh!” My eyes spring open with surprise as I look down at Connor’s mischievous grin against my taut nipple. “That stung!” I give him a light swat but giggle at the conflicting sensation of the nip he just gave me with the even more vibrant pleasure of his swirling tongue soothing it.
TinderElla: Page 21
