the kiss.
She blinked up at him, surprised by the quick movement, then she registered what he’d
done. A cold mask crossed over her features.
“Charli, we can’t, I can’t—”
She grabbed the top of her towel, which was now sagging with the weight of all the
water, and held it tight, not looking up. “Right. I get it.”
“Charli,” he repeated.
“No, really. It’s fine. I got off, and that’s what I asked for. Much obliged. You
can go now.”
He wanted to explain, to reach out and fix that wounded expression. But the damage
was already done. And having her think he didn’t want to take this anywhere was for
the best. Max didn’t send his sister here so that Grant could get her into his bed.
And hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had vanilla sex with anyone.
This had been a mistake all around. She was everything he
didn’t
look for in a woman.
Too bad his dick didn’t give a damn about any of that.
He stepped out of the shower, his wet boots leaving puddles on the floor. “I’m sorry,
Charli.”
She turned her back to him. “Shut the door behind you.”
He did exactly that, heading out of the house and leaving a wet trail behind him.
And the asshole award goes to…
The air outside had turned cooler and chilled his clothes against his skin as he made
his way back to his cabin. Served him right for losing control like that. He should’ve
walked straight out that door in the first place. If she had needed a release, she
could’ve handled that herself. She didn’t need him to come in and save the day. The
move had been selfish on all levels.
By the time he reached his place he was cold, pissed, and tired. But unfortunately,
the miserable walk back to his cabin and a heaping pile of guilt hadn’t been enough
to quell the hard-on from hell. He was now walking with a full hitch in his giddyup.
The sound of Charli’s sexy sighs as she came was burned into his brain.
He could head back to The Ranch and find someone to scene with for the night. But
he’d never been a fan of fantasizing about one person while you fucked another. When
he was with a submissive, he wanted it to be all about
that
woman. Otherwise, what was the point?
So as soon as he kicked his door shut behind him, he strippedout of his wet clothes and headed to his own shower. Charli would probably still be
taking hers, sans towel—water running in rivulets down her freckled skin, soap sliding
over her perfect handful breasts and along her belly, suds creeping down between her
thighs where the lips of her sex would still be swollen and pink from orgasm. He imagined
stepping in behind her, taking the soap, and washing her backside. She would yield
to his touch, beg for it. He could cup her ass and press the ridge of his cock against
her, tasting her neck.
The hot water hit him with a blast, and he let it envelop him for a moment as it chased
away the chill, and he got lost in the fantasy. He leaned back against the tiled wall
and reached for the soap, creating a lather that he wished he could rub on Charli.
But instead, he moved his hand down and grasped his cock, coating himself in the slippery
liquid and stroking. A hard shudder went through him as he imagined his own grip was
really the hot clasp of Charli’s body around him.
He moved up and down the length, sparing any finesse. He liked to give it rough, and
he liked to get it the same way. His fist went on autopilot as his mind continued
to weave images of Charli against him, around him…tied up for him, begging him, those
green eyes drunk on pleasure instead of wine. The sound of soap against skin filled
the shower, mixing with the steam and the pounding water. His knees tried to buckle
beneath him as the pressure built low and fast.
He splayed his hand against the side wall, hanging on, and then sensation exploded
through his system, shooting down his spine and radiating outward.