He’d been on his feet all day, irritating the lesions that had formed since the accident, that pulled on muscles, and caused cramping. He’d stood for ten hours in the morgue, hovering over the vics, and hadn’t slept for forty-eight hours straight. Charlie should have anticipated these cramps.
She glanced at his go-bag, wondering if he had a bottle of muscle relaxers in there. Just as she thought to rummage inside, she second-guessed herself. It seemed counterintuitive to wake him if the pain was partially induced by exhaustion.
She should turn around and walk away. Go back to bed.
In the morning, he’d act as if he were fine, and it would be as if this never happened, as if she’d never stumbled upon his half naked body, witnessed his gorgeousness, and walked away. But she’d worry tonight, and didn’t have the stomach for more worry, especially since she was having a hard time sleeping.
But what to do? Massage, probably. Sitting next to him on the thin mattress, she put her gun on the side table and gathered up the quilt, wondering how best to massage without waking him. And where to start? There was so much of him.
He threw his forearm over his furrowed brow, casting his eyes into shadow. Cynthia froze, saw he still slept despite his clenched fist. Then she tossed the quilt over his body, thinking to keep him warm as she massaged him limb by limb.
Charlie’s right hand shot out and painfully grabbed her wrist before the quilt had even settled on his frame. His eyes opened, and their gazes locked. Cynthia watched as his sleep faded, and with it, his inner warrior. Then his grip loosened, but instead of releasing her, he tugged her across his chest until she was draped over him, the quilt separating their bodies.
“Charlie. You’re in pain,” she said.
He flipped them onto their sides, spooning her, resting his chin on the top of her head as he held her close. “Go to sleep.” His voice sounded gravelly, and she knew he was exhausted, but sleep wasn’t making his pain go away.
“You need a muscle relaxer,” she said.
“You’re my heating pad. Go to sleep.” He yawned, and then smacked his lips, settling more comfortably behind her, until his body conformed completely with hers, his hand pressing to her belly, her T-shirt riding up, her bum nestled deep in the crux created by his groin and thighs.
“You’re in pain,” she said. “I want to help.” She feared the weight of her head on his bicep would exacerbate his cramping, so she struggled to rise. His arm clamped down, pinning her in place.
“Shh,” he sighed. “Sleep, baby.” Then his arm grew heavy, and soon, his breathing pattern suggested he slept.
Suggested, because Charlie was sporting an impressive hard-on, and it ran the length of her ass crack. He was quietly snoring, and his breathing had mellowed to slow and rhythmic, so she thought maybe he was sleeping. His leg muscles weren’t spasming anymore—she’d have felt the cramping against her legs through the thin quilt. She certainly felt everything else going on with his body through the quilt. So Cynthia relaxed, her worries dismissed, because Charlie had relaxed.
And she felt coddled, so she drifted off to sleep.
* * * *
The sun was bright, the birds were chirping, and Cynthia was draped on a bed with a heartbeat. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Its rhythm increased. Not by much, but enough to notice, and if she wasn’t mistaken, it still had a hard-on, only this time it was nestled along the notch of her thighs.
Charlie.
Cynthia lifted her brows to encourage her lids to open. First thing her sleepy eyes saw was his nipple, and her fingertip on it. Then she noted the pressure of his hand splayed on her ass, his middle finger tucked in its cleft. His other was under her T-shirt, palm flattened between her shoulder blades.
“Run while you can,” Charlie whispered.
His grip contradicted his directive and tightened. Cynthia felt stupid. She should have anticipated this come daylight, and maybe made a decision or two last night.
At least shaved her legs.
Instead, she found herself tempted by morning sex, with morning breath, and glaringly bright morning light to illuminate all her flaws. Butt dimples and puffy face notwithstanding, sex with raccoon eyes was best done in the dark. Now, splayed on his chest, his hands pinning her in place, she didn’t want to run. Didn’t even want to delay. She just wanted forgiving lighting, a sexy negligee, and brushed teeth.
Awkward.
Charlie wasn’t waiting for a response, unless Cynthia not running was all the answer he’d needed. His hands caressed her butt in slow, circular motions, and, strangely enough, his palms and fingertips were packing a wallop, dredging deep, arousing feelings in the clenching bits between her legs. Pleasure had her flexing her thighs, and wiggling on him. Could he tell?
Charlie moaned, inhaling sharply. He’d noticed.
Inconveniently, a yawn worked its way through her body, and though she struggled to mitigate its effect, she arched nonetheless, dragging her swollen lady parts against his rock-hard erection. Tingles fanned out across her body, and then it was her inhaling sharply and releasing it on a dragged-out moan.
It stilled Charlie’s hand, making her wonder if her response had shocked him. Embarrassment forced her lazy eyes open to see his unsmiling face, his mental gears working, weighing repercussions of what they might do, what they would do, if she had anything to say about it. Her cheeks warmed, and she couldn’t help wishing Charlie would think less, and direct that focus to…other pursuits.
“I know,” she whispered. “Sex would be a complication.” She gave him a suitable excuse to bail, because Charlie wasn’t wired for anything but blunt honesty, and she wasn’t sure her ego could handle blunt at the moment. If he changed his mind, no harm, no foul. She’d probably molested him in his sleep anyway, and his dick had done all the thinking up until now. “But it doesn’t have to be. It can be—”
His finger nudged aside her panties and slid inside her wet heat. Her mouth opened, and she lost focus. Charlie cupped the back of her neck and pulled her lips to his, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth, drugging her with expert kisses. Did his mouth muffle her long, hungry moan? Most certainly, because his fingers knew what they were doing. It was his fault that she couldn’t control her response.
Cynthia ran her fingers over him, relishing the feel of his crisp chest hair as she widened her knees, straddling his hips, giving him all the access he could possibly need to keep doing what he was doing. She licked into his mouth, cupping his cheeks, rocking on his hand. His fingers had her tipping toward climax, but she rebelled. She wanted Charlie with her. This time. Their first time together, she wanted Charlie inside her, orgasming while she orgasmed. She’d been fantasizing about that too long to give up that dream.
Cynthia stilled his hand, broke their kiss, and pushed off his chest, sitting on his thighs. Then she watched his face as she slowly lifted her T-shirt, revealing her breasts to his hungry gaze. His response had her trembling in anticipation. She tossed the shirt aside and gathered her hair on top of her head, because it made her breasts look perky and Charlie seemed to like it. When he cupped her breasts, his thumbs teasing their tips, the look in his eyes told her she’d been right. Charlie was a breast man.
“I want your briefs off, Charlie.”
His cheek kicked up as his gaze lifted to hers. “I want your panties off, Cynthia.” He was too much in control for Cynthia’s tastes, especially since he’d gotten her a hiccup away from coming already. She wanted him weak with passion. Needed it, or how would she know they were on equal footing?
Cynthia stood, planting her feet on the mattress on both sides of his hips. Then she inhaled deeply to remind him, yeah, she had great breasts and he liked them. One look told Cynthia he didn’t need reminding. He was staring at them. “Then take my panties off, Charlie.”
He smiled, propping himself up with his fists. It put his lips on level with the very panties s
he’d told him to remove. One glance told her Charlie wasn’t feeling so cavalier anymore, but now that his hot breath and lips were touching her through the lace, she wasn’t feeling in control in the least. His tongue snaked out, pressing against the lace, the wet pressure licking at her until she didn’t notice the lace between them, and all she could focus on was Charlie’s tongue and how he was making her feel.
Her knees gave out.
Charlie caught her before she landed on the mattress and guided her onto her back. When she opened her eyes, his fingers were drawing her panties down her hips and then her thighs, bending her knees as his gaze locked on her exposed, swollen, clenching lady parts. His obvious hungry anticipation almost had her coming then and there, but he distracted her by tossing her panties aside and catching her gaze. He smiled, grabbed her knees, and then spread them wide.
She propped herself up on her elbows, helpless to do anything but watch in wonder as his chest rose and fell, like he was exerting great effort to control himself. Yet all he was doing was staring at the apex of her thighs, licking his lower lip, looking as if he’d found Nirvana.
Then his mouth covered her, his hands gripped both ass cheeks, and Charlie gorged on her, using his shoulders to support her trembling thighs. He was reverent, at first, and as she watched, she wasn’t sure she’d survive his teasing. Then he wasn’t, and she was positive she wouldn’t survive. Her elbows gave out, and she was flat on her back, eyes open, blind to all but how his mouth was making her feel. Waves of arousing jolts ratcheted her toward a helplessness that bordered on agony, because it would bring her to an ecstasy that would end this feeling. She wanted both. She wanted Charlie. She was coming and didn’t want to.
“Inside me,” she gasped, turning on her side, pulling away from him.
He kissed the back of her thighs, her ass, and by the time he was done, he’d tasted every inch of her. Every. Inch. Of. Her. No more secrets. Butt dimples? He’d had the time to count them. And when she couldn’t tolerate for one more moment his keeping her poised at the cusp of orgasm, she begged him, “Please, Charlie. Now, Charlie.” He pulled her toward him by her knees, positioned himself above her.
“Put me inside you.” The words seemed ripped from his throat. “Cynthia, now.”
She cupped him and guided him forward. Then he had her wrists in his hands, and trapped them over her head as he moved into her body, his weight bearing down as he buried himself to the hilt while kissing her. His hips thrust so powerfully she was moved inches up the mattress as he filled her completely, stretching her. She saw stars.
And loved him. She loved him.
As the thought blossomed in her heart, she allowed herself to crest and surf the pleasurable waves of a powerful orgasm as Charlie’s kisses muffled her cries of passion. He was wild above her, fierce as he dominated her body, then he took his release with a shudder, an arch of his back. Arms taut, tremor preceding a great stillness, he was glorious to see as she floated there, in heaven on earth.
Soon his body began to relax, and his elbows dropped, digging into the mattress on either side of her shoulders, and though he continued to move inside her, drawing out her pleasurable aftershocks, she wondered if he was thinking what she was thinking: that she didn’t want it to end. That it was wonderful.
She didn’t even care about the sweatiness, and the fact that her breasts were mashed flat against Charlie’s chest. She didn’t care. Didn’t care that her hair was tousled and not aligned. Didn’t care. Every whimper, gasp, and word of pleading, every touch they’d shared… She remembered. And wasn’t embarrassed. She felt no shame, and would do it again.
“I forgot to ask,” he said, still deep inside her, brushing his lips against hers. “You on birth control?” She nodded.
“Hm.” She’d planned on weaning off. Such was her sex life.
He smiled, and his eyes crinkled, but said no more. Then he rolled off her and lay on his back, pulling her to his side. She missed him inside her already. She was swollen, still clenching with aftershocks.
He kissed her, long and lingering. “I can’t believe I denied myself that for ten years.”
She propped herself up by the elbow, looking down at him. Ten years ago? Why would he bring that up? It was obviously a reference to the accident. To Terrance. And all references to Terrance were somehow connected to his sense of obligation.
“We weren’t the same people ten years ago.” She studied his expression, doing her best not to panic. Sex had been amazing. She’d thought it meant he… She thought it meant he was in love with her and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together as man and wife.
He smiled. “You were jailbait.”
She narrowed her eyes. Was she overthinking things? “I was nineteen. My mom was married and pregnant with Terrance when she was nineteen.” He kept his focus on the ceiling, looking relaxed, as if he had no idea he was playing with fire. She kind of envied him that oblivion.
“Ten years ago, you’d assigned yourself my nurse. My babysitter. You went from off limits to out of my league.”
She sat on the mattress’s edge, hating the memories he’d dredged up. “I wasn’t on bedpan duty. I visited. Read some books.” He leaned on his elbow, caressing her back. It was comforting, which made her suspicious. Why did he think she needed to be comforted?
“I know what you did,” he said, “and I know why you did it.” She glanced over her shoulder to tell him to drop the subject, and then saw his chest. It shut her up. The daylight was unforgiving. There was no shadow, no dim lighting to soften the scar’s impact. And they broke her heart.
“You’re my hero, Charlie.” When their gazes met, he wasn’t relaxed. He seemed pissed, and she couldn’t blame him. He’d caught her feeling sorry for him.
“You deserve a better hero,” he snapped.
“You let me worry about that.” She draped herself on his chest, kissing him until he stopped frowning and grew playful, rolling her onto her back. Then his caresses had her forgetting about everything but how Charlie made her feel. He took his time, was methodical in his seduction, exploring, teasing responses from her, showing her what she liked even as she discovered what made him moan with pleasure. An hour later, they found themselves lying on their backs on the floor next to the pullout couch, naked, and a bit stunned.
“Four orgasms,” she huffed and puffed, “is definitely a record.”
He gasped for air, smiling. “It’s all about setting goals.”
“Feed me. Need coffee.” She flopped her left arm on his chest, pressing her palm over his heart, and then noticed the MIT ring was gone. “Shit. The ring. Charlie, I lost your ring.”
Charlie’s heart was racing. She could feel its beat under her hand. “I put it on the side table.” He reached up, slapped the top of the side table a few times, and when his hand covered hers on his chest, he’d retrieved the ring and slipped it back on her finger. “My parents need to be told,” he said.
Cynthia shook her head, feeling the hard floor press against her bruised laceration. She didn’t want to tell them until things were settled. Yeah, she and Charlie got married. Yeah, they’d had phenomenal sex, but… This marriage thing. It might not last.
“Let’s not deal with that now, okay?” Telling Delia and Paul Foulkes would set in motion things she wasn’t sure either she or Charlie were ready to commit to. Meaning they’d have to make decisions. ’Til-death-do-us-part decisions. And she didn’t want to challenge what they had now. It was still too new, and, yeah, they still had a killer out there trying to pin a mass murder on Charlie. “Too much is going on. I feel good. Let me enjoy this.”
Charlie hauled himself to his feet, then pulled on his boxer briefs. “Just saying.”
“First you bring up your parents, then you put clothes on. What did I ever do to you? Look at me.” She indicated her nakedness with a wave of her hand. “I can barely stand. My digni
ty is in tatters. Help me up.” She held up a hand. Charlie took it and tugged her to her feet.
“They have to be told, Cynthia. It will hurt their feelings to hear it from someone else.”
“It could drag them into our troubles,” she said. It was a worry.
Charlie shrugged. “We’re married. Married people have troubles.”
“Chicken and the egg, Charlie. We married because of trouble. This is a whole different thing, and you know it.” Cynthia arched a brow, patting his chest. “You must consider how your parents will feel when this case is closed, we’re not in jail, and I drop you like a stone.” When and if she married, it would be to a man who declared his endless love, and white-chargered her ass off into the sunset. That crime scene proposal could not stand.
“Already planning on breaking my heart?” he said, smiling.
If Charlie took her threat seriously, he gave no indication of it as he grabbed his go-bag and left her weakly swaying on her feet, so well-loved and satiated, all she was good for was watching him walk out of the living room in his boxer briefs.
Damn, he was sexy as hell.
When she heard the bathroom door close and the shower turn on, she still didn’t know what to make of his response. What she was absolutely positive of, however, was she didn’t have the guts to call him on it, either. Didn’t want to rock the boat.
She loved him and couldn’t tell him.
He had to say it first, because otherwise, Charlie would never divorce her. Her declaration would effectively trap him in their marriage. He had to pull that particular rip cord first, or no matter how their relationship progressed, Cynthia would never be sure what was in his heart. Such was the insidious nature of his obligation. It even made her question the motive behind orgasms.
Her phone rang. The screen said Benton. Cynthia hurried into the kitchen, all her naked bits bouncing and ignored as she found Charlie making coffee. “It’s Benton,” she said. “I don’t want to answer. What is wrong with me?” She couldn’t think. “I’m having a panic attack. I don’t have panic attacks, but I think that’s what this is.” She huffed and puffed, then stopped breathing altogether when she became dizzy. The phone continued to ring.
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