“Yeah. We talked about how we would go out when everything was over. Do you remember?” I ask, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.
“Of course I remember.” He laughs, shaking his head. Stepping back and allowing me space to walk into the small apartment. “You look pretty,” he says, gesturing to the black dress.
“Thank you,” I say, handing him the bouquet of roses.
“The flowers are beautiful, too.”
“Thanks. Lucy, helped me pick them out.”
“Oh, did she really?”
“Yeah,” I say. Following close behind him, my stomach twisting into knots. “I haven't really heard from you since that day,” I say, swallowing hard as he turns to look at me.
“Yeah, I've been busy,” he tells me.
I wonder what he's been busy with but I find myself unable to ask.
“What about you?” he asks and I can feel the awkwardness between us.
“I've missed being here,” I say, stepping forward and placing my hands on his sides desperately wanting to close the distance between us, to feel him close to me again. “I’ve missed you so much, Noah,” I admit, my voice trembling.
He looks down at me with those silver eyes that make me weak. “I’ve missed you too,” he says as he slides his hand up and caresses my cheek.
“Why haven't you called?” I ask looking down at his lips then back up again as he slides his arm around my waist, pulling me close.
“I don't know,” he whispers.
“Okay,” I say, my heart stuttering as he slides that hand up over my jaw, brushing against my lips.
“Have I told you that you're pretty?”
“Yes.” I smile.
“Good.”
Leaning down, he presses his firm lips against mine and I moan as I melt in his arms. Yes, this is what I needed. This embrace between us reminds me that he still cares and that everything is okay between the two of us.
Sliding my hands from his hips to his waist. I tug lightly at the flannel shirt he is wearing and slowly unbutton it.
I feel his breath change as he pulls back, and looks at me.
“I want you to know,” I whisper, “I want you to touch me so badly. Please,” I beg, looking up at him. I feel his abdomen tighten as I slide my hands up under the shirt, touching soft skin and the outline of hard muscles. He watches me as I unbutton his shirt. Exposing those lean muscles and old scars.
Sliding my hands over them, I kiss them gently, each one, and he closes his eyes. Sliding his hands to my waist and then up to my shoulders, he slides off my cardigan.
“Charlie,” he groans.
“Hush now,” I whisper. “Don't say anything.”
My cardigan drops to the floor and he stares at me. It's different this time. The first time he touched me, there was a desperate need, a hunger and maybe even love. When he looks at me now, his eyes are sad. I don't know what it means and I'm afraid to ask. So instead, I unbutton the last button and toss the shirt to the floor before wrapping my arms around his neck and jumping, letting my legs rest neatly around his waist. Looking down at him and sliding my fingers through his dark hair. I watch his face as he carries me to the bedroom.
Looking around, the bedroom isn't much nicer than the rest of the apartment, but the bed looks comfortable with the fluffy pillows and the surprisingly tasteful bedframe. Lowering me down onto the bed, I can't help but smile as he slowly unbuttons his pants while watching me.
As I let my hands slide down my body, his eyes are drawn to where they roam from my hair to my neck to the curve of my bra and down to my thighs. Sliding down his jeans, standing naked above me, he leans forward and presses his body against mine. His full lips send gentle kisses down my neck and over my bra. A sweet contrast to the scruff of his beard.
There's more heat this time. I feel his need stronger than before. The first time his hands were gentle and his mouth sweet. Today they're hard and his eyes are full of desperation. As he slides his hands down my thighs, pulling down my panties, I gasp from pleasure. His fingers slide down to my center, massaging me in a gentle circular motion as his lips nibble and nip at my collarbone. I gasp when he slides his fingers inside of me, making me arch beneath him. I shudder with pleasure, as he moves his fingers in a compelling motion that has my knees trembling.
“So beautiful,” he whispers in my ear, his teeth nipping at the tender skin before lowering down to my neck. Sliding my hands up his arms, I admire the firm lines as my hand reaches up and fists in the back of his hair.
“Oh my god,” I whisper as he slides his fingers out of me and slides my dress up, exposing me. Hands on my hips, he teases his cock against me, pressing it firmly and stroking it up and down my center, sending shivers of pleasure through my body.
I gasp and my knees tremble. Just when I think he's going to let me finish, he pulls back a little. It's driving me crazy. I want him so badly. I open my eyes and watch him. The way he looks down at me. His eyes are full of longing.
“I want you,” I say.
Pressing himself against me one last time, he slides into me and I gasp with pleasure. At the new sensation of his body in mine, he lifts my hips up. Kneeling between my thighs, he thrusts once hard and I gasp. He pulls out almost completely and then he pushes himself back in with a quick jerk. The sense of shock shoots through my system. My hands feel down to his and clasp tightly there.
“Again,” I urge my eyes on his as he thrusts again. “Oh my God, again. Yes. Do it again,” I beg as each thrust sends an incredible rush, a desperate need through me. I didn't know how badly I wanted this.
His eyes darken with carnal pleasure as he picks up the pace. Watching himself move in and out of me, he leans forward. Now he wraps his arm around me, and his other hand around my throat as he presses himself against me.
I lay still and he kisses me as my legs rise and wrap around his waist, holding him close. His firm lips press hard into my mouth. His hand slides up and fists in my hair as his tongue teases and his hips begin to move against mine faster, and I feel a hunger building between us.
Sliding my hands down his back and grasping his hips, I urge him on. I cry out with pleasure as he moves hard and fast against me. It takes my breath away.
“Look at me, Charlie,” he whispers as my eyes close, as the first waves of orgasm ripple through me. “Look at me. I want to watch you,” he growls.
Opening my eyes, I stare into his. Those gray eyes so full of emotion that I can't discern as his body continues to fill mine, again and again. His hand sliding up and resting around my neck again.
“No,” I gasp and arch beneath him as I feel the tension build in me. I feel like I'm going to break or explode into a thousand tiny pieces. “Don't stop,” I moan, “keep going.”
His breath comes quicker now and his mouth opens as he groans. The final thrust leaves me weak in his arms. My knees fall on to the bed as he buries his face in my hair, inhaling deeply.
Laying under the weight of him, my hands slide up and down his back. I feel his heart pounding into my chest.
Turning my head and kissing him gently, I feel his body stiffen. “What's wrong? Please tell me,” I say, “Are you mad at me?” I asked, afraid that the answer is yes.
“No,” he says. His voice muffled against my hair. “I'm not mad at you.
I don't know why, but I have a sudden urge to cry. I feel like this is the end because it is.
I slide my hand into his hair, pull his face up to mine, and press my lips against his firmly, pouring myself into him as his body lies tangled in mine.
Chapter Nineteen
Noah
“Ouch, damn it,” I mutter under my breath, racking my knuckles on the engine of a black 1967 Corvette. I pause, as I see the blood dripped down to the floor beneath me. Closing my eyes, it comes back to me― the moment I raised the gun high above my head hammering it down on Raul's skull. The blood trickled down to the floor. I don't know if anyone else noticed, but I did. The weight of t
he gun in my hand felt heavier than it ever had before.
I should’ve killed him. Men like him don’t deserve to live, and I would have done the world a service. Now, he’ll be sent back to prison on parole violation. He’ll probably get another chance in a couple of years; I just hope that Kenton chases after him as hard as he went after me. Attempted murder and abduction charges should keep him away for a while. There it is again, Charlie’s face as she sat in front of the tripod, screaming as her dad was dragged into the room; and Lucy, my little girl in mortal danger again.
It’s all so much to take in, to realize what I almost lost that day. My world isn’t safe for them. Though I’ve quit dealing, I still know dangerous people and have a reputation for violence. I don’t know that I will ever truly be reformed. Looking around my shop, I feel some sense of satisfaction. It’s nice to have a business like this, it’s something I’m good at. But recently I’ve been thinking about ways to amp it up. I’ve been in the business for so long, I don’t know that I can ever really give it all up. While I won’t deal anymore, I think I’ll keep my transportation business going. Kenton doesn’t know about it, but I use these vehicles to transport packages for customers across state lines. It’s exciting, and not entirely illegal. I don’t ask questions, I just assign the job to a footman, or drive it myself. It’s a small rush, and the pay is fantastic.
I don’t know how Charlie will feel about it. Maybe I won’t tell her. I frown, closing the hood of the car. We haven’t spoken much since she came over, and it’s my fault. I'm not ignoring her. I just need space― time. That's why I haven't returned her phone calls. Things were so intense that we got caught up, and I couldn’t tell which way is up or down. Maybe that sounds lame. I don't care. I just need to be able to clear my head and figure out what is best for Charlie.
What scares me is that I don't know what's best for her. I can't separate what I want from what she needs. What I want is to have her in my bed every night, to feel her in my arms, and know that I am the only man that will ever touch her like this again.
What she needs though, is someone different. Someone that is good, kind, gentle. Someone who can appreciate her. While I appreciate her, I'm not gentle, and I'm not kind. I wish I could be those things, but I'm not. I'm a hard man, one who has fought for everything that he has.
I'm proud of how much I've grown as a person, and I'm proud of the family that I raised as a widower. But there are some things that I am ashamed of, like my childhood. For years, I had the words “useless,” “oxygen thief,” waste of space,” and so many others drilled into my head. You hear it long enough and you start to believe it. I don't talk about these things because I don't want people to pity me; but it is something that I carry around with me, even though I don't want to.
Abbie tells me I should consider seeing a counselor. But I don't want to. Why would I go talk to a stranger about my problems? They don't understand me and how could they? Our lives are so different. Even when we come from the same small town, grow up with the same people, there is such a stark contrast. It's mind-boggling.
Closing my eyes and inhaling deeply, I lower the wrench and walk over to the sink to rinse the oil and blood from my knuckles.
I don't think that I’m good for Charlie. I'm considerably older, and though my daughter and Kenton seem to be doing okay, I don't know that I can make Charlie that happy. We're just so different. She's sweet, kind, bubbly, and gentle. She'd be an incredible wife, an excellent mother. Charlie is the kind of woman that any man would be lucky to settle down with; Kenton raised her well. She should be with someone on her level, not me.
I've been to prison. I've knocked people senseless, loosened teeth, and broken bones. I seriously considered murdering someone just a few days ago, and I would have, had my daughter not said my name. Even now, I regret not shooting him. Does that make me a monster because I wouldn't have felt bad for it? What does it say about me as a person?
Sometimes I wonder if I feel things the way other people do. In times of danger, I can just simply stop feeling these things. Fuck I'm broken; too damage for an angel like her. She deserves better.
A better man would prioritize her over himself by taking a step back. He would be strong enough to walk away instead of trying to force something that can never be. There's no use in fighting it or even trying to break up with her. I'll just keep my distance and let it fizzle out on its own. That would be the noble thing to do, right?
I've never broken up with someone. After my wife died, I didn't pay much mind to women. That's not to say that I've lived the life of a monk since then. Quite the contrary, I have enjoyed my weekend adventures with women from bars, one nightstand, hookups, whatever the kids are calling it these days. I like sex and I like women, but I haven't had a solid relationship with a girl. I've been too wrapped up in my children and in my business, both legal and otherwise. Now that I'm faced with someone who undoubtedly needs a relationship, I feel inadequate.
Charlie is too classy for one night stands or casual sex. I wouldn’t want that for her, anyway. I want her to find a man that she can love, marry, and care for her as a wife and mother. The future I see for her isn’t one that she can have with me.
“Hey, Boss,” Jake calls from the other room and walks out into the garage.
“There are two guys here who want to talk to you about the car,” he says, gesturing to the vehicle behind me.
“Yeah, send them in, I'll talk to em,” I say, glancing up and drying off my torn hand.
I hear the guys laughing before I see them.
“Did you look at that chick? She's fucking hot,” one voice says.
“Damn right she is. See the way she smiled at me and said, ‘hello?’”
“Oh, be still my beating heart,” The redhead rests his hands over his chest in mock awe.
“Hey, do you think she does― Oh, hey, there,” the redhead turns to me, shaking my hand firmly. “I'm Kurt, this is Randy. We're here to see how the baby's coming,” he says, tapping his hand on top of the car.
“It's going okay,” I say, sizing them up and wondering what they were saying about the girl in the hall.
“How much longer do you think it'll be?” he asks, leaning forward and looking through the windows of the corvette.
“I'm waiting on two parts right; so, probably another week,” I answer with a shrug, already deciding that I don't like this guy.
“That's a shame. I wanted to take her for a ride,” he says, gesturing his thumb to the hall.
“Damn right you do,” the dark-haired boy laughs shoving his friend who stumbles a step, and they both snicker.
Great. Hilarious. Saying nothing. I stand, leaning against the car waiting for them to get over their jokes.
“Hey, buddy, why don't you go out there and we can offer her one,” he winks, and I feel my stomach clench.
“Hey, maybe she'll go for a ride with both of us,” the redhead cackles.
I clear my throat, feeling my body stiffen. I have the overwhelming urge to smash my fist into his dopey face.
“What? Got a problem, old man?” The redhead turns to face me, and I raise a brow.
Interesting. I'm being challenged by some punk kid who thinks he's tough and thinks that sexually harassing some poor girl is cool.
“You really ought to treat women with more respect,” I answer, crossing my arms ready for the challenge.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Gramps.” The kid pushes lightly against my hand.
I grab his arm, twisting it as he kneels to the ground.
“Fuck! What's the matter with you?” he shouts, and Jake walks in to see what’s going on.
“I’m just teaching you a lesson, son. Don't sexually harass anyone, or you’re going to have me to deal with,” I growl glaring down at him.
“What's the problem, dude?” he whines, as I let go of his wrist. “She's just some tart from town. She's no one's special.” Looking behind him now, my heart sinks. This blonde tart from town
is none other than my Charlie. I feel my hands tighten.
“Don't call her that,” I growl, looking back at the two young men.
“I will call her whatever the fuck I want, grandpa,” he says getting in my face. “You want to go, there's two of us!”
Sighing and rolling my eyes, I jab my hand forward, knocking the punk onto his ass.
“Get out of my shop. I'm calling a tow and sending your car over to Coco's. She can deal with your crap,” I say flexing my fingers I walk away.
I hate punching people in the face. It's a killer on the knuckles. Looking down, I swear I must have got him in the teeth, as new abrasions spring across the thin skin.
Great. Just great, now I need the fucking medkit. I’m probably gonna need to call fucking Kenton to file a fucking report and put an end to this fucking day.
Fuming, I storm into the office area and walk smack into the woman whose honor I was defending.
“Hey,” she smiles at me, and I feel the heat flush into my cheeks, like some kind of teenage boy in love.
“Hey,” I say, walking around her, holding my hand against my chest to avoid damaging it further and walking to the medkit.
I can feel her slow behind me. “I haven't seen you, or heard from you in a couple of days,” she says trailing off.
I feel a new wave of guilt come over me.
“Yeah, I've been busy,” I say, opening the medkit with my left hand clumsy.
“Here, let me help you,” she offers, reaching her small hands forward, opening the medical kit.
“No, it's fine. I got it,” I snap, pulling it closer to me, turning away from her.
I can see the hurt on her face before she even opens her mouth.
“Oh, um,” she says, jerking her hands back and tucking them into her jacket pocket. “So, like I was saying,” she stumbles and her inability to complete the sentence fills me with more irritation.
“Spit it out, Charlie, I don't have all day,” I snap, hissing at the peroxide I pour on my knuckles.
She freezes. “Why are you being this way?” she asks.
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