A Shot in the Dark (A Trick of the Light Book 2)

by Addison Cain

  Chapter 2

  Matthew was a man who enjoyed the simple things in life, but goddamn if her underwear and all its frilly lace didn’t make his cock jump just looking at it hug her hips.

  Feeling it was a whole different level of decadence.

  His fingertips hooked her bloomers and—like unwrapping a present—he ever so slowly pulled until silk whispered down her legs.

  Full lips came to kiss where a bullet had once torn her apart, before Matthew dipped his tongue into her navel, and heard her short breathy giggle. Repeating the action with a firmer lap, he felt her tremble and heard a beautiful sigh.

  Standing, Matthew stripped off the remainder of his clothing, all the while backing Charlie towards the bed. Pushing her to lay beneath him, Matthew kneed apart her thighs and fingered between damp folds before she had a chance to balk. Moving a fingertip around the tight passage he was going to claim, drew out her whimper.

  His Charlotte was already so wet, eagerly spreading so he might find the spot that drove her wild. Growling over the panting woman, he ghosted over her nub, relishing how her hips pressed against him and begged for more.

  Knowing it was her first time, he slipped one finger where she ached, then another, curling them as she cried out. Undulating his hand against her, smelling just how much she needed him, Matthew kissed her jaw. Next, he tasted each nipple, groaning when her body jumped and clenched with each new sensation.

  Charlie was so caught up, she didn’t realize where his mouth was heading until the fingers that had been giving her such pleasure disappeared and hot breath blew over her sex. Eyes flying open, she looked as his tongue flicked out to taste her, delving in right where she needed to be filled.

  Nothing, nothing on the planet could possibly exceed such bliss. The wet sounds when that ferocious tongue lapped, were sinful. She was gone, swept away, moaning so loud Matthew was near undone at the sound of it.

  His fingers spread her lower lips, giving him a view no other man would ever see. He found her perfect, pink and pretty, and so damn delicious his tongue could happily lap forever. But his attention served a purpose. Fingers worked carefully into the writhing woman, his tongue dancing over every spot that made her squirm—providing distraction over the little sting the stretch inspired. When he sucked that delicate nub between his lips, Charlie muttered nonsense to the air. Her climax came so hard she screamed his name and mindlessly bucked.

  He needed to feel that spasming pussy all over his prick, he needed to sink in to that pulsing, slippery grip. Kissing his way to her breast, lavishing the soft flesh with a manic tongue, Matthew sucked Charlie’s tight nipple hard enough pain cut through her stupor. Once her passage clenched and twitched anew, Matthew pulled his fingers from her body to smear her juices on an iron-hard cock.

  “Look at me, Charlotte,” he purred, running his bulbous crown up and down her folds, teasing and enticing her to soften for all his girth.

  Those big blue eyes fluttered open and her lips formed the softest of wondrous smiles.

  Matthew knew she was not the type of woman who feared a little pain, understood she would want it over with quickly. With his eyes glowing for her, his brow determined, he pressed a kiss to her mouth and thrust in hard, holding himself buried to the hilt as she bit back an injured, throaty groan.

  It was pure torture for him to be surrounded by such tight, spasming heat and remain motionless, to not wildly rut her as hard as he imagined every time he touched himself.

  Watching her face for the softening of her brow, he kissed her nose, her cheeks, her jaw, and waited. It was not long before he felt a deep breath leave her, and instinctively, he knew what to do. Small rolling movements ground against her softness, massaging her down below with his body, easing the hurt.

  Matthew’s tongue undulated against hers, mimicking the penetration of her core, and almost immediately, he felt her grow even wetter, signaling her body was ready for him to thrust.

  Whatever discomfort there had been when he first shoved inside vanished. Each plunge was met with eager hips. He got her good and worked up, marveling in the scent of her, the feel, until he was fucking fast, hard, and not at all like a gentleman. He knew he should be tender with Charlotte, but the way she was calling to him, nails clawing his back and urging him on, Matthew lost control.

  When she screamed out, her sweet sheath going wild and strangling his cock, he groaned, ramming in deep, the spurt of his seed exploding from a deep, satisfying place.

  Slick with sweat, he breathed into her neck, senseless and glorying in the trembling little shudders that wracked the woman in his arms. He kissed her, drawing out the purity of the moment, soothing his golden girl into a deep abiding calm.

  Matthew woke wrapped around Charlotte, feeling the warmth of her bare skin against his flesh. Midday sun streamed through the window, offering a perfect view so he might admire what he’d touched and tasted all through the night. She was still deeply sleeping, and no wonder… he had gluttonously reached for her twice more in the dark, his thirst insatiable with her soft and naked beside him.

  Each time he’d stroked, she’d purred; when he moved to claim her, she’d welcomed him—let him do as he pleased, and became an eager student as he initiated her in the ways of sex.

  Beyond the physical release, he’d needed her again and again just to absorb the unguarded glow of adoration in her eyes. To have the woman look on him so lovingly, to be so exposed, the view was intoxicating and he wondered if he’d ever get enough. Men like him didn’t get loved like that. They didn’t get girls like her.

  They didn’t get understanding and sweetness and fire.

  They didn’t get passion without a hitch.

  And there she was—perfect for him.

  In the morning light, he found faint smears of her virgin blood around his member, on her thighs, and sheets, a pang of guilt following. Moving carefully, Matthew climbed from the bed and walked naked to the lavatory so he could wash himself and fill up the tub where warm water might soothe her.

  A knock came. Wrapping a towel around his lower half, he looked to the bed to find the golden girl still dead to the world. Taking her rifle in hand, Matthew cracked the door.

  Radcliffe did not look a bit surprised to see him standing there practically naked. “I heard about the little scuffle last night.” He spoke conversationally, a quirk to his lips and a knowing gleam in his eyes. “I think it’s time we had a talk.”

  Matthew said nothing.

  “Don’t worry about, Lottie. She was always a late sleeper, and from the looks of you, you wore her out good,” Radcliffe turned, walking away. “I’ll be waiting in the café downstairs.”

  Wishing him to Hell, Matthew watched him go. The idea of leaving Charlotte in the room alone, even in broad daylight, not one he relished. But he knew a man like Radcliffe would have his coffee, even if it meant sending thugs to drag him from the room.

  The moment Matthew took the seat across from Beaumont, two steaming cups appeared.

  Radcliffe, working his jaw, cut a glance to the side before speaking. “I know what you think of me in regard to my Blackbird.” Startling blue eyes flashed back to his guest. “But you don’t know her like I do.”

  Matthew said nothing, only picked up his mug and took a long sip. All the while, he met that deadly gaze with a threatening glare of his own.

  “That kid was tough as nails. Once saw her bite a man’s ear clean off.” Beaumont lit a cigarette, exhaling in a burst of smoke. “No joke.”

  “What do you want, Radcliffe?”

  His trademark arrogant smirk. A wink. “You’re wasting your time if you think you could turn her from me. Lottie loves me—was the best son a guy could ask for.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Matthew growled, “Charlotte is a woman.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Beaumont snorted, laughing around the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Lottie tell you how we came to be close?”

  Matthew conceded, monotone. “You bonded
over a pistol pointed at her skull.”

  “No…” Beaumont looked amused at the assumption. “I took her in that night cause it just felt wrong to have a little girl croak in the gutter. I expected her to die from the bullet wound. Imagine my surprise when the little bastard lived.”

  Matthew clenched his teeth.

  “No need to get upset.” Beaumont tapped the table with his finger, signaling for more coffee. “About six weeks after the incident,” he chuckled, those devilish eyes sparkling, “I had her laboring for me around the office. One night there was a drive by, two trucks full of Capone’s thugs. They shot up my storefront, killed half a dozen of my men. The bastards were swarming in, guns blazing, and I was outnumbered. Out of nowhere, scrawny Blackbird stands over my cowering men with a Tommy Gun. She emptied it like a champ into the enemy. Killed them all, going so far as to walk outside to mow down the scum trying to flee. When it was done, she set the smoking gun aside and went right to cleaning up. She saved my life, my business… that night I took her home to meet Martha.”

  “How very touching.” Matthew, only growing more disgusted through Radcliffe’s sick fairytale, sneered, “Saved by a little girl.”

  “She wasn’t an ordinary little girl. She was an automaton on a fucking mission from God.” Radcliffe became totally serious. “Nothing, and I mean nothing, would deter her. I offered to take her in, Martha wanted to keep her. Lottie refused, claiming she had to take care of her mother—a woman who couldn’t even lift a spoon to feed herself most days.”

  Coffee churning in his gut, Matthew growled, “So you’re some fucking saint for exposing her to your business?”

  “She would have gone to another man-of-business if I didn’t keep her; probably even Capone himself if she felt the need to.” The warning look Beaumont gave him made it clear Matthew was on thin ice. “Keeping her close, she was as safe as she’d let herself be. I taught her how to take care of herself. I raised her.”

  Clearing his throat, the brawny country boy leaned back in his chair, and sneered. “Then why did she leave you?”

  “She killed one of my men.” A puff of smoke came out with the answer. “A real piece of work who had a tendency to be a little rough with the ladies. I suspect he figured out what she was and tried to have at her. Found his severed pecker clear across the room from his body. Dressing like a boy kept her alive and employed. The older she got, the harder it was to hide. The guys started to notice Blackbird never needed a shave… never pissed in front of them. Gangsters tend to be a stupid lot, but after nine years…”

  Sitting in angry silence, Matthew waited for the mobster to get to the point.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what she’s been doing—hunting down her daddy and God knows who else.” Beaumont chuckled, striking a match to light up a second cigarette. “Now that Ronnie Pearson has been dealt with, now that she’s free of her nutso mother, I want to see her settled.”

  Matthew’s scowl deepened. “She ain’t gonna marry no Tommy Kennedy just to please you.”

  “No,” blue eyes danced, Beaumont certain, “can’t say she will. I already told her if she married Tommy it didn’t need to be a regularly consummated union, if you get my drift. Lottie refused.” After a long inhale and a good hum of smoke, he confessed, “I want her to be happy, but I know my Blackbird, she was made for greater things than…” Beaumont eyed him up and down, less than pleased with what sat before him.

  “You think you know what’s best for her?” Appalled, his voice grew grainy, Matthew stood from his chair to lean over his host. “You don’t know a fucking thing about her.”

  “I’m the nearest thing she has to a father.” Though his tone was conversational there was a quality to it that was downright chilling. “Lottie is independent and will do as she pleases. But I got my eye on you, Matthew Emerson. You make one misstep with my girl, and I’ll cut your goddamn head off personally.”

  A look of utter disbelief crossed Matthew’s glower. This was not a negotiation for Charlotte. This was a father having the talk with a suitor. Dumbfounded, Matthew retook his seat and gulped down his coffee, brows low as he absorbed the grave warning on Radcliffe’s face.

  “You’ll always have to share her with her family in Chicago. My Martha’s real keen on having her around, and a wise man doesn’t deny his wife anything.” After those parting words, Beaumont stood and left without so much as a goodbye.

  Chapter 3

  -Went for coffee. Tubs full.-

  Matthew’s note left Charlie smirking—a man of few words even on paper. The tub was still steaming, looking awful inviting, and gosh it was sweet of him to think of her. Lowering her sore body into the heat inspired a sigh, the ache in her hips and the tenderness between her legs disappearing.

  Over the years, Charlie had listened to the crude stories of gangsters, overheard detailed descriptions of sex, and knew some of the more risqué things lovers did. Never in a million years did she think Matthew Emerson would do them to her.

  What a ride!

  Even worn out, the thought of his tongue dancing between her legs made her flush, her nipples harden, and the twinge became a very different sort of feeling.

  She was turning out to be a disreputable harlot.

  The reflection made her snort a laugh and slip deeper into the water.

  Hearing the door open and close, Charlie automatically reached for the rifle leaning against the lip of the tub. “Matthew? That you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her heart slowed. She saw him peek in at her as she leaned the weapon back in its resting spot, unsure if the man’s glare was one of approval or reprimand. “Come on in and keep me company.”

  The door swung in, his eyes skimming the glistening swell of bosom exposed by foamy water.

  Hoarse, he asked, “You feelin’ all right?”

  The downright wicked grin she gave him inspired the gentleman to fractionally raise his brow.

  “I have come to the conclusion that in one night you have made me a shameless woman, Mr. Emerson. The things you did… I don’t expect many ladies get tended to quite so thoroughly.”

  Charlie knew he wouldn’t answer her teasing—his preferred form of communication nonverbal—yet loved watching his throat bob as he swallowed. Glancing to the swelling of his impressive, growing manhood trapped by his trousers, she licked her bottom lip.

  He gave out a groan like a tied-up dog, eyeballing her like a bone beyond his tether.

  Voice innocent but her eyes staring straight at the tent in his trousers, she hummed, “What you got there?”

  “You keep talkin’ like that and lookin’ like you are,” he growled, unwilling to be daunted by one, wet, teasing woman. “And you’re gonna end up in some trouble.”

  Charlie grinned as she stood, water running down her pinkened skin. “I quite like your brand of trouble.”

  He knew he should let her body heal, but swept her into his arms like a goddamn maniac. She squealed and giggled as he carried her to the bed, tossing her down and already hovering to embrace her when she bounced.

  He wanted to touch, to explore in the light, and spoil her with languid caresses, his hands and cock far gentler than the demon who’d thrashed between her thighs in the dark.

  Taking his time, he saw her shudder and stretch, heard the breathy cries she’d never made for any man before him. He left the imprint of his rapture flooding inside her, shooting so deep his mark might never leave.

  Thinking he could not be more content; the blissful moment was stolen right out from under him.

  Charlie nestled into the side of his body, tracing the muscles of his torso while she hummed, “I have somewhere I got to go tonight—a four or five day trip if I hurry.”

  He tensed under her fingers, unwilling to let her out of his sight. “Where?”

  Leaning up, she put her chin on his chest. Her expression said it all, the golden girl was debating on whether she could trust him.

  Words had never been his stron
g suit. He knew if he opened his mouth, he might muck it up. So, he laid there silent, tortured, and waited for her to work it out on her own.

  “I, uh—” She looked away, then whispered, “I need to visit my mother.”

  “Is that where you been going when you sneak out of town?” Palming her cheek, Matthew turned her head so he might get a good long look at those eyes. “Didn’t you tell Beaumont she passed on?”

  “I implied as much.” Guilt sat in the way she nibbled her lower lip, all her ease dried up. “Not a soul knows where she is. It’s safer that way. If someone went after her because of me…”

  “I understand.”

  “I should be back by Friday, latest, if I leave tonight.”

  Stroking her back, trying to ease her back down into the comfort he was eager to share, Matthew said the wrong thing. “You want me to go with you?”

  “No!” She hid her face against his chest, as if trying to hide the snap in her rejection with a simple kiss to his skin. “You have your own business to attend to and… it would be uncomfortable for you.”

  Matthew was not a squeamish man. Nor was he afraid of the golden girl’s temper. “Why?”

  Fingers scratched lightly over his chest hair, she refused to meet his eye. “You ever seen a deranged person?”

  “No.” He wanted her to continue, to explain.

  Forehead back to his chest, Charlie sighed. “You know what I am and where I come from. But knowing and seeing are two different things.”

  It was a low spoken statement, not a question. “And you think it’ll frighten me off.”

  “I’d like to think you’re a better man than that.” She put her ear over his heart. Settling herself close and squeezing just a little too hard. “I just… I’m not…”

  He knew what she was unable to say.

  Running a hand through her mussed hair, Matthew said, “I’ll pick you up at Gap Mills Station when your train comes in.”