by Ivy Layne
Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to wrap so much plastic around a box of condoms? And what the fuck had I just said?
Only with me.
We'd never talked about this being exclusive. I'd just assumed Charlotte wouldn't be fucking another guy if she was fucking me. I shoved that idea right out of my head. We could talk about it later. After.
I managed to get the box open and the condom on, my hands shaking the whole time. Had I ever needed to fuck a woman this badly? If I had, I couldn't remember.
Charlotte's eyes met mine when I rose over her, her gaze direct and completely without artifice.
No teasing. No games. Just Charlotte.
I kissed her, closing my mouth over hers as the head of my cock touched the gate of her pussy and I pushed my way inside.
CHAPTER SIX
CHARLIE
My head was spinning. I'd come harder with Lucas than I'd ever come in my entire life. Then the way he'd looked at me afterward—possessive and hungry, like he was ready to eat me alive.
Sign me up.
After the way he'd made me come, I'd do anything he wanted.
His cock pressed into me and he kissed me. I was drowning in Lucas, swept under by the passion in his kiss, the need, and the way he took over, his mouth owning mine like it had owned my pussy.
Not even the bite of pain as he pressed inside was enough to turn me off. It made me hotter.
I wasn't a virgin, but it had been a long time and Lucas was big. He went slowly, though I could tell it cost him.
We could go slow later. It mattered that he was trying to take his time with me. It mattered more than it should. I didn't have a lot of experience with considerate lovers. But consideration went both ways.
I didn't want to make Lucas wait. Raising my legs, I wrapped them around his hips and tilted mine up, taking him another inch deeper.
"Charlotte," he groaned, pulling back a fraction.
He didn't need to. It hurt, but I wanted him. I wanted all of him. Every inch. Another orgasm was building, the tension coiling in my nerves and muscles.
I was going to come, and he was going to fuck me blind while I did so. Tightening my legs, I drove my body onto his, taking him to the root in a flash of pain and hot pleasure.
"Lucas," I gasped. "So good. You feel so good."
He froze above me, his body still, letting me get used to his size.
Oh, God. He was almost too much.
Lucas shuddered and dropped his forehead to my shoulder.
"Charlotte. Fuck, Charlotte," he whispered, his breath hot on my skin, the rasp of his chin prickly.
I wasn't sure if I could move, but I had to. I had to feel more, feel him moving in me. Fucking me.
I dug my heels into the backs of his legs and squeezed, sucking in a breath at the sharp pleasure. Lucas let out a groan and thrust hard, drawing back a second later and doing it again, filling me with his cock.
I sank my fingers into his shoulders and held on, my mind and body focused on one thing.
Lucas fucking me.
He wasn't holding back anymore. I didn't want him to. There was something about Lucas unleashed, knowing he'd lost control, that pushed me closer to the edge.
We moved together, our bodies straining, until the coiling tension inside me broke free into an orgasm that made the first into a shadow of pleasure. I don't remember anything clearly after it hit.
I moved in desperate jerks beneath Lucas, gasping for air and feeling him pound into me faster, then letting loose a shout as he followed me into orgasm.
He sagged onto his elbows, almost crushing me for a second before he rolled to the side and stood unsteadily. I lay on my back, blind eyes staring at the ceiling. I caught a glimpse of his tight ass and tattooed back as he left the room.
Yum.
Cool air drifted over my skin from the portable air conditioner. I thought about reaching for the sheet. In the end, I couldn't be bothered. Lucas had seen everything. There was no point in being shy now.
Water ran in the bathroom. Footsteps echoed down the hall. I thought about sitting up, maybe going to the bathroom myself. Every muscle in my body was limp, echoes of that last orgasm cascading through my nerves. I'd get up later.
Lucas appeared in the doorway, holding the pizza box, a six-pack of beer balanced on top. "Do you have a problem with eating in bed?"
I propped myself up on my elbows and took him in—six and a half feet of gorgeously naked man, holding pizza and beer.
Maybe that orgasm had killed me and I was in heaven.
"Only if it's crackers," I said. "Pizza in bed is a great idea."
I sat up, peering over the edge of the futon for my t-shirt. Snagging it, I dragged it on and pulled the sheet up to cover my naked lower half. I had no idea what had happened to my thong. I had a feeling it was in shreds, and I didn't care.
The pizza was cold by now, and I didn't have a way to heat it up. That didn't matter. It smelled delicious, spicy and garlicky and cheesy. Food.
Lucas set the box down on top of the sheet and flipped it open to free a piece. He handed it to me and I dove in, too hungry to be polite.
I'd been right. The pizza was cold, and it was delicious. Lucas took his own piece and held up a bottle of beer, already open. "Beer?"
I thought about it. I wasn't hung over anymore, and we only had a six-pack. It wasn't like I was going to get drunk again.
"Sure," I said, taking the cold beer from his hand. I took an experimental sip.
Beer was always a crapshoot. I liked wine, most wines. But I was picky when it came to beer. I wasn't a Pilsner girl. I favored IPAs and stouts. Atlanta had some great breweries and I'd turned into a little bit of a beer snob. Lucas didn't strike me as a microbrew kind of guy and I wasn't sure what to expect.
It was a Pilsner. I must have made a face, because Lucas said, "Not a beer drinker?"
"I am, but I like IPAs better," I admitted.
"Fancy," he said with a raised eyebrow.
"Not really. Lots of people drink IPAs these days." I took a long sip to prove it wasn't a problem. The beer wasn't that bad. Not my first choice, but not awful.
"I meant what I said before," Lucas said cryptically.
"Which part?" I asked, my hand over my mouth to cover my obvious chewing.
"You don't fuck anyone else while we're fucking."
I bit my lip to cover the laugh that wanted to bubble out. If he had any idea how long it had been since I'd slept with anyone, he wouldn't have worried about warning me off other men.
"So you want monogamy, but not a relationship," I said.
"I don't share," he said, his eyes meeting mine with a straightforward gaze that offered no excuses. He'd said what he wanted, and it was up to me to agree or walk away from the deal.
Like I was going to do that. I'd never had an orgasm like that in my entire life, and now lawnmower hottie was offering me the security of monogamy without the responsibility of a relationship. I was in.
"I can do that," I said, "as long as the same applies to you. When either of us is ready to move on, we have to let the other know and it'll end."
"I think you just described the perfect relationship."
"I do have a condition," I said.
"Strings already? That didn't take long."
I couldn't tell if he was messing with me. It didn't matter. I was serious about my condition. If he couldn't do this one small thing for me, we'd have a problem.
"Stop calling me Charlotte," I said. His eyebrows raised. "Outside of the office, everyone calls me Charlie. The only two people who've ever called me Charlotte are Elizabeth and my father. Elizabeth is a raging bitch, and I really don't want you to remind me of my father."
"Elizabeth, your brother's ex-wife?" Lucas asked, taking another piece of pizza.
I nodded. I didn't want to talk about Elizabeth, but I was the one who'd brought her up.
"We don't get along. She's a bitch and she doesn't like me. I think she rese
nted being stuck with the rebellious teenager when she married Aiden. Aiden thought she could help him raise me, but Elizabeth isn't the maternal type. I always liked being called Charlotte before Elizabeth. Only my dad called me Charlotte, and it was special, but after years of hearing Elizabeth shriek at me, it just gives me the shivers. And not in a good way."
Lucas chewed his pizza and appeared to be thinking over what I'd said. He swallowed and took a sip of beer before he spoke.
"I can call you Charlie. But if there were ever a woman who shouldn't be called by a man's name, it's you."
"I think that's a compliment," I said. I hoped it was a compliment. Lucas didn't answer, just grinned at me with a hungry look in his eyes. "Well, consider me a study in contradiction, because I only answer to Charlie."
"Charlie it is," he agreed. "Do you want any more pizza?"
I shook my head. I had a moment to wonder if he was going to leave before he tossed the pizza box on the floor, set his empty beer bottle beside it, and pulled mine from my fingers to do the same.
Then I was flat on my back, his long body looming over mine, a devilish grin on his face. He had my shirt off in a whisk of fabric, his eyes scanning my bare body as if he was trying to decide where he wanted to start.
I was open to suggestion. So far, he hadn't done a single thing I didn't love. While he was thinking, I ran my hands down his chest, tracing the ridges of his muscles until I reached his hipbones.
Lucas Jackson was built on a large scale, every inch of him beautifully formed. Even his scars. Both of my hands moved in from his hips, following the lines of that oh, so sexy V that pointed straight down to his thick, hard cock.
I wasn't completely sure what I was doing with Lucas. I'd done some reckless things lately, but getting involved with my unknown tattooed neighbor was at the top of the list.
All I knew for sure was that I wanted more of him. I definitely wanted more of that cock. Lucas shuddered in my grip. Bracing his weight on one arm, he reached down to pull my hands off him.
"This time, we're going slower," he said. "If you keep doing that, I won't last five minutes."
"A big guy like you?" I teased. "Are you trying to say you don't have any stamina?"
He pinned my hands over my head.
"I've got plenty of stamina. I'll fuck you all night if you think you can take it."
"I can take it," I said, lying. I wanted to take it, but if I planned to walk the next day, going all night would leave me too sore to move.
It would be worth it.
We didn't go all night. Only half of it.
We took a break to finish off the pizza, had sex again, then passed out.
Sometime after that, Lucas woke me with his hands on my breasts, his lips tugging on my nipple, then his body moving over mine. I drifted back to sleep after we finished.
The next time I woke, I was alone.
I lay flat on my back on the futon, letting my brain slowly come back online, random thoughts filtering through, one by one. I was cold, the chilly air from the portable air conditioner too much without Lucas's body heat beside me.
It was late. Well past midnight, but too dark to be near dawn. I was sore. Not just between my legs, though I could feel the tenderness there and knew it would be worse once I stood up.
No, I was sore all over. I wasn't in bad shape, but hauling around lumber was a different kind of workout than sitting at my desk and hitting the gym a few times a week.
More importantly, why was I awake? I sat up carefully, mindful of my sore muscles and tender body. Now that I was alone, it felt weird to be sleeping naked.
I was too exposed, though there was no one here to see. Feeling my way in the dark, I found the nightshirt I'd left at the top of my duffel bag and pulled it over my head.
Wood creaked, then a thump. I froze, listening. Was that a shuffle? A foot on the floorboards? Or on the back porch?
My heart thumped faster in my chest, tingles of nerves tightening my stomach.
I was being ridiculous. There was no one here.
I just wasn't used to living by myself, that was all. I sat on the floor, torn between trying to go back to sleep and admitting I was too on edge for slumber.
The house was silent around me, dark and empty. I stood up, deciding to go to the bathroom and drink a glass of water, maybe take a walk through the house to reassure myself that all was well.
I'd only taken three steps across the room when I heard it. Another thump and the creak of wood.
I knew that creak.
It was the exact sound the middle step made on the back porch when someone set their foot on it. My heart pounded harder, stealing my breath. I bit my lip, using the pain to push back fear.
I was overreacting. I had to be.
My trip to the bathroom forgotten, I pulled on a pair of underwear and silently searched the floor for my phone. There was no one out there, but on the off chance there was, I didn't want to be caught without underwear.
The stupid things that shoot through my brain in a crisis.
Except that this was not a crisis.
You're overreacting, I told myself firmly. Go check it out, and you'll see that there's nothing to worry about.
I straightened my spine, raised my chin, and crossed the room to the door, thinking quickly. If—and it was a big if—there was someone out there, was it smarter to hide or turn on the lights?
Turn on the lights, I decided. If I were Lucas, one of my brothers, or the Sinclairs, I might've left the lights off and tried to sneak up on whoever might be out there.
Unlike them, I didn't have a gun and I wasn't trained in self-defense or any of the other sneaky stuff they knew. Also, there was no one out there, so creeping around in the dark was just foolish, right?
With more confidence than I felt, I flicked on the hall light, jumping a little at the bright glare. The hallway was empty, and I was alone.
Of course.
I strode toward the kitchen, rounded the corner, and reached for the light switch.
I screamed. Loudly.
There was someone on the porch. A dark, narrow shadow filled the glass panes of the back door. It was too dark to identify whoever it was. At the sound of my startled scream, the dark figure whirled and disappeared into the night.
My breath strangled in my chest, I flicked on the kitchen light, rushed to the back door, and turned on the porch light.
A sickly yellow glow illuminated the space outside the back door.
There was no one there.
From what I could see of the yard, there was no one back there either.
Peering through the window, I saw no evidence that anything had been disturbed on the porch. My flip-flops sat at the top of the stairs exactly as they'd been when I'd kicked them off. My painter's tarps were still neatly folded to the right of the door.
Dragging air into my tight lungs, I tried to think. Had I really seen someone at the back door? I thought I had. I'd heard noises. But it was dark, a moonless night, and my eyes had been adjusting to the light from the hallway.
Every nerve in my body strung tight with tension, I reached out to touch the knob of the back door. My fingers closed around the cool metal and I turned my hand.
The knob moved a millimeter before stopping. It was locked. I gave it a tug. The door didn't move. In the bright light of the kitchen, I could clearly see the gleam of the deadbolt crossing from the door into the doorframe.
I dropped the doorknob and stepped back to the center of the kitchen, studying the windows. All closed, all undamaged. Mostly to prove to myself that everything was fine, I made my way down the hallway from the kitchen to the front door, passing the dining room on my right and the living room on my left.
Both were quiet and dark. The front door was locked, just as I'd left it. When I peered through the bay window of the dining room, the front porch, yard, and street were as quiet and dark as everything else.
Just as I had thought, I was overreacting. I made my way
back to my temporary bedroom, with a quick stop in the bathroom, and sat on the side of the futon, staring at the dimmed screen of my phone.
When I'd thought there was someone at the back door, it had occurred to me to call Lucas, but I didn't have his number. I could call Aiden.
For that matter, if I was going to be such a scaredy-cat, I could just go home.
This was what happened when you never moved out of your childhood home. I'd traveled all over the world, been a vice president of a major corporation, and I'd never spent the night in a house by myself.
Even when Aiden was traveling, Mrs. Williamson was always home and there was security on the property. I didn't go on vacations often, but when I did, I was with family or friends.
It was only to be expected that I'd feel a little jumpy and off-balance my first night sleeping in the house by myself. The night before didn't count, considering that I'd been insulated by half a bottle of whiskey.
A herd of elephants could've come through and I doubt I would've cracked an eye.
If I was going to do this, live here, renovate this house, and everything else I'd been thinking about, I was going to have to learn to be on my own.
And I would. But for tonight, I was going to compromise. I wasn't calling anyone, and I wasn't running home to Aiden. There'd been no one outside the door and no one trying to break into my house.
Still, I was too nerve-wracked to fall back asleep. But that's what books were for. My tablet was tucked into the side of my duffel bag. I pulled it out, got back in bed, and opened the book I'd been reading.
I was still a little freaked out. Every time the house creaked, I flinched. I'd half convinced myself that I'd imagined the shadowy figure outside my back door.
But what if I hadn't imagined it?
There was nothing I could do about it in the middle of the night. I'd think it over in the morning. And in the meantime, I was going to power through it, Goddammit.
I was an intelligent, capable woman, and I did not need someone else in the house to make me feel safe.
Though maybe it was time to buy better locks. Or have the Sinclairs install some basic security.