by CE Kilgore
Brandon hoists me up with his shoulder under my arm, his tall height forcing him to stoop his bulky frame to my level. With unsteady steps, he starts guiding me out the door and to the stairs. With my last little bit of sanity, I’m prayin’ to God that Charlotte stays put in that kitchen, because I have no idea what might fly outta my mouth if I see her.
“Left, right, left,” Brandon walks me up the stairs then practically tosses me onto my bed. He eases my boots off then leans down over me. “Sleep it off, buddy. I’ll go check on Charlie, then we can get it all sorted in the morning.”
“I done fucked up.” Damn, the bed smells like me and her. “Why I gotta fuck everything up all the damn time, Brandon?”
“We’ll get it sorted,” he says again and I believe him. “Get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir,” I sigh, slightly relaxed by his confidence. I don’t know how he does it, but if Brandon says it’ll get sorted, we always know it will. After the door closes behind him, I wallow and curl into the sheets, inhaling her scent and letting the memory of her in my arms follow me into sleep.
I’m having the best damn dream ever. Lucid remnants of my hopes swim through what remains of the whisky and this afternoon’s double dose of Lorazepam. I can smell her, like she’s right there next to me. Tickling flutters dance over my brow, sweeping my messed up hair out of my face and making me snort my stupid laugh. The vision of her smiles at me with gentle love in her eyes and responds with a soft giggle. It’s the most beautiful dream I’ve ever had.
Her smile – that brilliant light that’s become such a stabilizing force in my life. If I could just see that every day, I’d know that everything would be okay. Who knew a girl named Tornado Charlie would become the rock I cling to?
But, now… Now I’ve clung too close. Why was I so… me? She’s slipped away and all I can do is hold tight to these sheets that smell like her and this haunting vision smiling at me.
It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. I’ll never get over this – this death of a dream. My beautiful, foolish dream.
My beautiful… “Charlotte…”
“Shhh,” her whispering ghost sooths my ache. “I’m here, sweetie.”
My one open eye widens and tries to focus on the hazy image in front of me. She’s lying next to me on the bed. Maybe. It’s so hard to tell what’s real anymore.
“Charlotte?” It’s the only word my brain can produce. It’s all I have left. That one word, keeping me centered and just this side of sane.
“Sleep now,” she coos, sending warm ripples over my skin as her gloved hand palms my cheek. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
The leather, normally my saving grace, offends me. With uncoordinated jerks, I manage to get my hand on top of hers, then I start picking at the glove’s fingertips. She seems to catch on, because she slips her hand free, removes the glove then palms my cheek again.
Instead of overwhelming my senses, her warm skin brings me a peace that lets me sleep again after a long sigh to repeat what’s echoing through my heart. “Charlotte...”
Ugh. Rule three for why I don’t drink – I wake up feeling like I was run over by a dump truck carrying a load of jackhammers. My mouth tastes, and probably smells, like ass and whisky with a side of cotton balls, while my brain throbs in an attempt to escape the pain via my ear canals. One drink and this is what I’m reduced to.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this warm, though. A deep heat surrounds my entire body, taking away some of the hurt. My limbs curl around it more tightly, basking in it like a tangible sunbeam. The sunbeam moves, yawns then squirms in closer against my chest.
Charlotte. Crust breaks along my eyelid as I peek one eye open to confirm my dream is real. Her naked body is pressed into mine with one of my legs draped over her hips and my arms hugging her torso.
Wait a second... I force my other eye open to peer through a mess of red waves. Well, that doesn’t help. No, don’t start counting the fucking strands, Rider.
I close my eyes again and use my hands to test what my sleep-filled vision told my brain. My bare hands. Holy shit, my gloves are off and I’ve got my hands all over Charlotte’s exposed skin.
My leg twitches, tucking her ass further under my knee. My knee that can feel her ass. My knee that is not covered in the leather pants I got tossed into bed wearing last night.
Breathe in, Rider. Breath in and do not freak out.
A stuttered intake of air manages its way into my lungs, but then it hits me. I’m not freaking out at all. Not even a little. I’m touching her body, skin to skin, and my mind isn’t imploding in on itself. If anything, I’m relaxed. What the heck did Brandon put in that whisky?
“Mmmrrsstop fidgetin’,” Charlotte mumbles into my shoulder.
Oh God, that’s so damn adorable. Her accent is heavy and her voice is husky. That’s not just adorable. Okay, now I’m wide awake and so it everything else.
I’ve never woken up with a woman in my arms before. It’s the most incredible thing. Making love to her last night – yeah, that was amazing – but this… This is so close to something normal that it makes me feel like I’m not all fucked up inside.
I lightly trace my fingertips up her spine, amazed at every new sensation that doesn’t send me crawling for my meds. She squirms with a bubble of laughter then stiffens at the same time I do. I want her, need her. All my blood shifts south, leaving my mind drowning in her scent.
“Charlotte…” I can’t stop the moan that erupts.
“Hey, sleepy-head,” she groggily replies then places a soft kiss against my shoulder. “Are you okay? Should I move away?”
“Fuck no,” I immediately tighten my hold as I growl. Did I seriously just growl? Clearing my throat, I try to temper the heat in my blood. “No, please. I’m good. A tad confused, but I’m good.”
A soft laugh puffs heat against my shoulder, raising goosebumps and making me shiver. “You don’t remember anything?” she asks.
Her question sends an alarmed shudder through my mind. “Uh… Not exactly,” I reply cautiously. “I remember talking with you and Emma at the bar about going to Oklahoma for Christmas.” And saying we should get married. “Then I…” but I can’t say it. Part of me wants her to think it was a joke, but part of me wants her to know I was being serious.
“Brandon said you had a panic attack,” she lifts away slightly, the movement an obvious request to look at her.
With a deep inhale, I open my eyes. “I did, and I can explain.”
“You don’t have to, sweetie. I never should’ve pushed you into agreeing to go to my parents place. It’s a big step – a leap even, and that’s just for…” her words trail off.
“For normal people,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry,” she sighs heavily, shutting her eyes and burying her face back into my shoulder. “I aint no more normal than you are, Ian. Don’t ever think that I… That I’m judging you for any of this. What the heck is normal, anyway?”
Good question, but I don’t want her to think that any of what happened last night is her fault. “Waking up in bed next a beautiful woman is a piece of normal I could get used to.”
She nuzzles in closer. “I’m surprised you’re okay with this. The touching, I mean.”
“Me, too. I think, perhaps, my brain has become used to you.”
More like obsessed with you, but hey, at least I’m not shaking, right? I’ve started tipping the other way with Charlotte – where it’s not her touch, but the lack of it, that sends my mind into a downward spiral. I’m not sure that’s any safer for us, but I’m not going to complain just yet about being able to lay naked in bed with a woman for the first time in my life.
I kiss her brow then snort as the whole situation sinks in. “Though I am curious as to what happened to my pants.”
“They’re over there… somewhere…” She lazily motions to the foot of the bed then wraps that arm back around my middle. “You kept taking things off’a me, so I thought it was only fair
. ‘Sides, you were tossin’ and turnin’ ‘till I took ‘em off.”
Her thick, morning accent has me aching, but her words give me concern. “I took your clothes off?”
“Damn straight,” she laughs. “You were all Mr. Grabby-Hands last night.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Charlotte.” I lift away and she rolls onto her back, taking me with her. Hovering over her, I try to make sure she’s not upset. “I don’t remember much.”
She blows a puff of air to get strands of hair out of her face, revealing her blushing cheeks. “You didn’t do anything except hold me, Ian. I’ve got no complaints ‘bout that.”
Moving more of her hair away from her face, I run a finger down the bridge of her nose. “So beautiful,” my heart is awestruck.
Her lips smile, drawing my attention, then I let my gaze continue down. Two perfect breasts tipped by two perfect, erect nipples has my mouth watering. My eye widen as something else, equally beautiful, captivates me.
“You have a tattoo,” I muse, tracing my finger over the colorful butterfly that’s flying near her right breast from an empty cocoon inked along her right ribcage.
“Mmm,” she nods, her eyes watching me. “That’s Emma’s tattoo. It was the first serious watercolor I ever did. That little butterfly is my little Emma.”
The tattoo’s significant meaning compounds its beauty. “Back when you found her, when you were kids?”
“She was the cocoon then,” Charlotte smiles. “All messy curls, not talking, wrapped up in a shell the world had put her in.”
I’m nearly overcome with emotion as it hits me. “You helped her become a butterfly.”
“No,” her correction confuses me, as does the way her gaze has shifted to the side. “She did that all on her own.”
It’s obvious Charlotte still blames herself for what happened, so much so that she refuses to accept how much she’s truly done for Emma over the years. “That’s not how Emma tells it.” I tilt her chin back towards me. I see it so clearly now – the incredible, compassionate spirit of this woman. It takes away my breath, while at the same time it gives life back to me. “You find cocoons, Charlotte, and then you help give life to butterflies.”
“Ian,” she sniffles as a tear beads from her eye to glide along her cheek.
I catch the tear with my lips then kiss any remaining protests away. I’m not even counting the seconds as our kiss deepens into unquestionable emotions of butterfly wings, warm sunbeams and the most perfect moment of my entire life.
I’ve been in my cocoon so long, Charlotte. Do you know? Do you know how you’ve given life to me? How you’ve given me wings?
Charlotte
…you help give life to butterflies.
Ian’s words haunt me through the kiss, making my heart tremble. The way he’s kissing me now is so different than all the kisses before. He’s not counting or pausing. He’s just kissing me with all he has to give, and I want to take everything he’s offering.
You should be runnin’, Charlotte. You know you’ll just end up hurt, or worse, you’ll hurt him.
Charlotte? Are you even listing to me?
No. It’s too late. I’ve been fighting a battle I lost three months ago when Ian knelt down in front of me to dry my tears; when he sat beside me for hours in the hospital; when he helped me remember how to laugh and when he trusted me; when he didn’t hold my failures with Emma against me; when he smiled and snorted that very first time - I lost.
I’m lost in love with this man.
My heartbeat stills. I open my eyes to stare into his. I want to take it – the love that’s so deeply etched within every line of his face. I don’t want to run away from it anymore. I want to give it all – all that I can, right back in return.
A soft knock at the door brings a regretted end to the clarity finally being allowed between my heart and my head. Ian mumbles an annoyed curse against my lips, making me laugh. Little moments like this, where our normal is the only normal that matters, make me undeniably happy.
The knock sounds again and Ian leaves the bed, wearing nothing but his red, low hung briefs. Mercy, I was right about that, too. Ian in nothing but his briefs is like my own personal underwear commercial.
He stares at me a moment while I drool then he glances down, realizing what he’s not wearing. A hunt for his pants proves futile. Even I don’t really remember where they ended up. At three in the morning, pants are gonna land where they’re gonna land.
Grinning at me with a sexy, boyish smile, he steals the top sheet and holds it around his waist as the knock sounds again. “Coming,” he responds. Then, I swear, I hear him mumble “I wish…” as he opens the door a crack to see who’s there.
A muffled conversation takes place as I lay in wait on the bed. If Ian thinks we’re done renegotiating the non-existent label of our relationship, that boy is in for another surprise. A frown weighs down my brow. What if he has another panic attack?
No. You know what really caused that, Charlotte. Your deer-in-headlights reaction to his proposal is what set him off.
He was joking.
You’re an idiot if you really believe that.
Well, no one’s ever accused me of being all that bright. Shoot, maybe Saul and I have more in common than I thought.
The door closes, drawing attention to my underwear model boyfriend. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s pushing a hand slowly through his sandy brown hair. The lean muscles of his chest and abs flex, making me drool again. The sheet is still wrapped around his waist like a toga, and the sunlight is hitting everything just right.
Damn. His body begs me to paint him.
“Sorry,” he saunters back over to the bed. “Brandon just wanted to check in on us before he starts preparing breakfast.”
I try not to frown. “Should we go help?”
“No,” he blurts, then swallows as his gaze falls towards my breasts. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. It has me crawling across the mattress to him as his eyes widen. “He… he said there was no rush.”
“Good.” I reach out and snag the sheet away then tuck a finger into the waistband of his briefs. With a gentle tug, I coax him to clear the remaining steps so that his knees touch the mattress edge. “I don’t want to rush this.”
“Charlotte,” his voice is full of questions. Full of hope. Of need. The hard erection tenting the cotton doesn’t stir my desire half as much as the way he’s looking down at me.
Easing down his briefs, the sight of him fully exposed coils everything in me tight. Raising up on my knees, I kiss the center of his chest, seeking permission. “Our word is always in play, but I need to touch you. I’ve been held by you all night, with your cock pressed between my legs, and it’s driven my patience to its limits.”
“I want you,” he starts with a gruff noise resembling a growl, then finishes, “to touch me. Please, Charlotte.”
This is a new side to Ian. He’s still submissive to my presence, but there’s a strength in his submission that has me quivering. I’m wet for him and all he’s done is look at me. “Hold my hair outta the way, sweetie.”
Those gorgeous hazel eyes widen a notch further then all hesitation is gone. Both of his hands move into my hair to gather it away from my face as I bend down. The hold is gentle yet possessive. Loving yet lustful. Perfect.
Just like his cock. A bead of precum glistens from the slit and I have to have it. The salty sweetness makes me shudder as my tongue slides across the head, and I feel his grip in my hair tighten. His hips tense, but he keeps them still. I know he wants to slide his dick past my lips, and his restraint only makes me want him more.
Trailing the tip of my tongue along his length, I’m amazed at his control. Not a single twitch from his body; just an unrestrained moan from his throat as I circle my lips and suck him in. The hard silk of his cock is a wanted heat within my mouth, and I fight my own control to make each bobbing pass a slow, gentle suckle. I hear another deep, unexpected growl from above me and his
fingers tighten further.
“Please, Charlotte,” he commands me with a beg, and there is nothing I could ever deny him. I increase the pace with hollow cheeks and a hand cupping his sac. He hisses and bucks forward, and I take him all the way down. “Oh, fuck…”
Gone is the Ian from last night who shook and twitched at my touch as he fought the demons of his anxiety. Those demons are under his control now, and I wonder what’s brought on this change. I’m afraid to question it too much, afraid to break the moment apart to figure it all out. I’m afraid to accept that I already know the reason why.
Looking back up, I find his unwavering gaze locked on me. Who is submitting to whom? I no longer know. I no longer care. I just want Ian inside me.
With a slow, final suckle, I pull off his cock to the sound of his whimper. Kissing a line up his chest, his fingers still entwined in my hair, I decide I’ve had enough of being afraid. “Make love to me, Ian.”
A deep inhale matches the uncertainty that appears in his eyes, but he doesn’t let go of my hair as I guide him onto the bed. He stays bound to me, kneeling between my legs, my panties already gone – probably hidden next to his pants. His hands roamed my body last night, removing all my defenses. Now his eyes penetrate beyond the surface, seeking answers I know he deserves.
Wrapping my legs around his hips, I position the head of his cock at my entrance, slicking it through my pussy to produce a shared gasp between us. He tenses, his dick poised to enter, but I can see the shadows of his demons clawing their way back in between us.
“It’s alright, sweetie,” I cup his cheek, begging him not to stop.
If we turn back now, I don’t know if my heart will ever again be brave enough to take this chance. I want this. I want him. I want to give life to our butterfly. “I know you can do this, Ian. Focus on me. Focus on our love.”
In a flash, his demons are gone. “Charlotte?”