Fall Into You (9 page)

“Your clothes,” she said, looking down at his now-saturated shirt.

“Don’t worry about me, freckles. Just hold on to that towel bar behind you and let
me make you feel good.”

Her gaze went hazy with arousal and maybe a little fear, but she followed his instruction.
He kept an arm banded around her to make sure she was steady on her feet, then he
slipped his hand beneath
the edge of the towel, brushing against the smoothness of her inner thighs and sliding
upward to find the damp thatch of hair at their juncture. She closed her eyes and
leaned her head back against the shower wall. God, he wanted to yank that towel off
her, see her stretched out like this and totally bare, but he knew if he took it that
far, he’d end up inside her, taking more than he had any right to. He brushed his
finger along her cleft, and she bucked against him, the simple touch pulling a moan
from her.

The sound was like a stroke to his cock, her sensitivity like waving a red flag in
front of a bull. Oh, how he could torture someone so responsive, drag out her pleasure
until she was begging for release. “Darlin’, if you’re that keyed up, this isn’t going
to take long.”

“Please,” she whispered, her hips tilting toward his touch.

He smiled, giving her what she sought, a firm slide over her clit. The nub seemed
to swell beneath his fingers, her arousal coating his skin despite the shower water
pounding down on them. He could smell her sexy scent, so sweet and tempting. He’d
love to part those thighs and taste every bit of her, but instead he tucked two fingers
inside her heat and kept his thumb against her clit.

“Oh, God.” Her body clenched around his fingers and she rocked against his hand, shamelessly
taking things to the pace she craved. Needy. Starved.

“That’s right,” he said against her ear as he pumped his fingers inside her. “Take
what you need. Let yourself go.”

As if she’d been waiting for the words, she let out a sharp cry and her fingers went
bloodless against the towel bar. The tremor of orgasm seemed to go through every inch
of her, her body quivering in front of him, going flushed and pink. Quick, breathy
gasps slipped past her lips as she undulated against his touch, milking every bit
of pleasure she could.

His cock pressed against his zipper, begging for relief, for her, but he clenched
his jaw and willed the ache away. He knew how to
hold back his own need for hours in a play session. He could handle this. At least
that’s what he kept repeating in his head as Charli drifted down from her quick-and-dirty
orgasm.

He moved his hand away from her and resisted the urge to lick her arousal from his
fingers, to let her watch how he would savor her taste. Or even better, to paint it
over her nipples and then suck them clean. His cock flexed and he held back a groan.
He was on the precipice of losing his control. This had been a bad idea. If she could
push him to this point with him simply touching her, he was in trouble.

He reached out and turned off the shower. Her eyes fluttered open, the daze of orgasm
still heavy in her expression. Her hands slipped off the bar and she pushed her sopping
hair away from her face. “Wow, that was…I don’t usually…”

He smiled, though the effort was strained from his own keyed-up state. “Feel better?”

“So much better. Thank you.” She pushed off the wall and reached for the nape of his
neck. He watched the play of desire move over her features, loving the way her fingers
tightened against his skin. He found himself contemplating how easy it would be to
loosen that towel, bind her arms with it, and take her right there against the shower
wall. Her look said she would let him. But before he could truly lose all sense of
right and wrong, she lifted up on her toes, her face moving toward him. Panic zipped
through him like an electric bolt when he realized what she was going to do, and he
instinctively moved his head to the left, dodging the kiss.

She blinked up at him, surprised by the quick movement, then she registered what he’d
done. A cold mask crossed over her features.

“Charli, we can’t, I can’t—”

She grabbed the top of her towel, which was now sagging with the weight of all the
water, and held it tight, not looking up. “Right. I get it.”

“Charli,” he repeated.

“No, really. It’s fine. I got off, and that’s what I asked for. Much obliged. You
can go now.”

He wanted to explain, to reach out and fix that wounded expression. But the damage
was already done. And having her think he didn’t want to take this anywhere was for
the best. Max didn’t send his sister here so that Grant could get her into his bed.
And hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had vanilla sex with anyone.
This had been a mistake all around. She was everything he
didn’t
look for in a woman.

Too bad his dick didn’t give a damn about any of that.

He stepped out of the shower, his wet boots leaving puddles on the floor. “I’m sorry,
Charli.”

She turned her back to him. “Shut the door behind you.”

He did exactly that, heading out of the house and leaving a wet trail behind him.

And the asshole award goes to…

The air outside had turned cooler and chilled his clothes against his skin as he made
his way back to his cabin. Served him right for losing control like that. He should’ve
walked straight out that door in the first place. If she had needed a release, she
could’ve handled that herself. She didn’t need him to come in and save the day. The
move had been selfish on all levels.

By the time he reached his place he was cold, pissed, and tired. But unfortunately,
the miserable walk back to his cabin and a heaping pile of guilt hadn’t been enough
to quell the hard-on from hell. He was now walking with a full hitch in his giddyup.
The sound of Charli’s sexy sighs as she came was burned into his brain.

He could head back to The Ranch and find someone to scene with for the night. But
he’d never been a fan of fantasizing about one person while you fucked another. When
he was with a submissive, he wanted it to be all about
that
woman. Otherwise, what was the point?

So as soon as he kicked his door shut behind him, he stripped
out of his wet clothes and headed to his own shower. Charli would probably still be
taking hers, sans towel—water running in rivulets down her freckled skin, soap sliding
over her perfect handful breasts and along her belly, suds creeping down between her
thighs where the lips of her sex would still be swollen and pink from orgasm. He imagined
stepping in behind her, taking the soap, and washing her backside. She would yield
to his touch, beg for it. He could cup her ass and press the ridge of his cock against
her, tasting her neck.

The hot water hit him with a blast, and he let it envelop him for a moment as it chased
away the chill, and he got lost in the fantasy. He leaned back against the tiled wall
and reached for the soap, creating a lather that he wished he could rub on Charli.
But instead, he moved his hand down and grasped his cock, coating himself in the slippery
liquid and stroking. A hard shudder went through him as he imagined his own grip was
really the hot clasp of Charli’s body around him.

He moved up and down the length, sparing any finesse. He liked to give it rough, and
he liked to get it the same way. His fist went on autopilot as his mind continued
to weave images of Charli against him, around him…tied up for him, begging him, those
green eyes drunk on pleasure instead of wine. The sound of soap against skin filled
the shower, mixing with the steam and the pounding water. His knees tried to buckle
beneath him as the pressure built low and fast.

He splayed his hand against the side wall, hanging on, and then sensation exploded
through his system, shooting down his spine and radiating outward. Charli’s name sat
full on his lips as his hard, pulsing release splashed against his abdomen and the
shower wall.

He leaned his forehead against the shower door, his breath rasping out of him as his
cock went soft in his hand. The water turned cool long before he had the desire to
open his eyes to his always-empty cabin.

Charli pulled her hair into a twist and kicked up the volume on the small radio in
the cabin’s bedroom. This place was too damn quiet, especially at night. And who would
want to stay anywhere without a television?

Serenity made her antsy. She’d had better luck relaxing by riding roller coasters
or learning to kickbox. Things that turned the adrenaline up and her mind off. Things
like getting pressed up against a shower wall by a fully clothed cowboy and riding
his hand until her brain exploded.

That had been a pretty big adrenaline rush—well, up until she’d realized she was the
only one into it. That the mere thought of kissing her had made him recoil.

God, what had she been thinking? Talk about making a fool of herself. Nothing like
coming across as desperate and sex-starved.

And drunk.

She couldn’t forget that part.

Nice job, Beaumonde.

She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to shake off the memory,
and booted up her iPad so that she could catch
SportsCenter
and her own station’s end-of-the-day wrap-up show. The sports radio was not cutting
it. And after her long day of purposely avoiding Grant and then an evening chasing
down a lead that didn’t pan out, she was ready to relax, watch the night’s highlights,
and get to bed. Plus, the network was going to introduce Blondie as the new sidelines
reporter on-air and for some reason, Charli felt compelled to watch it.

The screen came to life, but when she tried to access the Internet, she got the no
signal message. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”

When she’d done her morning check-in text with Grant, he’d let her know that he’d
moved the router in his own cabin, which should give her access to his connection,
but apparently it hadn’t done the trick. She wasn’t quite ready to chat with Grant
in real time. She needed the mortification of the previous night to settle a little
longer before she crossed that bridge, so she sent him another text. But after a few
minutes, she hadn’t heard back. She stared down at the absent signal icon on the tablet.
“Damn.”

She frowned at the screen. She should go to bed. What good would seeing it be anyway?
Why torture herself? But the urge to have that closure was too strong. With a sigh,
she got up and toed on her tennis shoes. If Grant wasn’t answering a text, he probably
wasn’t home. She could probably sneak over to his yard and borrow his signal long
enough to see the show.

Not ready to repeat the debacle from last night, she made sure she had a flashlight
before heading out. The walk over wasn’t very long and if she stayed on the gravel
path this time, she’d be fine. Plus, being sober always helped. She grabbed her backpack
and slipped the tablet inside, then locked up behind her. Grant had told her the grounds
were secure and locking doors wasn’t necessary, but frankly, at night the place looked
ripe for a Friday the 13th installment. And she’d prefer to skip the ax murdering
tonight.

She walked carefully along the path, making sure to keep an ear out for any animal
sounds and holding the light out in front of her. But besides a rabbit that darted
in front of her and inspired a near heart attack, she was alone on her trip over.
Grant’s porch light came into view and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d
been holding. His truck was there.

She paused, suddenly panicked that he’d discover her out there. What if he wanted
to discuss last night? Or had a woman over or something? She didn’t know anything
about his life really. Hell, maybe he had a girlfriend and that’s why he’d left last
night. She sniffed.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Charli
. She’d known exactly why he’d turned away. And it wasn’t because of another woman.
The way he’d reacted hadn’t left much room for interpretation. It was simple. He was
appalled by the thought of kissing her.