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.
It was like high school and college all over again. She was the girl who was okay to fool around with on the sly for a fun night here or there, but not the girl guys actually wanted to date. She was a buddy fuck. Always had been and seemed always would be. She scanned the area for a somewhat safe place to sit and spotted a simple wooden bench beneath one of the large oaks at the edge of his yard. It was shrouded in the shadows and close enough to probably get the signal she’d come for in the first place, but far enough that Grant wouldn’t