The Charlotte Chronicles (Jackson Boys 1)

I close my eyes for a minute and stifle my impatience. Did I really think one letter and several orgasms were going to make all the past years of heartache disappear? Apparently I did. Of course she’s skittish. My past history with Charlotte is abandonment and pain. Failure is refusing to keep trying. I’d failed her before. Not anymore. I had to prove myself, though—be a man of actions, not just words.

The key here would be to stay close and become so deeply embedded into her skin that she won’t be able to walk away from me. But I have to play it close to my vest. If I come on too strong, she might flee.

“Yes. Some of the guys will go fishing or spend time with their families.”

“And what would you do on past shore leaves?”

“Go fishing or visit my family.”

She flinches because my family should have included her. It did once.

“You’ll have to put on clothes.”

“I can do that.” I will do anything.

“Do you have a suit? Or is your entire closet uniforms and beach bum outfits?”

I try to keep the tone light. “It’s like you’ve seen my closet.”

I realize my error before the last word leaves my mouth. She doesn’t know what my apartment looks like, let alone the interior of my closet. Everything I say is just a reminder of how I’ve cut her out. Of course she hasn’t seen my closet. Of course she doesn’t know what I do on shore leave. Maybe sticking close is a mistake of epic proportions. Everything out of my mouth is salt in a wound.

After some internal struggle, she gives me a small smile and tucks a few strands of hair behind her head. “To the mall and then a few errands.”

I curl my hand around the back of her neck. “As long as I’m with you, I’ll wear a clown suit if I have to.” My lips meet hers tenderly, and as her lips part, I press her into the cushions. I hadn’t intended to take her there on the sofa with the eggs and coffee growing cold, but I can’t resist. When we’re connected like this, I feel invincible. Nothing and no one can separate us. Not even me. With a fumbling hand, I loosen the tie around her waist. “Charlotte, you are so beautiful.”

Her breath catches and her eyes grow luminous as I trail the backs of my fingers over the rise of her breasts, to her stomach, and then lower. At my touch, her thighs clench together in aroused discomfort. I waste no time in spreading her legs and delving between them. She’s swollen, tender, and wet.

“I think I’m too sore,” she whispers with regret.

“Not for what I have in mind.” I hook one of her slender legs over the back of the sofa and lower to my knees. My tongue strokes over the engorged lips.

“Okay, maybe I can endure.” Her words are a joke, but her voice is thready and weak.

As I apply myself, her words become short, huffed out moans. When I add one finger and then another, those moans turns to pleas to make her come.

“I love this, Charlotte. I love being down here. I want to eat you for breakfast every morning.” I tongue her harder in small circular strokes. Every tiny inch of her flushed and engorged skin is explored. I hold her down as she writhes underneath me.

“I need more,” she cries. Her non-pinned leg wraps around my hip and tries to pull me closer.

My dick tells me to give her more and suddenly resistance is stupid. Pushing her thigh up higher, I take myself in one hand. “You sure you want this, Charlotte?”

She licks her lips and nods.

“Yes. Right now. I need you inside me.”

I don’t need to be asked twice.

* * *

“You’re staring again,” Charlotte complains. Her mouth is slightly open, and she’s applying mascara to her eyelashes. It’s true. I can’t stop staring at her.

It’s all new to me—from the way she brushes her teeth with an electric toothbrush to the complicated blow drying of her hair with a big round brush only to end up with perfectly straight strands. Watching her dress herself is almost as erotic as undressing her. Her panties are pulled up her legs and smoothed over her sweet ass. Her delicate lace bra cups her tits and pushes them together, creating a small, delicious valley that I’d like to tongue repeatedly while she straddles me.

Unfortunately, she dons her robe again which covers her bare skin and the skimpy pieces of lace. But before I can argue, she starts applying makeup, which I find fascinating.

It’s like watching a behind-the-scenes documentary of a magic show. Not that Charlotte isn’t gorgeous without the makeup. She definitely could be naked constantly around me, and I’d be happy.