The Charlotte Chronicles (18 page)

We hug again. I linger in the door as he walks down the hallway, past a few room service trays and a guy fiddling with a lock. The man, a big one with broad shoulders, watches Reese’s retreating back before turning to face me.

“Nate,” I gasp. My hand flies to my throat. Hurriedly, I back into my room, but I’m not fast enough. His foot and hand are in the doorway, and it flies open.

“It’s been a long time, Charlotte,” Nate says grimly.

“
W
hat are you doing here
?” she spits at me. I stalk her until she crumples into a nearby sofa. Leaning forward, I place one arm on the back near her head.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Really?” She scoffs. “You had nine years to say something. The time for talking is over. Get out.”

Her arms are folded at her side, and she refuses to look at me.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you were on 
my 
beach.”

“Your beach,” she sputters, but I interrupt her.

“The only people that come to that part of the beach on Coronado Island are frog hogs, curious tourists, and wannabes. Which one are you?” I demand angrily. I want to rage at her that I’ve been faithful to her for nine years while she’s sleeping with some guy, sharing a hotel room with him, bringing him to my beach. Who is he? I want to howl.

“I should slap you right now.” She stands up, pushing my arm away. We’re about two inches apart now.

“For what? For not touching another woman in nine years? For thinking of you every minute of the day? For reading and re-reading your letters until they are almost worn through?” I want to shake her, kiss her, make love to her until we can’t move a finger.

She gapes at me in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

“I haven’t slept with, fucked, had a blow job, gone down on another woman, brought her off, had a hand job by anyone other than myself in nine years. That’s what I’m talking about. I haven’t had sex. Not the Bill Clinton kind and not any other kind with another woman since I slept with you when I was seventeen and you were fifteen. No one. That’s what I’m talking about. Can you say the same thing?”

“Yes, dammit, I can,” she shouts back. She claps a hand over her mouth, but it’s too late. I don’t know who that guy is who walked out of the room, and I don’t care now because he never had her. He’s never been inside her. He’s never licked her sweet juice or touched her sweet pussy.

“You’re mine, Charlotte Randolph.” I pull her flush against me with one hand and drag her hand away from her mouth with the other. She says something, but I don’t know what it is because my mouth is on hers. My tongue traces the seam of her lips demanding entrance.

She tastes of salt.

And home.

And forever.

Her lips part, and I’m inside her. I’m licking every square inch, from her teeth to the cheek to the sensitive roof. Her tongue rubs against the side of mine. I can feel her lips moving when it hits me: she’s kissing me back! I spear my fingers through her hair to angle her head so I can kiss her deeper . . . I want to embed myself in her senses so that she can’t remember anything but me.  We sink into the cushioned sofa until her whole body is pressed under mine. I can feel her from shoulder to thigh. Her hardened nipples jut into my pecs.

She kisses me, and I’m thrown back to a time in my life where everything was innocent and sweet. When I’d taken her virginity and wished I’d saved my first time for her.

Her fingers run restlessly along my waistband, as if she wants to touch me but is afraid. And I’m afraid. Afraid if I stop kissing her she’ll turn me away. I have to show her that she can’t live without me. I have to make her need me.

Slowly I push my way down her body, pressing my lips against the hollow of her throat and along the neck of her shirt. I want to take it slow. I know I should. Then I hear her groan. Her legs pull up, and her thighs tighten against my hips. I feel the slight pump of her pelvis against my stomach. I fall on her like a hungry beast.

She still has the shorts on that she’d been wearing at the beach. I run a hand over the leg closest to the sofa back, enjoying the feel of the delicate ankle up to the fleshy, creamy thigh. Her breathing hitches when my thumb creeps under the shorts hem.

“Oh, Nate, we shouldn’t,” she says, but her movements make my thumb slip even higher until I’m touching the elastic of her panties. I pull up her shirt with my teeth and expose her smooth, flat belly to my hot gaze.

“Yes we should,” I say hoarsely and press my thumb against the dampened cotton. “Charlotte, baby, you are wet for me. Just from kissing. I know you’re aching down here.” I rub my thumb back and forth, and the cotton gets even wetter. “Let me take care of this.”

“Nate. . .” she says hesitantly.

“After, baby. We can talk after.” I slide my thumb underneath the panties. My whole hand is under the hem now. My fingers are gripping her hip, and my thumb is seeking heaven. “I can feel this little spot needs my attention. I’m going to make this up to you, baby, starting right now.”

With my free hand, I unfasten her shorts and pull them down her gorgeous thighs. She lifts her legs to help me. Whatever protestations she might have, they aren’t in control now. Her passion is driving her. She sits up, and I help her remove her shirt and then mine.

When she reaches for my waistband, I stop her. “No, this is for you, baby. This first time is all you.”

I run my hands over her chest, down the sides and up to cup her breasts. “These are bigger than I remember,” I whisper reverently. Leaning over I press my face into the valley of her cleavage. “Softer.” I kiss the plump tops that aren’t covered by the satin of her bra. “More delicious.” I tug the cup down on one side and draw her nipple into my mouth, gentle at first and then harder, until I hear her gasp and her fingers grip my head. 
Yeah, my baby likes it a little rough.
 I’d been so careful with her before because she was ill, but I knew from regularly probing my family that her health had been steady and that she had officially been in remission for years. Now her cheeks are plump, she has a slight curve in her belly, and I feel like I can do all the dirty, hot things I’d fantasized about.

I slip my fingers inside her panties, past the soft curls until I reach her plump, wet sex.

“Nathan. . .” Her words are a plea not a protest.

I suck at her breasts, first one and then the other, while my hand is busy reacquainting itself with the tender flesh between her legs. I think of torture, of BUD/S training week when the naval officers tried to kill us. I think of Somalia, Ghana, Iran. I count baseball statistics and all the times the Cubs have fucked up their chances for a pennant. I bring all of these to the forefront of my mind so I don’t come from the mere feel of her body next to mine.

“Can you tell me how you like it?” I ask. She shakes her head wordlessly, flushing a violent shade of red. I grin at her, and I can tell seeing me smile is almost—almost—as good as my fingers rubbing her pussy. My internal emotions are at war with each other. There’s regret for all the shit I put her through; resolve for how I’m going to make up for it; and craving to have her a million times and a million times more. “I’ll see for myself.”

I dip my head back to her breasts. Her thick, erect nipples are begging to be in my mouth. I slide my index finger inside, and she clenches down as if I’m some foreign invader.  “Shhh.” I lean up and press my mouth against hers. “It’s just me. God, baby, you are so tight. It’s like our first time, isn’t it?”

She nods and grabs my shoulders to press me down harder on top of her. I take her mouth, demand her tongue, and as she kisses me, I press my finger all the way until my palm slaps against her outer sex. It’s all she needs, and she’s coming—clenching me, squeezing me everywhere. Her hands dig into my skin, and her breasts press against my chest as her back bows.

As she comes, I push another finger inside her, preparing her because she’s so tight I’m afraid I’ll hurt her. Our kiss has turned frantic and sloppy as she shakes around my fingers.

Rising up on my knees, I suck her liquid off my fingers. Her eyes widen in shock. “That’s one,” I say.

“One what?”

I lay my palm on her upper chest and drag it down to her stomach. Under my hand, she trembles.  “One orgasm. I owe you nine tonight. One for every year we’ve been apart. When I’m done, those years will be part of our past.”

“Orgasms aren’t going to make up for everything.” There’s a dark warning in her words, but I recklessly ignore them.

“Let’s see what you have to say in the morning. Take your bra off,” I order as I move down her body. I’m desperate for the taste of her. I pull her panties down her legs and toss them on the table. Lowering myself to the floor, I kneel down between her legs. “Look at how beautiful you are. Your pussy is so pink and swollen. It looks like an exotic fruit. I can’t wait to eat it.”

She makes a strangled noise and puts her hand between her legs to cover herself. “I don’t think—”

“You’re right,” I interrupt. “No thinking. Only feeling.”

I realize that I’m going to have to be on all night because if I stop once, doubts will creep in. Well, game on. I have the stamina of a warrior, and this is the greatest battle I will ever face.

“I never ate you out enough when we were teenagers. Tonight you’re going to experience what it feels like to have a man between your legs.”

I dive in, sucking those juicy lips into my mouth and tonguing every inch of her. Whatever objections she had die on her tongue as she grabs my head. She’s starving for pleasure, and I’m hungry to give it to her. I press her legs open, as far apart as she’ll let me. I lose myself between them. Her spicy aroma fills my head, and the tangy sweet flavor of her arousal flooding my tongue. The rock hard appendage between my legs is begging to thrust into her. She’s going to feel so fucking fine.

I lap at her, spearing her with my tongue in rhythmic thrusts. Her breath is weak and shallow, coming in short pants above me. I peek up to see her head thrown back, her breasts taut and bouncy as her hips pulse against my mouth. One of her hands is dug into the cushions, the nails scoring the fabric, while the other is caught in my short hair urging me closer. Then I remember:
she likes me to direct her.
 She probably is too shy or doesn’t realize what she enjoys. So I bite her tiny clit, and she goes off like a rocket.

Her scream can probably be heard three doors down. I keep licking and nipping as she squirms and bucks under my mouth.

I stand up. My dick is so hard it hurts. I pull down my cargo shorts, and her eyes widen at the sight. I’m commando because I didn’t want to waste time after running and showering with stupid things like clothes. After the beach, I sped home, took the shortest shower possible and threw on the top two things in my dresser, which were a PT shirt and a pair of ratty old shorts. I grab myself and give my cock a rough hard stroke and squeeze. “I’ve saved everything for you, baby. This cock only wants to be inside you. It only wants to feel your hand, your mouth, your pussy.”

“I—I don’t know what I want.” She’s flushed, aroused, and confused. That’s okay.

“I do. Your pussy wants this. I’m not using a condom, baby, because I’ve only been with you, and you’ve only been with me.”

“But what about pregnancy?”

“I’ll pull out.” It’s reckless, these promises.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, but she licks her lips like she’s hungry for the taste of me on her tongue. I squeeze my cock harder and pre-cum seeps out the tip.

“Don’t deprive me of something we both want. You know you want to feel me without a barrier.” I step out of my shorts and reach for her.  I’m not fucking Charlotte on a sofa after nine years of separation. “Where’s the bed?”

I carry her into the bedroom and throw her on top of the king sized bed. “You’re more beautiful than you’ve ever been, baby. I can’t stop looking at you.”

I push her legs apart and climb between them. “I’ll pull out,” I repeat. “I want to see my cum on you anyway.”

“Don’t think that this solves anything,” she warns. “Just because I want to have sex with you doesn’t mean we’re in any kind of relationship.”

I smooth my hands down her inner thighs and over the tops of her smooth knees. “Course not. Just means that you won’t be having sex with anyone else.” 
Ever again,
 I finish in my head.

“For now,” she retorts stubbornly.

Forever.
 “Can we negotiate later when all my blood isn’t pooled in my cock? I need you. I need to be inside you. Let me in.”

“As long as you acknowledge that me sleeping with you doesn’t mean I forgive you or that I’ve forgotten. You haven’t explained anything to me.” She’s mad but she hasn’t moved.

“That’s fair.” Rational thought has fled, though. I wouldn’t be able to explain how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at this point. I place my hard cock at the entrance of her sex, for a moment enjoying the sight of her flushed, rosy flesh opening. “And, baby, we aren’t going to sleep a wink tonight.”

I
’m so torn
. I love him and yet . . . part of me hates him and hates that he’s making me want him. I’m pinned to the bed, not by his gaze or his hands, but my own fucked-up desire for him. The mixed emotions turn to anger. If this is all he’s willing to give me and my body is begging for it, why not give in to him? Let him fuck me. Let him give me pleasure. If this is all we have, I’ll take it. This one time.

I curl my heel into his back, right above his tight, bitable ass.

“Take me. If this is all you’ve got to give me, make it good. Make it so good I don’t remember the last nine years.”

His eyes widen, and I think he may pull away but he doesn’t. He pushes the broad head of him into me, and he feels so big I’m afraid he’ll split me in two. “I’ve dreamt about this moment,” he says thickly. “Fantasized about it so many times. Wanted it to be true so many times.”

Each word pierces me, a dagger in my heart. If only those words had been spoken in all those silent spaces years before. Now it’s salt on the wounds of my heart. The wounds that started like small little paper cuts, only to deepen as each year passed and the bonds that tethered us together for so long grew thinner and thinner until they were weak like a single thread.

“Don’t talk,” I beg because I want to be able to close my eyes and revisit my own fantasies. The ones where he comes to my door on his knees and pours out his soul. The ones where I join him, and our tears of past regret but current joy mingle together.

Today, the only tears are mine, and they are bittersweet.

“Charlotte, Charlotte,” he pleads. “What is wrong?”

“I’m just . . . torn . . . apart.”

“Let me love you. I’ll make it better.”

I give in because the sensation of him being inside me is overwhelming. It’s been years. And I’m dying for it. My body is trembling with desire. And my flesh easily gives way with each slow push forward until he’s finally seated. “God, Charlotte. 
God!
” He stands at the end of the bed, his nostrils flaring, his hands biting into my hips as he shakes with the effort of standing still. Every line of his body screams for him to pull out and plunge forward repeatedly until he spends himself, but he wants to make it good for me.

I can see the fierce determination in his face, the internal struggle between his mind and body. He wants to fulfill my demand that it be so amazing I’ll never forget it. His eyes are glazed over, and I wonder what he’s seeing–whether it’s me or young Charlotte or the Charlotte he’s created in his mind in the years of our absence.

“I want you so bad I’m afraid to move. It’ll be over in five seconds.” His chest heaves as he grapples for control. I wonder if he knows how sexy he is. If another person saw him right now, they’d fall over in shocked arousal. He’s a stallion—a perfect construct of muscle, bone, and flesh. Every inch of him is defined. If he’d told me he’d been hewn from a rock in the sea, I’d believe him. There is nothing soft. Even his cock is diamond hard, splintering me.

His hands roam everywhere, leaving behind a trail of raised hairs, goosebumps, and shivering nerve endings. Finally he moves, and the slow drag along my oversensitive tissues causes me to arch my back off the bed. His head falls back, and his eyes close only to snap open.

“When I close my eyes, I see you in every position I’ve ever imagined. You sitting on my face. You riding me. You on your knees while I’m fucking you like an animal. You covered in soap and water as I eat you out and then fuck you against the tile. I’ve had you in my mind in every way possible and some not possible ones. I’ve dreamt of fucking you standing, sitting, bent over, and raised up. I’ve fantasized it all but none of it—
none of it
—came even close to what it feels like to be inside you.” He plunges forward, and I cry out.

His words, the fullness of him in my empty places are making me wild. My hands scramble for some purchase, and I find the padded headboard. I place my palms flat against the cushioned fabric, and he follows me forward. Like a pagan warrior, he kneels between my legs and pushes my thighs as far apart as they can go while he spears me with his heavy weapon. My traitorous body weeps around his, lubricating his every thrust.

“This body is mine,” he growls. “I love every inch of it, and it belongs to me.”

I close my eyes, trying to shut out his possession, but it winds around me, trying to repair the frayed bonds. It’s chaotic in my head now, and he’s frenetic too. His thrusts become less rhythmic as his control is leaving him.

“Oh no, baby,” I hear him say, “you’re coming with me.”

His hard, big thumb finds my clit, circling it, pinching it until now I’m the one writhing in jerky motions. He’s wrenching my orgasm from me, ordering it. Maybe my body does belong to him because it’s building, low and small. It grows and grows until it is too big for me to contain. My feet arch and my fingernails dig into the headboard and I hear myself scream, long and loud. Above me he’s grunting and growling. I want him to follow me into bliss. His hips jack fiercely against me when suddenly he pulls out.

“No,” I cry at the loss. Even though I’d come, I wanted him in my body still.

“Look at me, Charlotte,” he commands in a dark voice.

My eyes open in response, and I see him, thick and red in his hand. He pulls on himself, once, twice in motions so rough I fear that he’s hurting himself. But no. It’s what he wants, and his come spills all over me, striking my sex, my stomach and the valley between my breasts. It’s shockingly erotic.

“You are mine since the day you were born and until the day we die together.” His eyes glitter at me, but when his large hand lands on my belly, I can’t look away. He rubs his sperm into me, over my lower lips, all across my stomach, and over my breasts. “You know this.” His free hand comes up to cup my chin. “You know this.”

And then he kisses me, and I’m devastated all over again.

I
t is nearly dawn
when I finally gather enough strength to leave the bed. He’s sleeping, sprawled across two-thirds of the bed, one large arm heavy across my chest and a leg entwined with mine. I wince at the soreness between my legs. My whole body aches as if I’ve just endured a heavy workout after a long period of idleness. Even though I’m slow and quiet, it only takes one movement to wake him. His head turns and he rolls onto his back, pulling me close to his body.

“We’ve three more to go,” he says. He’s referring to the six orgasms he’s given me. He’d have probably fulfilled his stated goal if I hadn’t passed out on him a couple of hours ago.

“I’m tired and sore.” Since he is awake, I make no attempts to be quiet. Instead I push away from him, relieved he lets me go without an argument.

In the bathroom, I turn the water on and stare at the disheveled mess that is reflected in the mirror.  My hair is a matted mess. There might be a family of birds in there, but I wouldn’t know because it’s so damned tangled.  There isn’t an inch of me that wasn’t touched by him last night. I hardly know what to think of the ache in my heart. Is it because he’s back or because I wish he’d go away?

I need my friends. I need Lainey, Reese, even Nick. I need perspective and time. I’m so confused. The shower helps. It’s hot and cleansing. I spend a long time under the water trying to figure out what to do. Reese is right. I’ve idolized Nate and, worse, romanticized our past to such a degree that I’ve been unable to move forward. Even if I was meant to be with Nate forever, I should have used our separation to meet other people.

Last night I wondered if he was looking at the old Charlotte or the new one, but who is the new Charlotte? Her heart is stuck somewhere in her sixteen-year-old body. I’ve done myself a disservice. I don’t need to go out and have multiple one night stands, but I do need to be open to meeting new people—to finding a love that would make adult Charlotte happy no matter what teen Charlotte thinks. Draped in a hotel bathrobe, I take a deep breath and open the door.

Nathan is still lying on the bed, staring at the bathroom door. His expression is one of satisfaction.  Lazily, his eyes follow me. “Come back to bed, baby. Let’s cuddle.”

His nonchalant attitude converts my unhappiness to anger. It’s as if he 
does
 believe that sex solved all of our problems. My panties are on the coffee table. I shudder and make a mental note to wipe that down with some sanitizer. I gather up the rest of my clothes and the two pieces of his clothing—T-shirt and cargo shorts. His clothes go on the chair and mine into the dirty laundry bag in the closet.

“Don’t call me baby. I’m not your baby.”

“You should go on the pill. That way we don’t have to do condoms.”

“Why don’t you get snipped if you want to have sex without protection so badly? That procedure’s reversible.”

He covers his groin as if I’m coming after him with a scissors to do outpatient surgery on the hotel room bed. “Fuck no.”

“Then you’ll have to keep using condoms. Actually I don’t care what you use,” I say, pulling out my suitcase. I need to get out of here and into a different hotel room. Actually I need to get out of San Diego. “I’m not sleeping with you again. This was a mistake. Sex solves nothing. If sex was the answer, I would have slept with any number of guys. If anything, our marathon showed me I was starving for sex. I should have been having it for years, that way I wouldn’t have been so vulnerable to your physical advances.”

“What?” he shouts and jackknifes off the bed. His smug look is gone. “This was us reconnecting.”

“No, Nathan, this was about our bodies finding well needed released. Reconnecting would be you telling me why we had to reconnect. Since you don’t feel like it is necessary, why don’t you take yourself out of my hotel room. If I want to 
reconnect
 with you I’ll give you a call.”

I pick up his clothes and throw them at him. Shock fills his eyes, followed by determination.

Jerkily he pulls his clothes on. “I’ve got to get back to base, but I’m on two-week shore leave starting tomorrow. You can run, Charlotte, but there is nowhere on this goddamn earth I can’t find you.”

“Creepy much? I’m pretty sure that comes right out of the stalker handbook.” I cross my arms and glare at him.

“What the hell? We spent the night making love. You came 
six
 times. You love me, and I love you. We can work this out.”

“You want to work this out? Then start talking.” I drop into one of the two upholstered chairs in the room and cross my arms, waiting.

He starts pacing and I, the stupid twit that I am, follow his every move. I watch the muscles bunch under his tight T-shirt and the way the veins stand out on his thick forearms. I can feel myself softening inside because—
goddamn—
he is fine.

“I know I don’t deserve you,” he begins. His voice is so low I can barely hear him. “That you’ve been with no one in the last nine years blows my mind. When some guys on the team get their Dear John letters or find out from a buddy back home that their girl is cheating on them, they go out and try to prove their virility by fucking everything that moves. Most of the time that’s paid flesh, but sometimes its other service women–nurses, supply convoy members, helo pilots. That is how they deal with loss. You could have done that, but you didn’t even though I’d cut you out of my life. I may pretend like it was fidelity that kept you away from other men, but that’s probably presumptuous of me. I don’t know why you were alone, but I’m not sorry.” He grimaces. “Maybe I am a creepy stalker because I should simply want you to be happy. You weren’t though, were you?”

I glare at him because he didn’t deserve my fidelity even though he got it.

“Say something,” he begs.

I snort, a humorless, short laugh. “That’s what I said to you a million times in my mind. But you didn’t say anything, and now you’re waxing on and on about my state of revirginization. Why don’t we talk about your supposed abstinence? A man like you going without since you were seventeen? Do you actually think I believe anything that you’re saying?”

“You should. It’s true.” He squeezes the back of his neck.

I sit for a long time, waiting, but when he adds nothing, I rise. “If that’s all you have, I think you should go. I’ll think about it, and if I want to see you again, I’ll call.”

He crosses the carpet in two giant strides and pulls me against him. With his face in my neck, he pleads, “Charlotte, God, give me another chance. Let me love you again.”

I stand motionless, doing everything I can to resist. He kisses my neck, the tender part behind my ear. He rubs my shoulders, but still I don’t move. His lips move to my forehead, and he traces the small constellation of freckles along my cheeks and the upper bridge of my nose. “I’ve never stopped loving you,” he whispers against my jaw.

“And now, after all these years you’re ready to be a couple?” I finally say.

“I want us to try, Charlotte baby, to be what it was we were born for.”

“I can’t. I’ve already been stupid for nine years. I don’t want to be this stupid again. I couldn’t even look myself in the mirror this morning. You hurt me so much, Nathan. I can’t even begin to tell you how painful it was, particularly toward the end.  I deserve better than what I got from you, and I don’t believe you are the man who can deliver that better for me. Not anymore.”

My quietly spoken words stagger him. I feel him stumble and then right himself. “You don’t mean that,” he insists.

“I don’t think I can trust you.”

“Will you let me try to change your mind?”