I couldn’t shake the memory of standing too close to her, of feeling the tension building between us. I drained the beer and crushed the can, giving in to some of the raw emotion running through me. I was hard again and frustrated as hell.
A cold shower. That’s what I needed.
I walked back inside and stripped off my clothes. I didn’t even bother to see if there was hot water, just turned it full on full cold and stepped inside. I stood under the icy spray, one hand braced against the tile, and tried not to think about the woman who had forced me to resort to the standing under a freezing spray. I failed that assignment spectacularly. Because all I could see was Charlotte—the way her jeans had hugged her hips, the way her shirt had pulled across her breasts, the way she’d looked up at me with something that might have been want in her eyes. And all I could think about was how her body would feel under my hands—all soft curves and responsive heat. The sounds she’d make when I finally touched her the way I’d been dying to since the moment we met.
My cock was steel-hard, aching, and I knew from experience that ignoring it wouldn’t make it go away.
I wrapped my hand around my shaft and stroked, the cold water doing nothing to cool the heat burning through me. And immediately, images flooded my mind.
Charlotte bent over that workbench, jeans pulled down to reveal the perfect curve of her ass. My hands gripping her hips, feeling how soft she was, how perfectly she’d fit in my palms. Spreading her, opening her, watching her body accept me inchby brutal inch. I was not a gentle lover, and I knew I’d have no control the first time I took her.
And I would take her. I knew that was inevitable too.
I stroked faster, imagining peeling off that flannel shirt to discover what she wore underneath. Lace? Cotton? Nothing at all? My mouth watered at the thought of her breasts filling my hands, her nipples hardening under my tongue.
Would she be vocal? Would she tell me what she wanted, boss me around the way she did at the mill? Or would she go soft and pliant, trusting me to take care of her?
Both. I wanted both. Wanted to see her strong and demanding, and wanted to watch her come apart under my hands. I wanted, no, needed, to hear her beg.
In my mind, I had her on her back, those thick thighs spread for me. I’d take my time, kissing my way up from her ankles, savoring every inch of soft skin. Make her beg before I put my mouth on her pussy, before I tasted her and made her come on my tongue. Before I licked through her folds, found every sensitive spot that made her shake, sucked her clit until she sobbed my name.
And then I’d fill her. Slow and deep, watching her face as she took every inch of me. Watching those green eyes go dark with pleasure. Feeling her tight heat clench around me. Feeling her stretch to accommodate my size, watching her eyes go wide with the shock of fullness, the delicious ache of being taken completely.
My hand moved faster, my grip tightening, my hips rocking into my fist. My breath was harsh in the small shower. I imagined her nails digging into my back, her inner walls clenching, milking me, her body convulsing with release as I drove into her again and again, chasing my own—
I came hard, Charlotte’s name a harsh groan as my cock pulsed, spilling over my fist, the release so intense my kneesnearly buckled. I braced myself against the wall, riding out every aftershock, my body shuddering with the force of it.
For a moment, I just stood there, chest heaving, water pounding down on me.
“Fuck.”
I knew it couldn’t happen. Shouldn’t happen. She was too young. She deserved better than a broken-down ex-soldier. But as I finished my shower, I couldn’t shake the memory of how she’d looked at me. I certainly couldn’t stop the anticipation building in my chest at the thought of seeing her again.
And that was dangerous. Because the more I wanted her, the harder it would be to keep my distance. To remember all the reasons this could never work.
I pulled into the sawmill early the next morning, and Charlotte’s truck was already there.
Of course it was. The woman probably lived at this place.
I sat in my truck for a moment, trying to get my head on straight. Trying to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea. Trying to ignore the anticipation building in my chest at the thought of seeing her again. Trying to ignore how my pulse had kicked up the moment I saw her vehicle, how my body was already responding to just the promise of her presence.
The sawmill was quiet this early, just the soft hum of the building and the distant sound of... was that music? I followed the sound to the main floor and stopped dead.
Charlotte was there, dancing.
Actually dancing, moving to whatever was playing through her phone’s speaker, her hips swaying as she did a final check of the equipment. Her hair was down today instead of pulled back, dark curls bouncing with each movement. She wore jeans that should be illegal and another tight shirt that showed off her curves.
And she was singing along, her voice soft and slightly off-key, completely unselfconscious.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
My chest tightened with something that felt dangerously close to longing. Not just physical want—though God knew I had plenty of that—but something deeper. Something that made me want to cross the space between us and pull her close just to feel her warmth. To be part of that unselfconscious joy instead of always standing on the outside looking in.
I must have made a noise—a breath, a rustle of movement—because she spun around, her eyes going wide when she saw me.
“Crew!” Her hand flew to her chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry.” My voice came out rougher than intended, still thick with the images from the shower. Still raw with need. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
