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I turned away from her, starting to pace the area in front of her, dead leaves crunching beneath my shoes. “You and those sad fucking eyes wormed your way into my head, and I can’t get you out. I think of you constantly. I fucking dream of you. I dream of making you mine.”
Charlie watched me pace, but when I said that last part, she asked quietly, “You dream about me?”
My legs stopped, and I straightened my back out. How I wished I hadn’t told her that. Actually, I wished I hadn’t told her any of it. Nothing good could ever come out of these stupid, confusing feelings. Nothing good at all.
I closed my eyes as I answered her, “Yes.”
She didn’t reply right away, and I heard the sounds of her bare feet moving in the leaves. When she finally spoke, she was right in front of me, “I dreamt about you.”
I opened my eyes to see her standing less than a foot before me, her head angled back. Shreds of moonlight somehow wrestled their way through the canopy of trees over our heads, illuminating the curve of her face.
We stood there for a long time. Ages, it felt like. Neither one of us said a word. Through the darkness, we simply gazed at each other, and unless it was just me—and I didn’t think it was—you could cut the air between us with a knife. The air itself had turned oppressive in its cold, nightly state, pushing against me, making it hard to breathe, the tension unbearable.
And the only thing that would relieve that tension was the girl standing in front of me.
How many times had I tried to convince myself that I felt nothing for her? How often had I scolded myself over my wandering thoughts? More often than I’d like to admit, and look at where it got me. Look at where it led us.
I wasn’t good for her. I wasn’t good for anybody. There was only one thing I was good at, and that was killing. Killing and loving did not go hand in hand. The end result would only be a mess, and yet knowing all that didn’t stop me.
I closed the distance between us, took her head in my hands, and dipped my top half low, taking her lips on mine for the third time—only this time it wasn’t for show. This time it wasn’t about jealousy or proving to her parents that we were in a relationship by giving her a quick peck goodbye.
This was about a girl who’d hit me with her car while driving aimlessly in the middle of the night after a secret visit from her stalker, and a man who was on the run.
This was about Charlie and me.
This was about us, because there had to be an us.
I kissed her like I was trying to devour her whole, every part of me needing more. Her soft, pliant lips took it all. I wasn’t overly gentle. I didn’t care if those lips of hers would be bruised in the morning. I needed her so badly I couldn’t think straight.
My hands left her face, dropping to her ass. My fingers curled around that small ass and hoisted her up. I picked her up and held onto her, and all the while her mouth never left mine. I walked us in the vague direction of the treehouse, stumbling through the darkness over the uneven ground because I couldn’t bear to pull my mouth off hers.
Charlie wrapped her arms around my neck, giving as good as she got. Her soft lips were the equal of mine, and she moaned into the kiss when I pushed her back against a tree. Every second that passed made certain lower parts of me ache, my cock turning to steel.
A nagging feeling in my torso made me grimace into the kiss, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I didn’t care about any leftover pain in my gut. The only thing on my mind was Charlie.
I only tore my mouth off hers to pant—and to bury my face in the crook of her neck after lining her jaw with kisses. She practically melted into me when I nipped at the base of her neck, a sensitive spot, and the moan she let out became fuel to the fire inside me.
Fuck. I needed her. I needed this girl so fucking badly.
“Tell me to stop,” I whispered against her neck, amongst showering it with slow kisses. “Tell me you don’t want this, Charlie. Tell me you don’t want me.” My cock bulged against my pants, begging to be let loose, ready to pin her down and plunge inside her. “Tell me not to take you up into that treehouse.”
I was practically begging her at this point, begging her to put a pin in this, to stop me, to be the voice of reason so we didn’t cross the line… but based on her silence, I’d say she wanted me just as much as I wanted her.
“Tell me not to make you mine,” I murmured against her neck, “and I won’t. I’ll put you down and let you go and we can forget all about this.”
Another lie. Like hell would I ever forget this. Like I could. No, forgetting this, pretending I didn’t want this girl, would be an impossible feat. Impossible, foolish, and pointless. I guess she was right when she said I lied a lot; acting as though we could return to the way things were before was the biggest lie of them all.
One of her arms moved, her hand gently touching the side of my face. She pulled my face away from the crook of her neck, and our noses touched. Our lips grazed each other’s. Charlie answered me by kissing me, softly, sweetly, the kind of kiss I’d expect from her.
But there could be no softness, no sweetness—not when I was in the picture. The kiss turned hard and frantic, and a deep hum of approval echoed from my lungs.
I couldn’t say I was disappointed that she wanted to stay.
The next time I tore my mouth off hers, I set her down, took her hand in mine, and led her to the base of the ladder. I climbed up first—not the easiest thing to do while having a raging erection pressing against your pants, but I managed. I crawled into the treehouse, sitting on my ass in the opening and waiting for her to get within reach.
Charlie climbed up one step at a time, achingly unhurried, and that was why, once she was within an arm’s reach, I bent down the ladder, grabbed her arm, and pulled her up. Up the remaining steps of the ladder and straight into my lap.
I smoothed back her hair and scooted us away from the door to the treehouse. It was easy to hold Charlie in my arms while I maneuvered us through the darkness and carried her curled up body to my makeshift bed.
