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I set my hands on her thighs, drawing them up to her hips as I felt her movements grow more uneven and erratic. Little Charlie was bringing herself to an orgasm, and for some reason, she wanted to be the one in charge when it happened. As she wished.
Her pace on my cock became hard and fast, and thirty seconds later, her core spasmed, her body wracked with pleasure. Charlie threw her head back as she cried out, the muscles in her lower half tightening along with the orgasm. It was the hottest thing I’d ever heard, and I didn’t doubt if I had some light, it would’ve been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
Charlie’s body slumped forward once the orgasm passed through her, and I sat up, wrapped an arm around her back, and held her against my chest. “Oh, no,” I whispered. “We’re not done yet.” As I told her this, my hips began to rock underneath her, fucking her while sitting up and cradling her in my arms.
Her hands clung to me, her skin on fire. Charlie leaned her head back, and through the shadows, I could see her eyes were open. She stared at me like no one had ever stared at me before.
Maybe that was just the darkness affecting how she looked, or maybe it was because, unlike anyone else I’d ever been with, she knew me. She knew me more than anyone else ever had, save for my cousin. She knew my sins, my crimes, and she wasn’t afraid.
Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl.
She should fear me like any other sane person would. I could kill her. I could rip that tiny body apart without even trying.
But that’s the problem. That’s why she wasn’t scared of me: I could never. Nothing in this world would make me harm Charlie.
My breathing shifted, and I flipped us so that we were once again in the position we started: Charlie beneath me with her legs spread wide and her cunt full of my cock. My hips worked on overdrive as I fucked her harder than before, drawing out a moan from me as she took every single thrust. I could feel it building, and I knew I couldn’t push it off any longer.
An orgasm ripped through me with the strength of a tidal wave, and a low, animalistic sound left me as I pumped my cock into her tight cunt with short, successive thrusts. I filled her inner core with cum, emptying myself inside her shot after shot.
My body collapsed on top of hers—though I didn’t squish her. I managed to hold myself up with my forearms, but it was difficult. Never had an orgasm gripped me so tightly before, never had I experienced a more intense release. I had to stop and ride the high that lingered.
A minute passed, and I was slow in pulling out of her. As much as I wanted to fuck her again—fuck her all night, actually—I also wanted to fuck her when there was more light, so I could see her, so she could see me and the hunger in my eyes. So, instead of continuing, I rolled to my side and draped an arm around her, pulling her close.
Her head rested against my chest, and I was able to lean my chin on the top of her head as I held onto her.
All that time fighting it, all that time resisting and trying to convince myself this girl didn’t have any hold on me, and look at where we’d ended up.
I wasn’t complaining. Far from it. The type of contentment that currently filled my system was unlike anything I’d ever felt.
Charlie Mulanie was mine now, and if anyone thought they could take her from me, they’d be in for a world of hurt.
Chapter Twenty-Two – Charlie
I thought I’d feel different after. I thought I’d feel… I don’t know, better than what I currently did. The last thing I expected to feel as I lay there, curled against Brett, was sorrow.
But that’s exactly what I felt. Sorrow. Guilt. Regret. Not over what we did together—I’d wanted to be with him like that, to see if things could be different. More heated. Passionate. Like love itself could be my saving grace.
I’d thought I loved Zak, but being with Zak wasn’t anything compared to being with Brett.
The sorrow, guilt, and regret I felt wasn’t because of Brett or what we did. It was because certain parts of my past came flaring to life, memories I always did my best to push away. Anytime those particular memories of mine came to the surface, they made me want to die.
And that was why my upper, inner thighs had a few scars. That’s why I kept that small blade tucked away in my desk, where no one would ever find it.
As Brett’s breathing slowed, it sounded as if he fell asleep while holding onto me. My eyes were open, though I couldn’t see anything. His chest was a dark wall in front of my face.
It hit me then, what I’d just done: I’d slept with a serial killer. I’d even had an orgasm. And, above all that, I’d enjoyed the hell out of it. Every second, every moment, every thrust of his hips; even the pain at first, the pain of adjusting to a dick inside me after being celibate for so long. There was nothing I hadn’t enjoyed.
What was wrong with me? I couldn’t find happiness anywhere, so I tried to latch onto a guy who, let’s be honest, could never have anything long-term because he was on the run from the law. I’d started to fall for a man I’d originally hit with my car and then kidnapped because I wanted him to help me with my stalker.
If that wasn’t ten different kinds of fucked up, I didn’t know what was.
I didn’t fall asleep. I couldn’t. I lay there, long after the heat inside had dissipated, long after Brett’s cum had oozed out of me and dried between my legs, losing myself to the dark thoughts that often came to me when I lay awake at night.
I couldn’t be happy. Happiness was a lie. Everything was a lie.
It might’ve been minutes, or it might’ve been hours. I didn’t know, but eventually I managed to slip out of his arms, slip away from him without waking him up. I crawled to the opposite side of the treehouse, sitting my bare ass on the old wood as I drew my knees up to my chest and held them there.
Not the most comfortable position, obviously, but when did I ever care about being comfortable?
