Chapter 6 - Grant
Charlotte is ... everything I pictured. That little dimple in her cheek teases me mercilessly, begging to be kissed. She slides out of my truck with a little hop, then immediately goes to get her bags, standing on her toes and desperately reaching in. I step up behind her and reach over. She squeaks and backs against me.
I take a slow breath, trying to calm my physical reaction to her.
“I could have gotten it, Grant. I’m not helpless,” she grumbles.
“While you’re here, you’re mine to take care of,” I remind, giving her the small backpack she brought while grabbing the duffle bag and hauling it over my shoulder. I take Charlotte’s hand and soak up the way she looks at me, like she’s happy to be mine and not just to take care of. Which is how it should be.
I’ve wanted her, fallen for her typed words, her voice, and now she’s walking near me, her hip brushing mine as we walk to my front door and it’s taken every bit of restraint to keep from picking her up, dropping her on my couch and having her the way I want and need.
Opening the door, I guide her in and watch her face as she drinks in what I have to offer. The living room is huge, there’s a spacious kitchen attached, a little sunroom in the back, then the loft with the bedroom and the bathroom. A small porch out front and a sprawling one out back. I turned the guest room into a hobby and craft space when I was interested in leather working and making metal rings, so it’s cluttered with all of that and my summer stuff.
I’m sure she’s going to notice the pillows that are out of place, the fact my curtains don’t match my carpet or something, but she strokes over the couch, smiles at the fireplace, then looks at a few of the pieces of art on the wall.
“Reminds me of Bob Ross paintings,” she murmurs before turning back at me with that gorgeous smile.
I want to taste her, want to bend her over the back of my couch and palm her ass, show her all the ways I can please her and prove she belongs here in every way. As her blue eyes darken and her cheeks flare red.
Her eyes slowly stroke over me and I step closer, called by that damn desire I glimpse.
“The guest room is a mess – an organized mess – but a mess all the same. The master is up the stairs with an attached bath. I can take the couch if you’d like and-”
“Grant, you’re a gentleman and I appreciate it, but I’m not forcing you out of your own bed. What size is it?”
It’s my turn to swallow a moan. I haul her things upstairs, watching her pert little ass as she sways it in front of me. Her curves are delicate and soft. She’s a bit taller than I expected, but so damn ... perfect.
“You’re a minimalist,” she informs.
“I am. There’s no point in having things that exist to take up space. It’s just more to clean,” I say.
She looks over the bed, then looks back at me, her blush still blooming across her face. She steels her shoulders. “We – we’ll both fit. And I think I can trust you.”
“You can trust me, Charlotte. You came here to stay in my house. I’m not going to hurt you, rush you, nothing. But I do think you should unpack,” I encourage with a smile.
She smiles as she looks back at me. We unpack together and every time my fingers brush hers, I want to pull her back against me. I want to shoot myself in the foot because all I want is to sink into her, that shy gentle look in her eyes alongside the steadfast determination.
Charlotte hasn’t instigated more than flirting, nothing sexual at all and I want to make sure she’s comfortable. We have time, there’s no reason to rush, but I am desperate to touch her anyway. She grabs a smaller cloth bag and hides it behind her back.
She looks so damn ... I gently rub her hip as I stand. “Is that a secret?”
“For ... for now,” she answers softly, not looking away from me. “I want to do my own laundry. I’ll buy soap, I’ll ...”
I just keep staring down at her, unable to believe that she’s actually mine, she’s here even if it’s only for two weeks ...
“I ... I do have something else to tell you. I’m ... I’m not here for two weeks, I’m here for a month, so there’s really no rush… we can keep talking, actually see each other when we talk and ... and I’d really like to take a shower after traveling all day,” she says, clearly fumbling.
I sit down and she sucks her bottom lip. I laugh. “That’s not a secret, sweetheart, that’s an amazing surprise.”
“So ... can I shower?”
“You don’t need my permission to do that,” I assure, reaching out and squeezing her hand.
She beams, grabs a few things and hurries to the shower. I stare at the drawer she’s put her things into and replay that hopeful, eager glint to her face, how good she smells, feels, how she warms my house.
Then I hear a yelp and turn around as Charlotte peaks her head out from behind the door, her long hair waving down and making her eyes all the bluer. “I um ... can’t figure out the heat.”
I slip in, take care of it, but as I’m leaving and closing the door, I see her drop the towel, revealing every gorgeous inch of her back, her pert round ass, and the gentle swell of her breast from the side. My barely noticeable erection thickens and presses against my jeans until I’m sure I’m going to lose my mind. Even when she pulls the shower curtain, the silhouette of her body teases me and drives me insane.
Shutting the door, I press my back to it and take deep, slow breaths. We haven’t talked about sex. Haven’t hinted at it, but damn I want to make her mine in every way. I want her in my bed, smelling like my soap while I bury myself inside her.
It’s going to be such a long month and despite the fact I know my cock is going to be aching the whole time, I can’t make myself hate it. I chuckle and shake my head. I can’t wait for her to drive me insane as long as she doesn’t stop telling me every little thought in her mind.
When she starts singing while in the shower I grin, unashamed. She told me she couldn’t do that at home, even on a bad day because her parents would complain. Instead, I listen to her butchering the words to a song and feel my shoulders drop.
We’ll be fine together. More than fine. I am already on my knees.