Chapter 19 #2
“This is going to hurt,” she warned.
“Can’t be worse than—” The antiseptic hit raw flesh, and I bit back a curse. “Fuck.”
“Sorry.” Her free hand rested on my shoulder, steadying us both. “Almost done.”
She worked in silence, applying each butterfly bandage with careful precision, creating neat closures that would hold better than my half-assed field attempt. The competence in her touch was unexpected—this woman who lived in her head understanding exactly how to tend the physical.
“There.” She examined her work, those green eyes critical. “It’ll hold, but you really should—”
Her words cut off as I caught her wrist, meaning only to thank her. But suddenly, she was closer than I’d expected, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
“You got hurt protecting me,” she whispered, her fingers ghosting near the bandage she’d just applied. “You fought them, got wounded, all to keep me safe. Thank you.”
Before I could say anything else, she leaned forward and kissed me.
The moment our mouths met, everything shifted. What started as soft gratitude transformed instantly into something desperate and hungry. The fear, the adrenaline, the narrow escape—it all crashed together into pure need.
I pulled her onto my lap, her legs bracketing my thighs, and she gasped against my mouth. Her hands found my shoulders, fingers digging in like she needed the anchor.
“Charlotte,” I managed, trying to find reason through the haze of want. “You’re exhausted. We should—”
“I don’t want to think.” Her voice was rough, desperate. “For just a few minutes, I need to not think. Please, Ty.”
The please destroyed what was left of my control. This brilliant woman who’d been carrying impossible weight, who’d stayed strong through terror and betrayal, was asking me for this escape.
I shifted us, pulling back the bedspread, laying her down, taking my weight on my forearms. Her hair spread across the pillow like spilled copper, and her eyes were wide but certain.
“Are you sure?”
Her answer was to pull me down for another kiss, this one hungry and demanding. Her tongue swept against mine, and the taste of her made me groan.
My hands found the hem of her shirt, and she arched up, helping me pull it over her head. Simple cotton bra, practical rather than seductive, but on her, it was perfect. I traced the edge with one finger, watching her shiver.
“Beautiful,” I murmured against her collarbone. “So fucking beautiful.”
She made a sound between a laugh and a sob. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re perfect.” I caught her chin, making her meet my eyes. “You’re incredible. The way you’ve handled everything, the strength you’ve shown—”
She silenced me with another kiss, her hands working between us to unfasten buttons with fingers that shook slightly. I helped her, shrugging out of my shirt, and her hands immediately explored, mapping scars and muscle with curious touch.
When she found the still-pink scar from the gunshot, she traced it gently, and I caught her hand.
“Old news,” I said. “Doesn’t hurt anymore.” Except for when I was getting pounded on.
I kissed down her throat, finding where her pulse fluttered against my lips. When I sucked gently at that spot, she gasped, her hips rising to meet mine. The friction made us both freeze for a moment, overwhelmed.
“I need…” she started, then made a frustrated sound.
“What do you need? Tell me.”
“Everything. You. This.” Her hands clutched at my shoulders. “I need to feel something besides fear.”
My heart clenched at her honesty. I kissed her deeply, pouring everything I couldn’t say into it—how these two weeks had changed something fundamental in me, how watching her work was like witnessing art, how her courage humbled me.
I unhooked her bra with practiced ease, then took my time exploring, learning what made her gasp, what made her arch off the bed, what made her fingers tighten in my hair. She was so responsive, so genuine in her pleasure, that I nearly lost control.
“Ty,” she panted, “please…”
I kissed my way down her stomach, pausing at the waistband of her jeans. “Still sure?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
We shed the rest of our clothes with urgent need, and then she was bare beneath me, flushed and stunning in the dim light.
“Perfect,” I breathed.
I kissed her deeply while my hand found the heat between her thighs. She was already wet, ready, and when I touched her, she cried out against my mouth. I took my time, learning her responses, what made her breath catch, what made her hips lift seeking more.
“Oh God,” she gasped. “Yes— Yes, I—”
“Let go,” I murmured against her neck. “I’ve got you.”
When she came apart, it was with my name on her lips, her body arching beneath mine. I worked her through it, drawing out every wave until she collapsed back, breathing hard.
“That was…” She couldn’t finish, looking dazed and wonderful.
“Just the beginning.”
I grabbed my wallet—thank God for old habits—and found the condom I’d tucked there weeks ago. When I positioned myself between her thighs, she wrapped her legs around me, pulling me closer.
“Please,” she whispered. “I need you.”
I pushed inside slowly, both of us groaning at the sensation. She was tight, perfect, and when I was fully seated, we had to pause, foreheads pressed together, sharing breath.
Then we were moving together, finding a rhythm that had her meeting me thrust for thrust. The ancient bed protested beneath us, but neither of us cared. The world had narrowed to this—skin and breath and the building pressure between us.
“Harder,” she demanded, nails scoring down my back. “I won’t break.”
I gave her what she wanted, what we both needed. Her cries grew louder, more desperate, until she tensed beneath me, my name a broken prayer on her lips as she came apart again. The feeling of her clenching around me sent me over the edge, and I followed her down.
We lay tangled together afterward, both breathing hard. Charlotte was draped across my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. For the first time since I’d found her at the hospital, she looked peaceful.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For making me feel human again. For making me feel.”
I pressed a kiss to her damp hair, tightening my arms around her. “Anytime. I’d offer to put that on my business card, but Citadel might have questions.”
She laughed softly, the sound vibrating through my chest. “Is that a standing offer?”
“If you want it to be.”
She was quiet for a long moment, her breathing starting to even out. Then, so softly I almost missed it, “I do.”
I held her tighter, feeling her relax completely against me.
Outside, a semi rumbled past on the highway.
The air conditioner wheezed and rattled.
Somewhere in the parking lot, a door slammed.
The world kept turning, danger still circling, but for this moment—this one stolen moment—we had found peace in each other.