Chapter 15 - Charlie
O pening the door to his apartment, I never really considered where he might live, and for whatever reason, the fact that his place is on top of the bar is so unbelievably Porter, that it would seem strange if he didn’t.
“Sorry, it's a bit of a mess,” he says, guiding me into the kitchen.
It's a cute open plan area, almost a loft-like space with everything out in the same large room, minus the bathroom. Which I'm assuming is behind the one closed door I can see. Stainless steel benchtops and dark grey cabinets give the space a masculine feel but then the warm wood panelling on the far wall gives it a touch of comfort. Looking around his space, it's so sparse I doubt for a second if he actually lives here, that anyone lives here.
He's at the coffee table shuffling papers around, carrying at least four cups into the kitchen but other than that small touch of life, everything else is spotless.
“Where’s the mess,” I say, looking around the room. Hospital corners are flawlessly crisp on his bed and there is not one book, picture frame or piece of art anywhere to be seen. A jar rests on the mantel but otherwise there is one pillow on the bed, one lamp, and one bedside table. Thankfully he has a two seater couch but I’m struggling to see how he lives like this.
It's so cold, so shut off from the world and I think, as he scratches his jaw looking out at the room, he's only now noticing how little there is.
It’s a blank slate.
“I guess I never really got around to getting more stuff,” he says a little sheepishly.
“That's okay. It's a beautiful space. My only request is if I'm going to stay over occasionally, that we get another pillow?”
I try to be light hearted about it because I definitely saw worse bachelor pads when I went through my nursing school hoe phase, but it's one of those moments where it says more about him that he's living like this than he realises.
He's so disconnected, I wonder, despite how far we've come tonight, if he will ever truly break down his walls and let me in.
“What do you mean occasionally?” he says, walking up to me, taking my face gently in his hands. “Every night we'll stay together. Every night I want to feel you pressed against me. I don't care if you're angry at me or are sick, we stay together every night, okay?”
I'm a little taken aback by his tenderness and I don't know if it scares me. I want to pull away and get closer to him all at the same time. I know I was pushing him, but I also didn't really think past what it would mean if I actually got him. Giving him a small smile I try to look down, away from his stare but he holds my head firmly for a second, reinforcing his wants when he says, “Every night,” so softly it's barely audible.
Taking my hand he leads me to the one other door in his apartment and as expected, it's the bathroom. Dark tiles similar to the grey of the kitchen cover everything, making the space feel intimate. There is an open shower with a tiled partition wall next to a large bathroom vanity. It's like a shower stall without any glass and it makes me smile at how perfect the design is because I'm almost certain most people don't want to scrub shower glass every other weekend.
Guiding me inside the room, he turns the water on, letting it heat up as he tugs at the hem of my top before quickly pulling it over my head and tossing it on the floor.
Once I'm naked he swiftly removes his own clothes and steps into the shower space, dragging me into him, my back against his chest as he positions us so the hot water covers me. The gold pendant he wears on a chain around his neck hot against my back. It's the most comforting feeling, Porter pressed against me as the hot water soothes my front.
Gathering some soap, he rubs his hands across my body, scrubbing away the debauchery of what we did downstairs. His butterscotch and clove scent mixing with the steam and flooding my senses.
Resting my head back against his chest, I love the way his hands softly drag across my skin becoming firmer when he cups my breasts or hips. It's a perfect representation of who he is and I hope that after a little time has passed, he opens up a little more and becomes a little softer with me.
Finally leaving the comfort of the shower when the water starts to run cold, he wraps me in a deliciously soft towel after spending far more time than necessary drying my body, double checking all of the marks he left.
It's not the first time I've been marked by a lover but this is the first time I've welcomed the sting and heat it gave me. There's never been anyone I've trusted enough to pull back if things got a little rougher. I've done a little light impact play over the years but the way Porter knows just what I want and how much to give, it makes me wet all over again and I struggle to stop my thighs squeezing together without him noticing.
Using the new toothbrush he found for me, I quickly scrub my teeth and attempt to get into bed but the damn sheets are tucked in so tight, by the time I’ve loosened all the bedding and am sinking under the softest sheets I've ever touched, he's leaning against the door frame to the bathroom watching me with a smug grin on his face.
He's wrapped a loose towel around his waist and it's the first real chance I get to soak him in. Tattoos cover his arms, shoulders and chest. There doesn't seem to be a pattern to them but there is a mixture of blacks and greys.
It's the lines of his muscles that get my attention. So strong and defined, his body oozes power and destruction, and if I’m not careful I know I'll get lost in him. It's a real struggle not to high five myself, knowing I had this adonis on his knees begging for a taste of me not long ago.
“Can I get you anything? You didn't eat dinner downstairs so you must be hungry?” he says, never once looking away from me as I snuggle into his bed.
“I could murder a grilled cheese. Is that doable or even just some toast? You don't have to go to any trouble but I am a little peckish.”
My stomach choosing that exact moment to let out a loud rumble.
Walking over to his chest of drawers he quickly throws on some dark jeans and a black henley. The large skull tattoo that covers his back on full display for me. I'm mesmerised by the way it moves, appearing to grin and smirk as he gets dressed. “I’ll go make you some grilled cheese in the kitchen downstairs. I don't really keep anything up here. You gonna be okay for about ten minutes?” he says, turning to me, running his fingers through his still damp hair.
“Can you give me at least twenty minutes so I can get some proper snooping in. It's the courteous thing to do, don't you think?” I say, with a big grin on my face.
He gives me a small smirk and throws one of his jumpers at me, “Put this on when you're looking around so at least you're warm.”
I don't even have the urge to be nosy, mainly because I don't think there's anything for me to find here. Choosing to stay naked in Porter's bed, snuggled into his blankets, waiting for the kindest and most confusing man to make me food is high up on the top ten things I’ve never experienced.
This must be what all the women in Mila’s romance books feel like before everything turns to shit and the characters break up. Well not today universe, no third act break up happening in this story. I’m giving this a shot once and once only, and if every night I'm treated to amazing sex and grilled cheese, then it will take a lot for anyone to convince me to get off this ride I'm on.
A hand stroking the hair away from my forehead causes me to stir and it takes me a second to remember where I am. Carefully peeking one eye open, my suspicions are confirmed when Porter is sitting on the bed next to me.
“You fell asleep while I was downstairs. Do you want some food or to sleep some more?”
The man looks like he should be a model for some sexy cooking magazine. The soft light from the kitchen perfectly silhouettes his body and outlines the shape of his large arms and shoulders. One hand is holding a plate filled with a tower of grilled cheese and the other eases down my face to rest against my neck, his fingers pressing in firmly for a second.
Shutting his eyes for a moment he takes a deep breath and says, “Do you want to eat in bed, or should we make a proper meal of it in the kitchen?”
I've always seen these pockets of gentleness within Porter but I had no clue he could be so tender. He is this hard, hulking presence and it feels like I'm the only one who gets to see this side of him.
It does nothing to ease the feelings I'm developing either. What was a little obsession is turning into full on like, like . I'm not a love girl, at least I think I'm not. Whenever a partner said they loved me, it always felt wrong and I could never return the sentiment. The closest man I love outside of my dad and brothers is Dimi. I tell him I love him all the time but we both know that it's a familial or sibling type love.
That all encompassing love?
That type of love scares me but the more I see these little pockets of the true Porter, the more those thoughts creep in.
Could I really love Porter like that?
“I think you might pop a blood vessel if I said to eat in bed so the kitchen will be fine,” I say, grinning up at him.
I can't help but smile at his sigh of relief as he moves toward the kitchen and I leap out of bed, hurrying to put on the jumper he left out for me earlier. Looking up, he’s leaning on the bench watching me. A fire burning heavily in his eyes. I'm not shy of how I look. I've accepted what it is and I'm happy with the dimples on my ass, and the softness in my belly. My body is a temple and I honour her with wine and chocolate. Life’s too short to dwell on all those intrusive thoughts, so after I accepted my body for all of the amazing things I do have, the worry for the things I didn't like kind of slipped away.
Closing the short distance between us, I pull out the one bar stool he has and prop myself on the bench top in front of it.
“Feed me, Porter,” I moan, holding out my hands and wiggling my fingers, laughing.
“Shut your eyes,” he says, his voice a little lower than usual.
Closing my eyes, I can feel the warm graze of his jeans as he moves my legs apart to stand between them, the small vibration of the plate moving across the bench ripples beneath me as he drags it closer to us. Keeping my eyes closed I part my lips and wait. I can hear the toasted bread scrape across the pile as he picks one up, gently placing the tip just inside my mouth. It smells sweet and savoury, and I ease my tongue out to touch it.
“Bite,” he rumbles.
How does he have this ability to turn me on by saying one simple word? Opening my mouth wider I lean forward slightly and I'm immediately greeted by warm cream cheese mixed with a sharp cheddar. The subtle hint of sweet garlic comes through the more I chew. Opening my eyes to him I can see him looking for my reaction as he takes a bite of the same piece and weighs up the flavours.
“I thought we agreed on grilled cheese,” I say, tilting my head to the side, appraising him. “This is like a little chunk of heaven between two bits of bread.
“Now try this one,” he smirks, picking up another piece and bringing it to my mouth. Taking a bite I'm met with the sharp tang of goat's cheese and a crunch of walnut rounded out by a hint of honey. My mouth waters with how the flavours perfectly compliment each other. Any tension in my shoulders eases and I relax into the moment, the perfect salty sweet umami flavour rolling over my tongue.
“How are these so good? If this is you whipping up something quick to eat, can I try something you spend a lot of time making. Or just keep making these. I'll pay you in blow jobs. Blow jobs for grilled cheese. That's a t-shirt slogan if I ever heard one.”
I'm waffling and I don't know how to stop. This is just another thing that he does which is perfect for me. Despite me being a nurse practitioner, I'm not a natural caregiver or homemaker. I love the drama that emergency nursing brings, that every day is different but I'm also not going to go home and look after someone else. It's not in my nature to and I'd rather just fend for myself if that was the expectation.
Taking a bite of the third toasted sandwich, gooey camembert and cranberry sauce burst into my mouth with the perfect combination of creamy sweetness and I can't help but hum a little as I chew. Finally he brings up the last sandwich and I take a big bite. Based on all the others being delicious it's hard not to groan when I'm hit with an almost classic combination, a hint of tomato relish mixed in with melted cheddar cheese.
“This is amazing,” I groan, doing my best to eat like a lady and not scoff my face full of these cheesy delights. I'm still trying to put my best foot forward with him, knowing I'll stop paying attention after a few weeks and he will be blessed with my hairy legs after leaving it too long between shaving, or catch me dying my eyebrows. All the little things we do to give us the natural look that men don't realise take a small army of professionals to achieve.
“So they all pass the taste test then?”
Rolling my eyes, I groan, “Ports? Are you kidding? Did my moans not give away how good they were? How come these aren’t on the menu? It would be amazing comfort food, especially in winter.”
Rubbing his hands up my thighs, he absentmindedly strokes them backwards and forwards. A small frown crosses his brow.
“Hey, where did you go just then?” I ask, wondering if I overstepped talking about the bar.
“Are you going to keep dating?”
I'm so taken aback by the suddenness of his question it makes me want to escape. The intimacy and the vulnerability of it throws me and I try to shuffle off the kitchen bench. I have nowhere to go as he's standing firmly in between my legs and I only manage to wrap my legs around him tighter because he doesn't budge when I try to push him away.
“Am I going to have to kill another man if he tries to touch what's mine?”
“Ki— Kill? What do you mean kill? Did you kill Cliff?” I whisper. Knowing that it's not feasible because he's been with me the entire time but still, I ask the question. “Oh my gods, did you kill Cliff while making grilled cheese! Porter that's really unsanitary. Please tell me you have a good disinfectant.” I'm trying to stay calm but my voice rises until I'm practically shrieking, my once gentle whisper coming out in an urgent burst. A large smile spreads across his face and he looks so carefree for a moment before he erupts into laughter. Squeezing his hands into my ass as he pulls me even closer causing me to wrap my arms around him.
“Porter, I'm serious, please tell me you didn't do anything to Cliff. He was a dick, yes, but he doesn't deserve to die for being one.”
Looking me in the eyes, he's panting slightly as he tries to catch his breath from laughing. “Baby, I promise I did not kill Cliff. I want to, but other than what you saw, I haven't seen him again.”
“Good. So he is all fully intact and will remain that way. All fingers and toes where they should be,” I say, giving him my serious face.
“Why does this not bother you at all? We’re talking about ending a man's life and you're acting like it's just another day at the office.”
“This is not my first rodeo, cowboy. In some ways, this sort of talk is just another day for me,” I say, shrugging my shoulders at him. I still haven't talked to Dimi and I don't want to reveal that I know he's ex-mafia so I'm just going to keep my cards close to my chest a little longer.
“I make no guarantees other than he's alive. My friend sorted it.”
“YOUR FRIEND SORTED IT! What friend, I never saw anyone!”
“Well, he's an acquaintance, I don't know … I guess he's a friend. I don't really have friends and it's not like we hang out and braid each other's hair but we have a mutual goal and I help him out sometimes is all. Give him a space to work in occasionally.”
Leaning into him I rest my head on his shoulder, knowing what Porter is capable of and all of the connections he has with the mafia that I've just chosen to ignore, I can't help but wonder if I'm in over my head.
“Was it the big guy in the shadows? The one you gave your keys to?”
Nodding at me, he looks down to where his hands continue to rub my thighs.
“He's a good man. We all have our faults, Charlie, but I agree with his message and I understand his reasoning. Sometimes it's hard to leave the past where it belongs.”
“What's his message? … What happened in the past, Porter?” I almost whisper, pulling at his short hair to bring his gaze back to mine.
“I … I ... you should get to bed. You have to look after Mila tomorrow and I have to pick up another pillow.”
A sad smile appears and I know I pushed too hard. There are still so many secrets he's not telling me and I'm just as guilty for not sharing what I've found out, but I don't want to ruin the night any more than it has been. Leading me over to the bed, he lifts the jumper I was wearing so I'm naked before him again and I slide into the soft sheets. He undresses next to me, taking a seat on the bed to undo his shoes and I notice his shoulders sag a little.
Is this me, is this my doing?
Whatever it is that's weighing him down at the moment is not going to get better if I continue to pester him, so I'll leave it alone for tonight. Give him some space to breathe. Moving over to the far side of the bed I snuggle down, the sheets cool across my skin. His one bedside lamp turns off and I can feel him move in behind me, pulling my back close against his chest so he's surrounding me in warmth.
“Don't run away from me. I know I shut down and I'll try harder to be what you need, but this, what we’re both starting tonight is just the beginning. I need you even if I push you away.”
His voice is so vulnerable I have to squeeze my eyes closed in the darkness, pulling his arms tight around me. Taking a stuttered breath I do the only thing I can think of. I comfort him. I trace the map of his forearms with my fingertips, the dips of his muscles complimented by the veins and tattoos. My body pressed firmly against his and I hope he knows he's not alone. I can't find the right words, and I don’t want to come off as if his lack of explanation is not enough, so I say nothing. I fall asleep in his arms only to wake up alone. The sun peeking through the windows and Porter nowhere to be found.