Chapter 13 #2
Suddenly heavy-lidded and hot, I was finally glad to be alone as I fumbled underneath my bed one-handed in search of the lube I’d stashed away before tugging off my shirt and lying back against the sheets.
It’d been forever since I felt desire so strong—it hit me like a ton of bricks. I chose not to look too closely at why my body was finally reactive to pleasure again after being dormant for months and months, and just enjoyed it.
I ran a hand along my chest and belly, catching in the hair that covered me. Would Charlie’s hands feel soft against my skin, or calloused and rough?
It didn’t matter; the thought of him touching me at all made me hard, regardless.
Slowly, I pushed my pants and boxer briefs down. Palm slick and warm, I took my cock in hand and pumped until my breath caught, relishing the syrupy ache.
“Fuck,” I groaned softly.
Mind empty, I let my body feel the sensations that were out of reach for so long. Thumbing the tip, I gently squeezed and pushed up into my tight grip, my other hand tweaking a nipple. I held the pressure, then pulled back.
My head buzzed, warm and fuzzy. Thrust. Hold… Release.
Over and over, faster and faster. My nipples grew too sensitive, so I reached down to massage my balls instead, tugging on them every few thrusts.
“Mmmph.” I’d never been much of a bedroom talker, but I was vocal, and even more, I loved hearing the sounds I could push out of a partner.
What would Charlie sound like, grinding up against me, with my tongue down his throat?
“Oh, fuck.” I was close. I debated edging myself for a while longer, wanting the pleasure to last forever, but I also wanted to come.
Now. Right now.
Head tipped back into my pillow, I tunneled into my grip even faster. Briefly, I considered pulling up an old, reliable porn scene I’d watched more than a handful of times, but my cock was too hard and my slick hand felt too good.
Good. I finally felt good.
Pleasure quickly peaking, I rolled over, braced my weight on one forearm, and reached back down to fist my cock again.
I couldn’t go slow anymore.
Grinding into the sheets, I shoved my face into a pillow to drown out my grunts and pictured Charlie’s lips wrapping around my thumb instead of his own, sucking on my fingers while I milked the most delicious moans out of him.
My face scrunched up with each thrust of my hips, rutting into my slick fist while I imagined the gasp he’d make if I had his cock in my hand, too, jerking us together. I bit into my pillow, wishing it were his shoulder instead.
So good. So, so good.
I felt like… myself. Muscles loose and relaxed, I’d forgotten how much fun it was, and Charlie would be back soon, and I couldn’t drag it out anymore, couldn’t stop fucking into my hand even if I wanted to, and—
“Ah!” I cried out, cum spurting all over the sheets. I gripped my length hard while the shockwaves rolled through my body, wobbly-kneed from the force of it.
Panting, I collapsed to the side, avoiding the mess as much as possible, and threw an arm—the one that wasn’t covered in cum and lube—over my eyes to catch my breath.
Holy shit.
Loose-limbed, sated, and brand new, a chuckle bubbled out of me. I was sweaty, sticky, and the whole cabin smelled like sex even though I’d just cleaned.
It was wonderful.
Ispent the rest of the afternoon in a daze.
The storm hadn’t eased; if anything, the wind only picked up speed, throwing sleet and snow harder against the lookout exterior, rattling the windowpanes.
I debated closing the westward-facing shutters, but the deck was a slippery hazard even without the near-straight-line winds threatening to throw me off.
I was used to the sway and rock of the tower by now, but the creaks and groans coming from the support beams in this storm were concerning.
It provided a sense of security I was thankful for, though.
The chances of surviving this storm out in the elements were low, so I could breathe easy, at least for a day or two, knowing that if anyone had been lurking in the trees, they weren’t anymore.
It also meant Janine was most certainly dead by now, even if her disappearance hadn’t been foul play. It weighed heavily on me.
To keep my mind off it all, I curled back up in my freshly changed bed and lazily sketched some of my favorite things from memory.
A Cedar Waxwing perched on a juniper branch, with a berry in its beak.
The way raindrops cling to pine boughs after a cold, autumnal shower.
That smudged shadow just beneath Charlie’s cheekbone.
I drew that one a lot.
I could excuse my newly reinvigorated libido as a series of lifestyle changes and the time that’d passed since my flare-up—even if the last few days hadn’t exactly been stress-free.
What I couldn’t ignore, though, was the tidal wave of Charlie Charlie Charlie my thoughts had become since I returned to the lookout.
As if the floodgates had flung open, he was nearly all I could think about.
I wanted his name vindicated, wiped clean from the mouths that had slandered him for so long.
I wanted to find the one who’d hurt him, who’d killed him. I wanted to punish them, to make them feel the decades of pain and loneliness he’d felt.
I wanted to protect him and shield him from any additional hurt.
Even more, I wanted him to smile again, every day. I wanted him to laugh and jest and tease me. I wanted to be on the losing end of his quick wit and watch his eyes go soft with words he wasn’t ready to say just yet.
I wanted him to see every movie, read every book, and listen to every song he’d missed. I wanted him to have the park ranger job he’d moved here for, or anything else he decided he wanted. I’d fight and claw through whatever obstacle presented itself to give it to him.
What I wanted most, though, so much my soul burned with it, had been hidden in plain sight for far longer than I realized. Maybe even since that first conversation, when he’d asked if he could warm himself next to my fire.
I wanted Charlie to be alive, and I’d do just about anything to make it so.