Chapter 22
Jessica
I cry out as an orgasm crashes through me.
Charlie claps a hand over my mouth to keep me quiet, even though my bed is banging against the wall as he thrusts inside me.
I whimper, struggling against his palm as my core tightens around his cock.
He moves harder, faster, his pelvis grinding against my clit, setting off another wave of pleasure.
He buries his head into my neck and comes deep inside me, chanting my name.
For a fraction of a second, I’m more connected to him than I’ve ever been to anyone. It’s big and scary and everything I’ve ever feared it would be, but the rightness smooths all the edges.
The sense of reverence dissipates like a firework that’s burst and scattered in the sky, leaving behind a tether from my heart to his.
With a groan, he collapses on top of me as we attempt to catch our breath. I have no idea how long we lie like that before he peels away and flops over onto his back, dragging me with him so I’m sprawled half on top of him.
He rests his palm against my spine, drawing circles with his fingers that send goose bumps dancing across my skin. I snuggle in deeper, burrowing into his neck so I can be enveloped by the scent of him. “I am going to owe Hailey a million apologies.”
“Too loud?” He flips us over, pushing me until I’m lying flat on the bed.
I squirm until all the curves of my body click into the planes of his. “So…the FBI, huh?”
He traces a path over my ribs. “I’m shocked you waited this long.”
“I was demonstrating patience.” I flash a smile at him. “Also, something about coming inside me makes you chatty.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You are incorrigible.”
“You say that like it’s not one of your favorite things about me.”
“One of them.” Lines bracket his mouth, but his palm continues a slow, easy glide over my skin. “I don’t reveal information about myself voluntarily, and sometimes, even when I am asked, I won’t answer.”
I study his expression. He’s not closed off, but I can see the guard trying to slip over him. See that he’s resisting it for me. “Maybe you could start by telling me what everyone else already knows and see how you feel.”
Our palms slide together, creating a friction of heat and energy that feels alive. “You already know more than almost anyone.”
Confusion has me furrowing my brow. “I don’t understand. Ryder and Sophie said they knew.”
“Other than knowing I was in the FBI, tonight at dinner is the most I’ve told anyone but Mitch, and all he’s privy to are the details of how I got there.”
My heart leaps in my chest. “Downstairs was the only story you’ve ever told about your past?”
“Yes.”
“And you did it…” I twine my fingers with his. “…because of me?”
“I did.” He squeezes tight and rests our clasped hands on my stomach. “Your sister is important to you.”
“Oh.” I blink, my throat growing suspiciously tight, but I manage to squeak out, “Thank you.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. You didn’t want to abandon your sister.”
“I didn’t.” He’d understood my reasons. “When she gets into deadline mode, she becomes obsessive and hyperfixated, forgetting everything else. I need to make sure she doesn’t starve.”
He strokes my skin. “You’re not the kind of woman that abandons her sister for a guy.”
“I’m not.” He gets me. He doesn’t want to change me.
He leans down and brushes a kiss over my lips. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Start from the beginning and don’t stop until I know how you ended up as sheriff and living in Revival.”
A subtle tension takes up residence in his body, but instead of pulling away like I expect, he throws his arm around my waist and brings me closer. “I’m not sure I can manage everything in one night, but I’ll try to fill in some of the basics.”
“I can live with that, but that doesn’t mean I won’t press or forget.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“Here, I’ll make it easy for you. How did you come to be at the FBI in the first place?”
“I was recruited.”
“Really? How did that happen?” I’m not surprised. Between my job and my brother, I’ve dealt with a lot of law enforcement in my time, and there’s no question that Charlie is unique. The question is more how they identified him in the first place.
He takes a deep breath and expels it. “I didn’t have a lot of options and wanted an education, so I went into the military when I was eighteen.
During my service, I was identified as having the right profile for special forces and ended up in PSYOPS.
From there, I developed enough specialized skills that the bureau recruited me. ”
Clearly, there’s a lot of story left untold. I tread lightly. “Since you’re no longer there, I guess it wasn’t your cup of tea.”
He clears his throat. “I was decent at it.”
The constrained way he speaks tells me he’s underplaying. That he wasn’t just decent, he excelled and he liked it.
The real question is, why did he leave something he loved? “So why are you lying here with me in Revival instead of with some war-weary agent who’s probably married?”
“You are such a smartass.” He squeezes my ribs, tickling me.
I let out a squeal, pushing him away, but it just makes him dig his fingers in harder. I fight him off, and we roll around on the bed, playing and laughing and making out.
Breathless, I say, “Stop distracting me! I will not be thwarted.”
He drags a hand through his tousled hair and splays an open palm on my stomach. “It’s not a big deal. I got tired of too much travel, late nights, and bad coffee.”
It’s a half-truth. The easy answer. “Is that your standard line when people ask?”
His midnight eyes shutter closed, so quickly it has to be habit. “Yes.”
“I want the real answer.” I turn toward him so we’re lying side by side, our heads on the pillow, faces close.
He’s silent for a long, long time, and I don’t rush in to fill the quiet.
I won’t push, but I hope he tells me the truth. Not for me or even for us, but for him. It’s not good to carry around so many secrets.
He studies my face as though he’s looking for something, then says in a careful tone, “Even though it might make you feel differently about me?”
His words take me by surprise because they showcase a vulnerability I don’t expect. An understanding steals through me, settling deep in my bones.
He’s scared to lose me.
I trail a finger over the line of his jaw. “There’s nothing you could say that would make me feel differently.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
I lift his palm from my hip and lay it flat over my heart, pressing my hand over his. “I know what kind of man you are.”
“You know the man I am today, but you don’t know how I got here.” His fingers tighten against my skin.
“I don’t care how you got here, other than to understand you, and I trust my judgment.” I move my hand to cover his heart, meeting his dark gaze. “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”
The desire to run must get to be too much for him, because he rolls away and sits up, putting his feet on the floor and his elbows on his knees. Muscles flex and expand as he takes a deep breath. For a second, I think he’s going to get up and leave, but he remains motionless.
“I didn’t have your fairy-tale childhood. Mine was…” He trails off, clearing the strain from his voice before he continues. “Hard.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, Charlie.
I can wait for as long as you need.” I want to touch him but don’t, letting him have the distance he craves to tell me things he’s never spoken of.
I don’t know what his childhood has to do with his time in the FBI, but there’s obviously a connection in his mind.
He cranes his neck to look back at me, and he’s wearing that shuttered expression again. “What was it like, to grow up as you did?”
Not sure where he’s leading, I answer carefully. “It was great.”
I can make out a flicker in his dark eyes. “Ryder always says his biggest complaint was there was nothing to complain about.”
I scooch a bit closer, not wanting to scare him off.
“My parents ran our house as a collective instead of a hierarchy. They were big on communication and discussing problems. To them, the ability to listen and change your mind was a life skill. That questioning what you were told was more important than obeying.”
“Is that where you get your sassy attitude?” The muscles in his shoulders ripple as he seems to relax a little.
“My father told me I should be a lawyer for the first time when I was six and pleaded my case as to why I was mature enough for a sleepover at Mimi Casper’s house.”
“Did you get to go?”
“What do you think?” I flutter my lashes.
“Is that why you became a lawyer?”
I let him divert, not sure if he’ll come back, accepting he probably won’t. “It’s hard to say. Maybe? I do love to make a point.”
He turns his head back, shielding his expression from me. He’s silent for a few moments. “It must have been nice, to have a home that was safe and secure.”
My voice is soft when I speak. “I was very, very lucky.”
“I can tell by how close you are.”
“My family is my safe space.” Even if Ryder hadn’t warned me, I can tell how hard talking about himself is from Charlie’s body language.
I understand what it means that he’s struggling through his emotions to strengthen his relationship to me.
He might not be able to articulate it, but he’s showing me he’s invested in what happens between us.
Maybe I can help by being that safe place. I take the risk and trust that the bond forming won’t break at the first tug.
I shift, sitting up and sliding behind him. He tenses up again when I drape my arms around his neck, but I ignore it, pressing my naked body against his back. “I’m guessing you didn’t have that.”
He shakes his head.
I think about assuring him he doesn’t have to reveal his secrets, but maybe that’s wrong. Maybe he needs me to show him I’m invested in him back.
And maybe I do that by being open and vulnerable first.