He could head back to The Ranch and find someone to scene with for the night. But he’d never been a fan of fantasizing about one person while you fucked another. When he was with a submissive, he wanted it to be all about that woman. Otherwise, what was the point?
So as soon as he kicked his door shut behind him, he stripped out of his wet clothes and headed to his own shower. Charli would probably still be taking hers, sans towel—water running in rivulets down her freckled skin, soap sliding over her perfect handful breasts and along her belly, suds creeping down between her thighs where the lips of her sex would still be swollen and pink from orgasm. He imagined stepping in behind her, taking the soap, and washing her backside. She would yield to his touch, beg for it. He could cup her ass and press the ridge of his cock against her, tasting her neck.
The hot water hit him with a blast, and he let it envelop him for a moment as it chased away the chill, and he got lost in the fantasy. He leaned back against the tiled wall and reached for the soap, creating a lather that he wished he could rub on Charli. But instead, he moved his hand down and grasped his cock, coating himself in the slippery liquid and stroking. A hard shudder went through him as he imagined his own grip was really the hot clasp of Charli’s body around him.
He moved up and down the length, sparing any finesse. He liked to give it rough, and he liked to get it the same way. His fist went on autopilot as his mind continued to weave images of Charli against him, around him…tied up for him, begging him, those green eyes drunk on pleasure instead of wine. The sound of soap against skin filled the shower, mixing with the steam and the pounding water. His knees tried to buckle beneath him as the pressure built low and fast.
He splayed his hand against the side wall, hanging on, and then sensation exploded through his system, shooting down his spine and radiating outward. Charli’s name sat full on his lips as his hard, pulsing release splashed against his abdomen and the shower wall.
He leaned his forehead against the shower door, his breath rasping out of him as his cock went soft in his hand. The water turned cool long before he had the desire to open his eyes to his always-empty cabin.
SEVEN
Charli pulled her hair into a twist and kicked up the volume on the small radio in the cabin’s bedroom. This place was too damn quiet, especially at night. And who would want to stay anywhere without a television?
Serenity made her antsy. She’d had better luck relaxing by riding roller coasters or learning to kickbox. Things that turned the adrenaline up and her mind off. Things like getting pressed up against a shower wall by a fully clothed cowboy and riding his hand until her brain exploded.
That had been a pretty big adrenaline rush—well, up until she’d realized she was the only one into it. That the mere thought of kissing her had made him recoil.
God, what had she been thinking? Talk about making a fool of herself. Nothing like coming across as desperate and sex-starved.
And drunk.
She couldn’t forget that part.
Nice job, Beaumonde.
She sat on the edge of the bed, trying to shake off the memory, and booted up her iPad so that she could catch SportsCenter and her own station’s end-of-the-day wrap-up show. The sports radio was not cutting it. And after her long day of purposely avoiding Grant and then an evening chasing down a lead that didn’t pan out, she was ready to relax, watch the night’s highlights, and get to bed. Plus, the network was going to introduce Blondie as the new sidelines reporter on-air and for some reason, Charli felt compelled to watch it.
The screen came to life, but when she tried to access the Internet, she got the no signal message. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.”
When she’d done her morning check-in text with Grant, he’d let her know that he’d moved the router in his own cabin, which should give her access to his connection, but apparently it hadn’t done the trick. She wasn’t quite ready to chat with Grant in real time. She needed the mortification of the previous night to settle a little longer before she crossed that bridge, so she sent him another text. But after a few minutes, she hadn’t heard back. She stared down at the absent signal icon on the tablet. “Damn.”
She frowned at the screen. She should go to bed. What good would seeing it be anyway? Why torture herself? But the urge to have that closure was too strong. With a sigh, she got up and toed on her tennis shoes. If Grant wasn’t answering a text, he probably wasn’t home. She could probably sneak over to his yard and borrow his signal long enough to see the show.
Not ready to repeat the debacle from last night, she made sure she had a flashlight before heading out. The walk over wasn’t very long and if she stayed on the gravel path this time, she’d be fine. Plus, being sober always helped. She grabbed her backpack and slipped the tablet inside, then locked up behind her. Grant had told her the grounds were secure and locking doors wasn’t necessary, but frankly, at night the place looked ripe for a Friday the 13th installment. And she’d prefer to skip the ax murdering tonight.
She walked carefully along the path, making sure to keep an ear out for any animal sounds and holding the light out in front of her. But besides a rabbit that darted in front of her and inspired a near heart attack, she was alone on her trip over. Grant’s porch light came into view and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. His truck was there.
She paused, suddenly panicked that he’d discover her out there. What if he wanted to discuss last night? Or had a woman over or something? She didn’t know anything about his life really. Hell, maybe he had a girlfriend and that’s why he’d left last night. She sniffed. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Charli. She’d known exactly why he’d turned away. And it wasn’t because of another woman. The way he’d reacted hadn’t left much room for interpretation. It was simple. He was appalled by the thought of kissing her.
It was like high school and college all over again. She was the girl who was okay to fool around with on the sly for a fun night here or there, but not the girl guys actually wanted to date. She was a buddy fuck. Always had been and seemed always would be. She scanned the area for a somewhat safe place to sit and spotted a simple wooden bench beneath one of the large oaks at the edge of his yard. It was shrouded in the shadows and close enough to probably get the signal she’d come for in the first place, but far enough that Grant wouldn’t see her if he happened to step outside. She headed over, parked on the bench, and pulled out her tablet.
The signal wasn’t perfect, but it was there. She cued up her station’s Internet feed and selected the most recent show. Most of today’s scores she’d already heard, so she skimmed through that and made it to the part she’d been both looking for and dreading. The nightly anchors invited Stormy to sit at the desk with them and introduced her. Jack, head anchor, smiled an all-teeth smile at Stormy while he asked her questions and surreptitiously checked out her too-low-cut top. If he’d been a cartoon character, his tongue would’ve rolled out of his mouth and smacked the desk. And even worse were the Internet messages from viewers below the video. No one, of course, commented on whether or not Stormy had sports knowledge or experience. It was all talk of how hot the new sideline reporter was.
Charli’s dinner churned in her stomach, and she clicked the off button. Well, apparently they’d nailed their target market. The market that had no interest in her. But before she could fall back into that lovely dark place of feeling sorry for herself, the front door of the cabin opened and Grant stepped out. She instinctively shrunk backward, making sure she stayed cloaked in the shadows of the oak. The last thing she needed was Grant finding her out here and adding creepy stalker to her list of attributes along with girl who throws herself at men whilst drunk.
He glanced around the yard, but not with intent, then shut the door behind him. He was still fully dressed in what she was beginning to think was his uniform—plaid shirt and worn jeans, but he’d taken his hat off, revealing that dark wavy hair of his beneath. Her fingers flexed, remembering what it felt like between her fingers, wondering how that shadow of a beard would feel against her skin.
Stop it. Even knowing he had no interest in her, she couldn’t stop herself from the fantasies. It was as if his presence scrambled the signals in her brain—making her think things she never thought, want things she’d never considered. But after the humiliation of last night, she’d needed to get herself together and show him that she wasn’t some desperate woman trying to get his attention. He couldn’t know that he had any power over her. Not if they were going to exist together these next few weeks. They would need to agree to forget what happened last night and move on. Delete that episode altogether.
Just not tonight. She wasn’t ready for that conversation quite yet.
She held her breath, though at this distance there was no way he’d be able to hear her breathe, and watched. She expected him to head to his truck, but instead he turned at the far corner of the house and walked away from her and toward the resort. Apparently, he was going to work, but what would a resort need the owner for this late at night? Wouldn’t everyone be settling in or sleeping by now?
Once he was far enough away, she let her lungs empty and tucked her computer back into her knapsack. She’d be able to escape to her cabin without him ever knowing she was here if she left now. But as she watched Grant’s sauntering gait disappear into the night, she found herself rising from the bench and heading away from her cabin instead of toward it, the draw of the unknown too tempting for her reporter instincts.
If he could install a tracking device on her car, then she could be nosy, too.