7. Charlie

7

CHARLIE

I wake to the sound of vehicles rumbling down the highway. When I pull my curtains back, I’m greeted with the grey of the parking lot and the super cheerful hotel sign, lights still flashing hopefully in the daytime.

Despite the traffic noise and lumpy hotel bed, I slept like a log. I went to sleep dreaming of the big ex-sergeant next door and wondering what his lips would taste like.

We were so close last night I thought he was going to kiss me. But I must have been imagining it. After weeks of trying to break down Quentin’s armor, I’ve come to realize he won’t cave.

It’s obvious he desires me, but he’s bought into the lie that society has been telling him. That I’m too young or something.

Whatever his reasons, he’s holding onto them.

I take a long hot shower with my music going, singing along to Boygenius.

When I turn the shower off, there’s a furious thumping on the door. I wrap the threadbare towel around me as best I can. My boobs are barely covered and one thigh sticks out. These towels aren’t made for curvy girls like me.

“Are you awake in there?”

Quentin thumps on the door, and I pull it open a crack. His face is lined, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

He waves a piece of paper at me, and it’s that damned itinerary he’s so fond of.

“We’re meant to be on the road.”

I open the door further, and the words die on his lips as his gaze slides down my body. The way I’m clasping the towel together pushes my breasts up, and water glistens on my skin.

I should shut the door and get myself decent, but I like the look Quentin’s giving me. My skin heats under his gaze, and I arch my back slightly to push my breasts out even further.

His gaze skims my thighs where the towel barely contains all of my body, and he swallows hard. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

The uptight ex-army sergeant is lost for words, and it’s all because I’m dripping wet in a towel.

I wonder what he’d do if I let the towel drop. If I let go of the one corner under my left armpit where I’m holding it up and let it pool on the floor.

Would he take me like I’m aching for him to do? Would his muscular arms wrap around me? Would he carry me to the bed, or would he push me up against the wall while I wrapped my thighs around him?

My pulse quickens, and my heart’s hammering so hard in my chest that he must hear it. My fingers twitch, about to relinquish the towel.

“Hey asshole, you done knocking? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

A man in loose pajamas appears on the walkway behind Quentin, and instead of dropping the towel I tighten my grip on it.

I take a step back into my room, not wanting the stranger to see me half naked.

“We leave in five minutes.”

Quentin’s scowl is back, and he closes my door as he turns to the man.

I lean against the door, listening to the muffled voices. Quentin gives the guy a dressing down, but I don’t hear what’s said. My heart’s beating too fiercely.

I almost dropped the towel. I almost exposed myself to Quentin to see what would happen.

There’s an ache between my legs, and I slide my hand down my body. My skin is slick with water, and my nipples are hard. My hand continues between my legs, and I moan softly when I press against my sensitive nub.

Would Quentin be rough with me or gentle? I can never tell what side of him I’m going to get.

I imagine his angry energy throwing me onto the bed, his arms pinning me down as I writhe underneath him.

My movements become faster, and I’m panting hard. I imagine him kissing me roughly as he grinds into me, thrusting into me and showing no mercy.

The pressure builds as I imagine him shoving me onto my knees and taking me roughly from behind, the headboard banging against the cheap hotel wall sending particleboard flying. I imagine him working my clit with his capable fingers as he loses control in me.

The orgasm races through my body, and I bite my cheek to stop from crying out. My fingers are soaked and my pussy throbs and I rub myself again, teasing out another climax. My eyes are shut tight, keeping me in the fantasy of Quentin pounding me over and over again as he loses control. Touching me and caressing me and taking everything he needs from me until we both come again and again.

I’m shaking from my third orgasm when there’s a bang on the door. My eyes fly open, and I scramble up from where I sunk to the floor.

“Two minutes and I’m leaving.”

I pant hard at the sound of his voice. He’s gruff and commanding and a pain in the ass, but no man has ever invaded my thoughts the way he does. I’ve never done what I just did while thinking about a man.

I should feel satisfied, but the dull ache between my legs is worse than before. I’ve fantasized about Quentin, and it’s made me hungry for the real thing.