Matthew knew she was not the type of woman who feared a little pain, understood she would want it over with quickly. With his eyes glowing for her, his brow determined, he pressed a kiss to her mouth and thrust in hard, holding himself buried to the hilt as she bit back an injured, throaty groan.
It was pure torture for him to be surrounded by such tight, spasming heat and remain motionless, to not wildly rut her as hard as he imagined every time he touched himself.
Watching her face for the softening of her brow, he kissed her nose, her cheeks, her jaw, and waited. It was not long before he felt a deep breath leave her, and instinctively, he knew what to do. Small rolling movements ground against her softness, massaging her down below with his body, easing the hurt.
Matthew’s tongue undulated against hers, mimicking the penetration of her core, and almost immediately, he felt her grow even wetter, signaling her body was ready for him to thrust.
Whatever discomfort there had been when he first shoved inside vanished. Each plunge was met with eager hips. He got her good and worked up, marveling in the scent of her, the feel, until he was fucking fast, hard, and not at all like a gentleman. He knew he should be tender with Charlotte, but the way she was calling to him, nails clawing his back and urging him on, Matthew lost control.
When she screamed out, her sweet sheath going wild and strangling his cock, he groaned, ramming in deep, the spurt of his seed exploding from a deep, satisfying place.
Slick with sweat, he breathed into her neck, senseless and glorying in the trembling little shudders that wracked the woman in his arms. He kissed her, drawing out the purity of the moment, soothing his golden girl into a deep abiding calm.
Matthew woke wrapped around Charlotte, feeling the warmth of her bare skin against his flesh. Midday sun streamed through the window, offering a perfect view so he might admire what he’d touched and tasted all through the night. She was still deeply sleeping, and no wonder… he had gluttonously reached for her twice more in the dark, his thirst insatiable with her soft and naked beside him.
Each time he’d stroked, she’d purred; when he moved to claim her, she’d welcomed him—let him do as he pleased, and became an eager student as he initiated her in the ways of sex.
Beyond the physical release, he’d needed her again and again just to absorb the unguarded glow of adoration in her eyes. To have the woman look on him so lovingly, to be so exposed, the view was intoxicating and he wondered if he’d ever get enough. Men like him didn’t get loved like that. They didn’t get girls like her.
They didn’t get understanding and sweetness and fire.
They didn’t get passion without a hitch.
And there she was—perfect for him.
In the morning light, he found faint smears of her virgin blood around his member, on her thighs, and sheets, a pang of guilt following. Moving carefully, Matthew climbed from the bed and walked naked to the lavatory so he could wash himself and fill up the tub where warm water might soothe her.
A knock came. Wrapping a towel around his lower half, he looked to the bed to find the golden girl still dead to the world. Taking her rifle in hand, Matthew cracked the door.
Radcliffe did not look a bit surprised to see him standing there practically naked. “I heard about the little scuffle last night.” He spoke conversationally, a quirk to his lips and a knowing gleam in his eyes. “I think it’s time we had a talk.”
Matthew said nothing.
“Don’t worry about, Lottie. She was always a late sleeper, and from the looks of you, you wore her out good,” Radcliffe turned, walking away. “I’ll be waiting in the café downstairs.”
Wishing him to Hell, Matthew watched him go. The idea of leaving Charlotte in the room alone, even in broad daylight, not one he relished. But he knew a man like Radcliffe would have his coffee, even if it meant sending thugs to drag him from the room.
The moment Matthew took the seat across from Beaumont, two steaming cups appeared.
Radcliffe, working his jaw, cut a glance to the side before speaking. “I know what you think of me in regard to my Blackbird.” Startling blue eyes flashed back to his guest. “But you don’t know her like I do.”
Matthew said nothing, only picked up his mug and took a long sip. All the while, he met that deadly gaze with a threatening glare of his own.
“That kid was tough as nails. Once saw her bite a man’s ear clean off.” Beaumont lit a cigarette, exhaling in a burst of smoke. “No joke.”
“What do you want, Radcliffe?”
His trademark arrogant smirk. A wink. “You’re wasting your time if you think you could turn her from me. Lottie loves me—was the best son a guy could ask for.”
Narrowing his eyes, Matthew growled, “Charlotte is a woman.”
“Don’t I know it,” Beaumont snorted, laughing around the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Lottie tell you how we came to be close?”
Matthew conceded, monotone. “You bonded
over a pistol pointed at her skull.”
“No…” Beaumont looked amused at the assumption. “I took her in that night cause it just felt wrong to have a little girl croak in the gutter. I expected her to die from the bullet wound. Imagine my surprise when the little bastard lived.”