The man in question grunted and looked to the plate of well-cooked breakfast Charlie slid before him. A cup of coffee soon followed, causing him to nod at the smiling chef in thanks. When he took a bite, it was actually tasty. “It’s real good, Charlotte.”
“You don’t look sick,” Eli continued.
“I ain’t sick, Eli,” Matthew growled, growing annoyed. “Stop gawking and eat your damn food.”
Nathaniel shook his head, eyes squinted shut at his stupid little cousin, certain the boy was about as bright as a broken light bulb.
Charlie sipped some tea, looking out the window at the weather. “You know, Eli, Matthew may say he feels fine, but I think a good walk in the fresh air will do him good.” She set down her cup and met the intrigued eyes of her lover. “What do you say you join me for a little hunting and let Eli keep tabs on the grill today?”
Finishing his coffee, Matthew wordlessly stood and went upstairs to dress for the weather. An hour later, they were deep in the woods, stalking a doe that looked mighty tasty. Matthew was a fine tracker, better than she expected, but when they were near enough to make the kill, he aimed his shotgun and missed, startling the doe. Snapping her rifle to her shoulder, targeting the fleeing deer, Charlie brought down the beauty with one shot right through the eye.
Blackbird never misses, she thought with a smirk.
“How the hell you do that?” Matthew’s pride was a little wounded.
She bit her lip and tried not to smirk. “I aim before I shoot.”
Kneeling down next to him, she put the rifle back to her shoulder and began to explain. “The gun is an extension of my body. I think of, and feel it, as if it were my arm instead of a piece of wood and metal. That way when I pull the trigger, I know I’ll hit whatever I see.” She pulled the trigger again and shot an icicle across the way in a blast of sparkling frozen water.
Handing the rifle to Matthew, she ignored the tight set of his jaw, and nodded for him to shoulder it. “Now feel like it’s a part of you.” Her hand went to his neck, Charlie peering over his shoulder to sight his aim. “Relax, I can feel you all tense under my hand. Think of something nice, and when your breath is natural and you are ready, pull the trigger.”
Matthew was thinking of something nice all right. A tightening of his finger and a bullet blasted the target almost spot on. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“The trick is to do it when things get sticky—to find that stillness. It’s the reason most men can’t aim for shit when it comes down to the wire. You pull out a pistol in the right mindset, and you’ve already won.”
He took in the unlikely woman, the serenity she found in danger. Setting the rifle aside, Matthew prowled over her, taking her lips for the first time that day. He held her down in the snow, growling like a wolf bent over his supper. Tongue tasting, lapping greedily, Matthew’s callused hand slipped under her layers of clothing to paw a breast and run his thumb over the tight little nipple.
He’d come at her so fast, Charlie had little time to do more than hitch her breath and brace as Matthew yanked apart her belt and opened her trousers. Cool fingers slinked inside, found her hot, and he kissed her, hard, again.
Teasing at the opening of her pussy, he denied her penetration, loving the way the woman arched and moaned so loud it was a blessing they were out in the middle of the woods. Matthew wanted more of that noise, more of the song she made for him. Twisting his fingers, he shoved in, thumbing her clit until the erratic jerk of her hips expressed how close he’d brought her. Trailing his hand from between her legs to her soft belly, pale eyes met hers, teasing, before turning her round about to set her on her knees. With Charlotte’s hands braced on the fallen tree trunk they’d used for cover, he tugged her trousers down to her knees.
Oblivious to the wet or the cold, she arched back and sighed when she heard the sounds of his belt coming undone. The head of his cock pressed hot against her, bulbous and probing. He surged, snapping his hips until they were fully joined. Groaning like a starved man finally given food, Matthew reached around to play with that little nub of nerves so she might scream some more. Charlie didn’t know whether to grind against his hand or buck back for more of his cock. Lost in the crude pounding and the rough little pinch on her clit, she let him have his way, turning her head so his lips could taste hers. She panted, cried out and begged him to take her harder. The stretch and searing heat, the masterful work of his fingers, it was her undoing. She climaxed so violently there were spots in her vision. While she reeled, he rutted a few more sporadic thrusts, ropes of the gooey seed she’d swallowed earlier filling her somewhere else.
They were both breathless, Matthew draped over her back, one arm tight around her middle. He brushed her cheek with a week’s old stubble, promising, “That was nothing compared to what I am going to do to you tonight.”
The excited whimper that passed through her throat inspired the man to swirl his tongue in the shell of her ear before pulling out, his eyes tied to the liquid aftermath wetting her thighs.
Aware any words the man spoke should be taken very seriously, Charlie fixed her trousers, wondering how on earth she’d been lucky enough to draw the attention of such a fine man.
Matthew offered her a hand when she stumbled, a little shaky on her feet, the hint of a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. She saw it and before she could say a word, he kissed her so deep she sighed.
The trek back was quick, and soon enough the doe was hanging from a tree ready to be gutted and cleaned.
Hunting knife in hand, Charlie went to make the slice down the belly, but Matthew stopped her. “Go on in and change out of those wet clothes. Eli and I will see to it.”
Handing over her knife, she was glad for the offer, uncomfortably cold from the after effects of their tumble in the drifts. By the time she came downstairs, dressed as a woman again, clean, warm and pretty, the meat was butchered and waiting.
After a day of preparing and seasoning deer for sausages, steaks—you name it—the four of them sat around one of the tables listening to the radio, each sipping their own jar. When it began to grow dark, Matthew shooed his kin away, sending them back to the farmhouse across the field with enough meat to see the boys though the coming storm—an unspoken cue to keep out.
Four days of snow and not a soul in sight made for some slow languid days before the fire and hot passionate nights between the sheets. Even new to the sport, Charlie kept him on his toes, not a touch bashful as she discovered Matthew’s love of the tricks she’d heard of over the years.
Chapter 6
“You gotta knead the dough with a roll of your wrist,” Ruth explained for the third time. “Not punch at it, Charlie.”
Charlie tried again, and failed to imitate the superior baker at her side.
Ruth gave her a wicked look, whispering, “It’s like running your fingers through a man’s hair—smooth and gentle.” The analogy made sense, and her student immediately improved. “There you go. Now,” Ruth gave her an innocent doe-eyed look, “anything special you want to make today?”