Enthralled by the effect his touch was having on the woman, Matthew grew unbearably hard. The need to be inside her, to thrust as hard and fast as he might, ate up his caution. She didn’t seem to mind his aggression—pale legs parting so his palm might cup her heated sex.
“God,” Charlie’s hips rolled, the action absolutely instinctive.
Over that damp patch of silken fabric, he teased. The shape of her sweet pussy, the line of a slit wet and ready—letting her adjust to the pets of a grown man before he tore that damn scrap away and filled her full of aching cock.
Her intoxicating moans, God, they did things to him. Sack already drawn up tight and spine tingling as if release was on the horizon, his fingers inched toward the waistband of her bloomers.
Right when he dipped in to tease that spot that drove women wild, several staccato knocks banged against the door.
Finger to her nub, she jumped, but not from pleasure.
The moment was ruined at the chipper announcement of, “Room service. Champagne, compliments of the house.”
Matthew went rigid, the man glaring at the door with an expression of outright temper.
Right there, right by the entry already sat the aforementioned bottle of champagne the night manager had promised.
Half naked, and ignoring the snarling man on top of her, Charlie tried to manage a friendly, “No thank you. Tell the night manager, Mr. Wolfe, I am all set.”
The muffled voice persisted, “Mr. Wolfe sent this up personal, ma’am. If I take it back, he won’t think I did my job.”
Matthew wasn’t a criminal, not of the sort Charlotte had rubbed elbows with downstairs, but even he knew better than to plan a hit in a hotel and not at least try to learn the names of the key staff members.
The fuming lady under him seemed to agree. Rolling her eyes, Charlie let out a whine when Matthew shifted off her and began to roll up his sleeves.
Jaw ticking, downright furious, whoever was on the other side of that door was in for a world of hurt.
By the edge in her tone, it almost seemed Charlie pitied the fool. “Run along now. It ain’t seemly to pester a woman so late in the evening.”
The very nature of the intruder’s speech shifted to menace. “Open the door.”
Matthew did just that.
By the time Charlie had pulled up her dress, grabbed her rifle, and scrambled after him, her would-be assailant was already bleeding on the ground.
“Well I’ll be damned, Matthew.” Charlie looked over the goon’s shattered nose and all the blood pouring down. “That must have been one hell of a swing.”
“You come here to harm this woman?” Standing between her and the thug, Matthew grew in temper, but his tone was cold as death.
Even with his bell rung, the sniveling goon tried to crawl away. The barrel of Charlie’s rifle pointed right at his skull put an end to that right quick.
“That he did,” she purred. “Mr. Whittaker here works for Bugs Moran.”
He actually looked scared. “I wasn’t told to kill her, just…”
“Show me a good time?” Charlie spoke low, her grainy rasp furious. Barrel to his brain, the weight of her foot settled between the man’s legs. Rocking forward, she put her weight right where it would hurt most, slowly crushing his balls. “Send a little message to Radcliffe?”
Caught between a squeal and gag, Whittaker tried to deny it, to say anything to get her to stop pulverizing his nethers.
A long, angry growl burst straight from Matthew’s chest. “Charlotte, step back into the room.”
“I can’t do that, Matthew. As much as I would personally like to assure this piece of shit has to sit to piss for the rest of his short life, we have to hand him over to Radcliffe. This isn’t Monroe. The rules are different here, and I won’t see you get caught up in Chicago’s filth.”
Without waiting for his reply, the butt of her rifle cracked against the pleading goon’s forehead hard enough he wouldn’t be waking any time soon.
The elevator dinged.
“You all right, Lottie?”