Page 27 of Truck Me

“He told me he’d be late,” Liam says, further supporting what Chase said. “One of his buddies wanted to talk to him about some upgrades to his bike. He said not to wait for him. He’ll warm something up when he gets home.”

Everyone nods, wanting to believe our brothers. They’re probably right, but old habits are hard to break.

We’ve all worried about Christian since he was a teenager, and we’ll probably still be worrying for years to come.

* * *

The rest of the family dinner night was uneventful. We ate. My brothers mostly talked about the garage or racing. Dad didn’t speak much, as was typical when I was around. And Grams spent most of the evening trying to convince Sophia to move into the big house with Mac.

No one mentioned Charlotte again, which I was grateful for, but I still left the moment I cleaned my plate. I didn’t even wait around for dessert. I made up an excuse that I had to let Bullet out. Not a lie, but Bullet would have been fine for another couple of hours.

Typically on cold nights like this, I let Bullet run out behind the house while I wait by the back door. But tonight I need some fresh air, even if it is cold enough to burn a hole in my chest.

Before I realize where we’re headed, Bullet leads the way to the trail that cuts through the woods connecting to the Weber property. She’s busy sniffing the ground and running around the trees while my eyes are trained on the faint outline of the house up ahead.

A light flips on in an upstairs room on the side facing the trail, and I stop before we exit the treeline. Bullet also stops and sits down at my feet. I’m not close enough that I can see every detail, but I can clearly make out that Charlotte is standing in front of the window.

She keeps picking up different items, examining them, then putting them down just to grab another. I watch her for a moment, mesmerized by her graceful movements. Her long dark hair flows down her back in waves. She’s wearing a bulky sweater so I can’t see her figure, but I’m sure it’s stunning underneath it.

I can’t take my eyes off her, and I don’t know why. Watching her like this is wrong. I keep telling myself to look away. To turn around and go home. But I don’t. She’s not doing anything fascinating, but I find I like looking at her, even if it is from afar and through her tiny bedroom window.

Just as I’m about to make myself turn around, she does the unthinkable. She grabs the hem of her sweater and pulls it over her head.

Fuck. Me.

I get a clear view of her in nothing but a soft pink bra that makes her pale skin look even lighter. I’m instantly hard as steel.

I grab my crotch and give my cock a squeeze to ease some of the pressure building.

Her hair falls around her shoulder and hugs the line of her breasts—her very full and plump breasts. My hands itch to grab hold of her hips and slowly slide up to her narrow waist. Charlotte is a very curvy and sexy woman, and I’m totally creeping on her.

“Fuuuuuck,” I let out a low growl and spin around. Scrubbing my hands down my face, I take off like a shot, back toward my house.

I had no right to invade her privacy like that, and I feel like a total piece of shit.

At the same time, I want to go back there and yell at her to close her curtains before she strips out of her clothes. The thought of another man walking up and seeing her like that causes an anger to boil inside me that makes no sense. Charlotte means nothing to me, and she never will. She’s just my next-door neighbor and a friend to the family. Nothing more.

Lies. All lies.

I practically run back to my house, with Bullet on my heels, whining. She’s clearly confused as to why her master is suddenly tense and angry. Can’t say I blame her. My mood shifted the second I saw Charlotte’s bare skin. I’d hate to think how I’d react if she hadn’t had a bra on. Seeing her bare breasts is an image I don’t think I’d ever be able to forget.

The image I have is bad enough. So much so that the second I’m inside my house, I strip out of my clothes and step into a cold shower. If I can just get my dick to calm down, then I’ll be fine.

But it doesn’t work. Images of her are too fresh and I can’t stop myself from grabbing my cock and squeezing hard. I let out an involuntary groan at the small amount of relief that gives me.

Giving in, I turn the water to hot, and let my imagination run wild as I picture Charlotte on her knees, taking me into her soft, warm mouth. I’m a big guy and few can handle my girth, but I imagine her doing it. Taking all of me, swallowing me whole, until my cock hits the back of her throat and her pretty pink lips strain to stretch around me.

Fuck. I want to see her like that. I want that image to be real so badly it causes my chest to ache in a way I’ve never felt before. What the fuck is happening to me?

I fuck my hand hard and fast, all the while imagining it’s her mouth that I’m fucking. It doesn’t take long to reach my climax. Within seconds, my body jerks and I’m painting the shower wall with my release. It’s intense and painful and the best orgasm I’ve had in ages.

I don’t hook up often. The women around here are too much trouble and the sex isn’t typically that great. But this self-induced orgasm causes my legs to shake to the point I have to brace myself against the wall or else I’ll fall.

I feel like a fissure has formed in my heart and if I’m not careful, Charlotte Weber will crack it open and completely shatter the protective boundaries I’ve worked so damn hard to build around me.

She needs to fucking go back to Chicago so my life can get back to normal.

Because there’s no way in hell I can let myself give in to her.