“That’s a big ask, Char, but,” I say as I grip her hips, “I can try.”
With a smile, she lifts up and then slides back down onto my dick, seating herself on me.
Jesus.
Why the hell haven’t we been doing this--and a hell of a lot more--for the past three years? My brain knows the answer, but my body doesn’t care. It just craves her touch, her moans, her kisses. She peppers them along my stubbly jawline, and for a second, I wish I’d shaved in the last few days, until she rubs her hand across my cheek and mutters, “so fucking sexy.” I pump in to her, just as she crashes down onto me, the repeated movements driving both of us crazy with need.
Charlie looks up, bracing her small hands on my chest, and pants, “Fuck me, I’m gonna come again.”
“Fuck, yes, you are,” I answer. She continues to rock herself down onto me, grinding her pussy against my pelvis at every pass. I suck my index finger hard and then rub her swollen clit. “God, baby, get there,“ I plead.
Just as I’m about to lose my mind, she cries out and I can feel her muscles contract against my dick as she falls over the edge once more. Jesus. She squeezes so damn tight, and I swear I black out for a second before spilling into the condom.
I can’t tell how long it takes both of us to come down from the high of sex. But as Charlie curls into my chest, I have the feeling that I could get very used to this.
Which is crazy. She’s leaving. And even if she were to stay, she works for me. And we so should not have done this, but sweet lord, it felt good, and I’m a firm believer that bad decisions are the most fun.
She shivers, and I feel it ripple down her body. Fuck. Just because I’m a human heater, doesn’t mean everyone is.
“You hungry, or just cold?” The question is barely out of my mouth when her stomach growls loudly. I laugh. “Message received.” That’s my Charlie-girl. She’s got an appetite that would put teenage boys to shame, though I have no idea where she keeps it all. Must have a hollow leg, like my gram used to joke.
“I’ll reheat the food and stoke the fire. Why don’t you get dressed and get comfy.”
“That’s a plan.” She smiles. “I bet my stuff’s dry now.”
“Nah, don’t put your jeans back on, they take too long to peel off. I brought extra sweats and a hoodie down for you.” I smile, and she blushes.
“Be right back,” I say, before slipping behind the bar. Taking the tray she fixed earlier, I munch on some crackers while I reheat the food.
I shoot Nolan a quick text to let him know Charlie’s okay, while I give his famous crab dip a stir. He sends back a thumbs up, says he’s gaming and then hitting the sack. Restaurant hours are a tough habit to break, so I know he’ll be awake until at least three a.m. Still, he’s cool, so I place all the food back on the tray. I pull two drafts, a Speedway for Charlie and a Teton Stout for me, and head back over to the fire.
She’s made a cozy nest by the fire, so I set the tray down and hand over her beer.
“Speedway? Mmmm...you know just what I like.” She smiles, oblivious to the innuendo. But, whether she wants to talk about it or not, I do know exactly what she likes. And I’m not just talking about beer and sex, though those are two of my favorite things. We’ve been friends so long that I know all sorts of little details and preferences about Charlie, the kinds of things you pick up without really knowing how. Like, I know she only roots for college teams and thinks pro sports are just a giant money grab. We’ve never had that full conversation, per se, but I’d bet my bar that she won’t root for the pros, even though they play on multiple television screens in this very bar every night.
I also know she only eats white bread. Won’t touch the whole wheat stuff with a ten-foot pole. Nolan got her to eat sourdough once, and she told him he’d betrayed her.
Yea, so it’s little quirks like that, the kinds of things that don’t come up in conversation, but come from knowing someone--and spending time with them--for years.
She tears apart a soft pretzel stick and dips into that creamy, crabby goodness. “Nolie’s a genius,” she murmurs over a mouthful of food.
“No argument here,” I say, as I take a bite of the shrimp salad sliders he made. “And before you ask, yes, he’s fine. Made it home hours ago.”
“Good. I worry about him, but I know he can take care of himself.”
Since worrying about him has been my job since we were kids, I can’t say much. But, yea, he’s good.”He can, but I still worry. He’s gaming now and he’ll probably catch a few Z’s before coming in tomorrow morning to prep for the Christmas Eve crowd.”
Charlie’s eyes dart to the window, where the streetlamps shine on the blanket of snow that covers the parking lot. It’s still falling, but not as fast or as hard.
“I forget. This is Maryland snow. That shit’ll be a melty, slushy gray mess by noon tomorrow.”
She’s not wrong, so I nod and finish what’s left of my beer.
We eat and drink in silence for a few minutes. I stoke the fire again and hit the kitchen for the s'mores supplies we keep there.
By the time I come back, Charlie’s got the sticks out. This is nothing new for us, though usually a few other people are here and we’re fully clothed and we haven’t just ravaged each other in front of the fire before toasting marshmallows on it.
I’ve got to admit, hanging out at the end of a shift with Charlie is always one of the best parts of my day. I can relax with her. There are no expectations--we just shoot the shit and give each other shit about everything and nothing at all.
