Page 15 of Wild Child
I lean forward and she parts her lips, ready for me.
Then reality crashes into my brain. She’s the Pres’s daughter. She’s fifteen years younger than me. We’re soaring from the adrenaline of the encounter, that’s all this is.
“Goodnight, Charlotte.” I kiss her on the cheek and step away before I do something that will end badly for both of us.
Disappointment flickers across her face, and she glances down.
“Goodnight, Quentin.”
I wait until she’s in her room with the door locked behind her before going into mine. I shut the door behind me and lean against it, breathing hard.
Knowing there’s only a wall separating us, I sleep fretfully. Tossing and turning and wondering what would have happened if I’d followed my instincts and kissed her apple pie lips.
A whole lot of trouble is what would have happened.
Charlie is wild, she’s Raiden’s daughter, and I have no right thinking indecent thoughts about her.
But it’s indecent thoughts that invade my dreams all night.
7
CHARLIE
Iwake to the sound of vehicles rumbling down the highway. When I pull my curtains back, I’m greeted with the grey of the parking lot and the super cheerful hotel sign, lights still flashing hopefully in the daytime.
Despite the traffic noise and lumpy hotel bed, I slept like a log. I went to sleep dreaming of the big ex-sergeant next door and wondering what his lips would taste like.
We were so close last night I thought he was going to kiss me. But I must have been imagining it. After weeks of trying to break down Quentin’s armor, I’ve come to realize he won’t cave.
It’s obvious he desires me, but he’s bought into the lie that society has been telling him. That I’m too young or something.
Whatever his reasons, he’s holding onto them.
I take a long hot shower with my music going, singing along to Boygenius.
When I turn the shower off, there’s a furious thumping on the door. I wrap the threadbare towel around me as best I can. My boobs are barely covered and one thigh sticks out. These towels aren’t made for curvy girls like me.
“Are you awake in there?”
Quentin thumps on the door, and I pull it open a crack. His face is lined, and there are dark circles under his eyes.
“You look like you haven’t slept.”
He waves a piece of paper at me, and it’s that damned itinerary he’s so fond of.
“We’re meant to be on the road.”
I open the door further, and the words die on his lips as his gaze slides down my body. The way I’m clasping the towel together pushes my breasts up, and water glistens on my skin.
I should shut the door and get myself decent, but I like the look Quentin’s giving me. My skin heats under his gaze, and I arch my back slightly to push my breasts out even further.
His gaze skims my thighs where the towel barely contains all of my body, and he swallows hard. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
The uptight ex-army sergeant is lost for words, and it’s all because I’m dripping wet in a towel.
I wonder what he’d do if I let the towel drop. If I let go of the one corner under my left armpit where I’m holding it up and let it pool on the floor.
Would he take me like I’m aching for him to do? Would his muscular arms wrap around me? Would he carry me to the bed, or would he push me up against the wall while I wrapped my thighs around him?
