Page 10 of Charlie

"I think so?" I disentangle myself from him and twist around, leaning forward toward the glove box. He runs his hands over my ass, kneading and spreading. He slides a finger through my arousal, moaning as he pushes it in.

"You're so wet," he groans, reaching up and rolling my clit underneath his fingers. My breath shudders out of me as he takes the condom from me, deftly rolling it over his shaft.

"Do you want me to turn around?" I ask, looking over my shoulder at him. He's breathing hard, his dark curls falling over his forehead.

He shakes his head, gripping my hips and guiding me back until the head of his cock is nestled at my entrance. I push back and impale myself, whimpering as he fills me. He moans as I squeeze around him. He has open access to my clit and uses it, circling the bundle of nerves until I'm panting his name. I grind against his fingers as I ride him, his head pushing against my g-spot with every thrust. He pushes and pulls with his fingers, stretching places he was already stretching with his cock, and fuck, it feels good.

"Please, for the love of God, don't stop," I sob.

Cameron bites my shoulder in reply. I explode around him, pinpricks of light swimming in my vision.

"God, Charlie," he moans, pounding up into me, holding me still with an arm around my middle. I move against him until the aftershocks are over and he stops twitching inside me.

I lean back, turning to bury my face in his neck. "I'm warm now."

His chuckle skitters through my bones. It's the sexiest fucking sound I've ever heard.

8

The following week goes by slow as molasses. By Saturday evening, I am cross-eyed from scanning through microfiche after microfiche. I still haven't attempted to start on the maternal side of Arty's family – some of the information has to be wrong, but I can't figure it out. It's pissing me off. Instead, I spend my time mapping out Arty's paternal side. I have a great start so far – five generations and counting. I'm hopeful I'll be able to trace at least one side back to a king or queen; that's where all the good stories are. One of my favorite parts is finding those little tidbits of goodness so I can bring someone's ancestry to life.

A knock on my door wakes me out of a dead sleep. I fumble around for my phone. Seven A.M. Fuck. I groan and drag myself from the bed, pulling on my robe. Cameron is standing there with a pastry bag and two coffees, a slight grimace on his face when he realizes he woke me up.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. I did bring coffee, though." He pushes it into my hands, a sacrifice to the sleep gods.

"I forgive you," I mumble, taking a careful sip.

"I wish we could do something today, but Mom wants me to stock the shelves, plus I still need to do the regular bookkeeping." He makes a face.

"I'll help."

"I can't ask you to do that, Charlie."

"You didn't ask me, I offered. I need a break from my research, anyway. Plus, I'd rather spend time with you working than not seeing you at all." I peck his cheek, his skin warm under my lips.

I'm in the middle of stocking some paperbacks when I hear Cameron cuss under his breath. He's standing at the desk, staring at the computer screen. He has the strangest look on his face.

"What's wrong?" I ask, walking over to him.

He shakes his head, his lips pressed into a tight line. He runs his hands through his hair before grabbing his jacket from the desk, his movements jerky.

"I need a break. Do you want to come to the cafe with me?" He won't look me in the eye. Alarm bells clang in my head. Fucking hell.

"Sure, let's go." I keep my voice under control despite my jackhammering heart.

He slides his hand into mine and pulls me outside, flipping the sign before locking the door behind us. We walk to the cafe in silence, fingers intertwined. I wish he would blurt out whatever it is, but at the same time, I don't want to hear it. Cameron pulls a chair out at one of the outside tables, the cold of the metal biting through my jeans as I sit down. He goes inside to get tea. I watch the waves batter the seawall. My stomach churns.

"Thank you," I murmur as he hands me tea and a croissant. I wrap my hands around the mug just as much for warmth as for comfort.

He sits down opposite me, his gaze on his croissant as he pulls off a bite. I take those few moments to study him. Memorize him. The slight curl of his hair as it falls over his forehead, the sharp cut of his jaw against the green of his scarf, the thick eyelashes shielding his eyes.

"Cameron, come on," I say, struggling to keep my breathing regular.

"God, I'm sorry." He pushes his glasses up his nose, his eyes finally meeting mine. "I just got an email offering me a spot on an African archeological team." The words tumble from his lips.

"Oh my God!" Oh my God. I'm going to be sick. I force a smile. "That's amazing news!"

"Is it, though?" he says, searching my face for the words I'm holding back, his eyes desperate.

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