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It was sick, twisted, this little dynamic that had blossomed between them. Charlie didn’t hate it nearly as much as she should have.
Her shirt rode up a bit as he roughly thrust into her, pinning her against the cold stone wall. Charlie arched her back away from the chilly sensation, inadvertently pushing into him, and Monroe groaned at the shift in position.
The first time he’d tried something, Charlie had slapped him across the face. Nearly every day since she’d been captured, Monroe had come down to her cell to gloat. He’d taunt her with the Militia’s victories against the rebels, tell her stories of Miles doing heinous things, anything to get a rise out of her. Charlie hated seeing the bastard general, but she secretly appreciated the access to information.
This time, when he came in, Monroe hadn’t been brimming with venomous confidence or poorly concealed anger. He had stumbled a bit as he crossed the threshold, reeking of liquor. He’d stared her up and down with a crease in his bro.
“Do you want something?” Charlie had sneered. Though, not for the first time, Monroe’s intense gaze had her stomach doing flip flops.
He’d laughed and shook his head.
“Maybe I jus’ like spending time with you, Charlotte,” he’d slurred.
“You’re drunk.”
“Yeah.”
Monroe had tottered over to Charlie’s cot and sat down in a heap. Charlie had scooted a few inches away, but she hadn’t stood up. There was a palpable tension that had been broiling between them since she’d been captured here, maybe even since the first time they met in Philadelphia.
Cautiously, Charlie had waited for Monroe to try something, but he’d just slumped down, staring at his lap in apparent misery.
“It’s my mom’s birthday,” he’d mumbled, not looking up. “Didn’t wanna be alone.”
Against her best judgement, Charlie had felt a pang of sadness for the man. she remembered Miles saying that Monroe had lost people, that grief had driven him crazy before a lust for power had.
“Danny’s birthday is next month,” she’d offered. Monroe had looked up at her quizzically. “Maybe then you’ll bring the bottle down and share instead of hogging it all to yourself.”
Monroe had blinked in surprise, then began to laugh hard. This version of him made Charlie understand why Miles had followed him to begin with.
“Yeah, Charlie, I’ll do that.”
Then he’d leaned over and kissed her right on the lips, and she’d smacked him in the face.
Charlie was pulled out of the memory by the current, sober version of Monroe. He grabbed under her ass and shifted her up on the wall, and damn it if this angle didn’t hit just right.
well, shit. Despite her best efforts, Charlie was going to come again. she always tried to hold out on him, didn’t want the maniac’s ego getting any bigger, but there was no denying that Monroe had some spectacular dick.
“Oh, fuck, Monroe,” she gasped as she clenched around him.
She couldn’t resist this man. Even after that first disaster of a come on, Charlie had spent the night thinking about him. His soft, warm lips, and what the rest of his strong body might feel like.
Charlie also had felt guilty about pushing him away when he was clearly in a bad place. Sure, she hated the guy, but he was still human. And he must have really been lonely if he was coming to her of all people for comfort.
That, unfortunately, had been the longest gap without any visits from Monroe. Charlie didn’t miss Monroe, of course, but she had found herself missing the company as the monotonous hours ticked on by.
And, honestly, she as horny as hell. It had already been awhile since she’d had the time or privacy to find someone to relieve tension with, and now that Monroe was the only available option he started to seem like a better and better one. Charlie had passed many of those empty hours debating her conflicting feelings about whether she should actually let General Monroe of all people sleep with her.
Eventually, sexual frustration and loneliness had won out over her morality, dignity, and common sense.
when Monroe had finally stalked into her cell, scowling and clearly ramping up to start an argument, Charlie had got the upper hand by shutting him up with her lips.
Initially, he’d actually pushed her away in surprise.
“Didn’t you slap the shit out of me when I tried to do that?”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Caught me off guard. I changed my mind. Come here before I change it again.”
He hadn’t needed much convincing. And then it became habitual, and Charlie couldn’t help but enjoy the relief. It had nothing to do with who it was she was fucking, she reasoned, but about releasing some of the pent up stress and energy building up in her stupid little jail cell. And so what if she enjoyed it, clearly he knew what he was doing.
Charlie moaned as Monroe began thrusting faster, muttering half-finished curses that let her know he was getting close.
“Oh, fu—yeah, Charlie, shit!”
The hot hate sex had become routine, but they didn’t have another drunk and vulnerable conversation. still, much to Charlie’s surprise, Monroe did in fact bring her a bottle of whisky on Danny’s birthday, and he didn’t say anything when she cried while she was riding him. He just reached up and brushed the tears away, letting her use him how she needed.
The most embarrassing part of all this was that Charlie let the man finish inside her. The first time she’d yelled at him, and he’d promised to send her an herbal tea to keep her from getting pregnant. He’d made no promises about pulling out next time.
It wasn’t just that it felt good when he came in her—although it definitely did. More than that, Charlie let him come inside her because it created a brief, beautiful moment of intimacy. In the afterglow of great sex, there was a quiet minute where they just held each other. She would never admit it out loud, but Charlie liked not feeling so alone, even for a moment. Even with the last person she wanted to keep her company.
Now, pressed up against the wall, Monroe panted and rested his head against Charlie’s. Charlie liked fucking on the floor more, even though it was uncomfortable, because the moment lasted longer as they lay there, spent. But up against the wall, the peaceful illusion shattered when Charlie started slipping downward.
Monroe leaned back so he wasn’t pressing against Charlie and helped her find her footing. Her heart ached just a little bit—not for him, obviously, but for the comfort of being held.
As they redressed themselves and Monroe was about to leave, Charlie couldn’t help but try to keep him around for a few seconds longer.
“Hey, Monroe?”
He turned and faced her, looking as content as she’d ever seen him.
“Yes, Charlotte?”
She bit her lip, unsure of what to say.
“It’s getting colder at night. I could use a blanket in here.”
It was the first time she’d asked him for something, other than a contraceptive at least. she thought that he generally seemed to appreciate that she let this weird dynamic exist in its on space, just sex, instead of trying to use it to her advantage in some way. For a moment she worried the request would offend him as he glanced at the threadbare bedding on the prison cot.
Instead, the corners of his eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile.
“Sure, Charlotte. I think I can spare some blankets for you.”
“Thank you.”
Later that day, a guard brought several thick blankets and a plush pillow. If she didn’t know any better, she could have sworn that the new bedding smelled like him. Charlie slept better than she had in a long time.