A/N: This is a late bday gift for TexasRevoFan who is not only a kick-ass writer, but also a peach of a beta and an awesome human. This story also represents my final addition to the GSC Summer Lovin fic fest. Special thank you to WildIrish for giving me the moral support and story insight that I needed on this one.

Candlelight flickers softly in the shadowy room. The smell of incense is heavy in the air. Velvet drapes line the walls and the two tables in the center of the room are separated by a chest high curtain, also velvet. Bass takes it all in and smirks at his companion, "Seriously? This is where we're having our strategy meeting?"

Frank Blanchard is already stripping off his uniform. He cackles happily. "Hell, yeah. You won't be sorry, Monroe. I promise this is the best possible place to discuss strategy or any other damn thing." Without a sliver of modesty, Frank lets his shorts fall to the floor.

Bass winces. "Put that away, Walnut. Jesus."

Frank swivels his hips and laughs. "Pretty good for an old guy, right? Well, don't be shy. Take your clothes off."

"Sorry, Frank. You're not my type."

Blanchard crawls up on one of the massage tables and sprawls out on his stomach with his flabby ass in clear view. "Right back at'cha, General."

The door cracks open and in walks a goddess of a woman with auburn hair that just brushes her shoulders. She is wearing a black silk kimono that doesn't begin to hide her curves. Her skin is like porcelain. "Damn," Bass says, appreciating the view.

"That one is mine, Bassy. Name is Josephine. Yours will be along shortly."

Josephine drops the kimono, revealing luscious hips and beautiful full breasts with perky rose nipples. Bass stares, his lips part in a slow smile. Josephine smiles back knowingly as she begins to rub fragrant oil onto her hands. Bass watches the beautiful woman begin to massage Frank Blanchard's lily white skin. She's a little curvy for Bass's tastes, but he can't help but appreciate the view.

Bass jolts out of his trance only when the door opens again. He turns expectantly to see who Blanchard has lined up for his evening's entertainment. He figures if she's anything like Josephine, his night is looking a hell of a lot better than he'd expected even twenty minutes ago.

When he sees the woman who enters the room, he sighs happily. Long ebony hair hangs in waves. Her face is in shadow but then Bass isn't really looking at her face. Where Josephine is soft and rounded, this new girl is lean and muscular. Her breasts are smaller, but firm and high. The red kimono she wears hangs open to her waist, showing off tight flat belly and mouth-watering cleavage. "Now, SHE is my type," Bass says with a low whistle.

Blanchard cackles. "Figured so. Your girl is new around here. Her name is Sarah. She's not nearly as friendly as Josephine, but she's a sweetie and awful fun to look at.

Sarah motions for Bass to lie down.

Blanchard's voice yanks Bass from his appraisal of the beautiful Sarah. "Take your damn clothes off, Bass. Trust me. It's better when you're naked."

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you," Bass says, but even as he speaks, he unbuttons his shirt and lets it fall. His pants and underwear quickly follow; his dick hardening at the sight of long tanned legs under the girl's robe. "Am I supposed to have a towel or something?"

Blanchard chortles. "No need. This way you can feel her wet pussy on your back when she rubs your shoulders. Kinda like heaven, I'd guess."

Bass doesn't need any more encouragement than that. When Sarah points at the empty massage table, he lies down on his stomach; his thickening cock nestles nicely in a crevice that has been built into the table. Some clever bastard has thought of everything.

He tries to glance over his shoulder to see the girl better, but she lightly touches the back of his head, and he gets the hint. As he places his forehead against his folded arms, he relies on the sounds in the room to know what's happening.

Blanchard's moans fill the space and Bass wrinkles his nose as some unsavory mental images flit through his mind. He chooses to focus on Sarah as he hears the squirt of the oil and the way she rubs her hands together to warm it.

Her fingers are tentative in those first few moments. She starts at his shoulders, standing beside the table. "Feels good," he says, his voice rough. She works her way slowly down his sides, skipping his ass to rub the backs of his thighs.

Her touch reminds him that it's been a while since he had a massage. Hell, it's been a while since he's gotten laid. With any luck he can do both tonight.

Bass is distracted from that train of thought when Blanchard stops moaning long enough to ask Bass's opinion on the latest battle against a group of rebels. It takes all of Bass's concentration to answer in a way that is believable without giving up his real reason for attending this 'meeting' in the first place.

After the Patriots' defeat, New Texas had risen quickly and a new government had formed. There were familiar faces leading the newly minted nation; Frank Blanchard and Miles Matheson among them. Bass has been working for Miles for the last few months, doing whatever side job or mission that came up.

Lately, Miles has begun to doubt the loyalty of his old friend, Frank Blanchard. A month ago, a routine operation had gone sideways, costing the newly expanding Texas government dearly. Miles is convinced that someone on the inside is giving information to a small group of rebels who aren't happy with the new country they live in. Miles asked Bass to get close to Blanchard and see what he could find out. So far, Bass thinks Blanchard is exactly what he claims to be and nothing more. If there is a mole, it's probably not Frank.

Bass answers all of Frank's questions with effort, his voice labored. Each touch of Sarah's fingers brings him into a new realm of sensory overload. Luckily the conversation fades as both men become increasingly distracted by the women giving them massages.

Bass lifts his head, noticing that Josephine is straddling Blanchard's ass as she rubs his shoulders, slowly gyrating her hips to rub her wet center against his ass. Sarah still stands beside the table. At the moment, she is focused on his calves, working the achy muscles there with a determined touch.

"Hey, Sarah?" Bass asks.

"Mmm?" her voice is low and sexy.

"Maybe you can do what your friend is doing?"

Blanchard grunts. "You want your girl to sit on me too?

"Uh, no." Bass says.

Frank chuckles. "Go on Sarah. I know you're a little shy but Monroe is a friend. Give him the royal treatment."

Bass can feel her hesitation, but eventually he sees her kimono pool around her feet and she swings up onto the massage table with her knees at his sides. Sarah begins to knead his shoulder muscles again, using firm movements that melt the knots he hadn't even known were there. His nerve ending tingle with overwhelming sensation.

"Damn," he mutters as the stress dissolves under her skilled touch.

Even in his blissful state, he's aware that something is off with Sarah. Her hands are warm and slippery and her touch is firm as she works his shoulder muscles, but he can tell that her thighs are tensed. Unlike Josephine who is rubbing herself all over Blanchard's pasty back as she works, Sarah is making a concerted effort to hover and not touch.

Bass smirks. That simply won't do. He glances over his shoulder, but only catches a glimpse of long black hair. "Hey, make yourself comfortable, Sarah."

She shakes her head and pushes on the back of his neck, encouraging him to put his face down once more. Bass frowns at this girl's refusal to do as he asks. She's working the back of his neck now, but still with the odd hover.

He's losing his patience. It's time to act. Bass moves quickly, reaching behind his shoulder and grabbing her wrist. He yanks her forward and she loses her balance, falling squarely on his back.

Her breasts are firm and feel to be a perfect handful each. Her nipples press into his back like two little pebbles. He can feel her quick inhale as she gasps in surprise. He feels coarse curls pressing against his ass and just enough moisture there to know he's not the only one enjoying this.

Bass notices all these things and his body responds accordingly, but in the instant that it takes him to gauge her cup size and wonder if the carpet matches the drapes; he feels one other thing.

Slowly, he turns the wrist gripped in his hand. She tries to squirm out of reach, but his fingers are an iron bracelet and he's not letting go.

The flesh between his fingers is puckered, the scarred ridges of branded flesh are pale against a warm summer tan. He knows what this is, knows it like he knows himself – because it is the mark of the Monroe Militia on this woman's arm.

It's not the first time he's been naked with a woman wearing his mark, not even close. The Monroe emblem burned into Sarah's flesh isn't unique, or at least it shouldn't be, but it is.

He traces the M with his thumb. The motion is slow and sensual. He pauses when he gets to the part of this particular wrist that makes it stand out from any other wearing his mark. Near the bottom of the brand, there is a second, fainter scar that slashes across the lower portion of the M like a jagged underline.

He knows that second scar, because he put it there.

It had been an accident of course. The war had been over for maybe a month but everyone was still celebrating the Patriots' defeat. Texas was in full out party mode and Bass Monroe loved every minute of the non-stop party as well as his place in it. He felt like a king, women typically draped from each arm.

Everything had changed when he walked into a hole in the wall bar south of Dallas. The space was small and dirty and reeked of sweat and spilled beer. None of that registered. All Bass saw was the girl on the floor. She was staring up at an asshole who had a big knife in one hand and his small dick in the other.

The toad of a man was leering at the woman on the floor. She stared up at him, dazed, drunk, or drugged – Bass couldn't say. The guy standing over her was saying something about how she was going to suck his dick before he would let her die – he never finished his threats because Bass had taken a knife from his belt and slashed the man's throat before he had a chance.

The woman would have been fine as soon as she sobered up. She wasn't drugged, but was living on the tail end of a weeklong bender. Yes, she would have been fine if she hadn't staggered to her feet and lunged at the very man who had just saved her life. She pounced on Bass, punching and scratching and yanking his hair.

He hadn't meant to cut her. He was trying to peel her off of his back when his knife slashed her wrist, leaving an oozing gash of red that sliced through the bottom of her Monroe Republic brand.

These memories are pinging through his brain in that moment when he looks at 'Sarah's' wrist. He runs a calloused thumb across that second, paler scar and breathes out slowly. "Charlotte."

A hand clamps over his mouth, shutting him up. It also means she has no hands to hold herself up with and body presses more firmly into his back.

Damn, this feels good.

"It's Sarah," Charlie hisses against his ear, her breath hot and wet.

He bites her hand and she squeals in surprise.

"Sorry, Sarah." He taunts, his hand still wrapped tight around her wrist. "You ready to get comfortable? Finish what you started?"

Charlie hesitates as his words settle into her bones. She's not sure what he means, exactly. What she'd started today with the massage or what she'd started all those months ago in that bar south of Dallas? She glances over at Blanchard and sees he's peering over the curtain, looking at them strangely. Shit. Time to get to work.

"Yes, sir." She says with a fake buttery purr. "The customer is always right."

Blanchard grins. "Damn straight." His ugly mug disappears and Charlie feels a sense of relief. Monroe knows who she is now, but her true identity is still safe from Blanchard, and by extension, Josephine. Charlie needs to make sure that doesn't change.

She puts her lips next to his ear and whispers, "Let go so I can do my job."

He lets her wrist go free and Charlie considers her options. She could run, but then Jo would surely begin to wonder and Miles will be pissed if Charlie screws this up. She looks down at Monroe's back, crisscrossed with thick ropey scars. She'd seen the scars before of course, but until tonight she'd never touched one, and up till now she's concentrated on other parts of his body – his tight, toned, perfect body…. Suddenly she wants to touch his scars in the same way he'd touched hers.

This thought proves more tempting than the idea of running ever had been. She rubs more oil onto her hands and uses a slippery index finger to trace the lines that stand out like a map across his back. She feels his body tense at the new sensation. This isn't a typical massage technique and he knows it. This is something else entirely.

As Charlie's finger slowly ghosts over his scars, she takes a moment to glance at her own. The Monroe brand on her wrist is so familiar to her now, she barely thinks about it anymore, but clearly Monroe remembers it and also the other scar as well. Her memories rocket back to that night

Charlie had been a mess after the war. Directionless and bored, she'd wandered all over Texas for weeks after the final battle. Miles had offered her a job, but she'd declined. What did she know about working in an office? Nothing.

All she knew was fighting and hunting and killing and the job openings for her particular skill set were few and far between. She'd taken her little chunk of the war chest and bought a horse she'd named Sandy. She and Sandy went from town to town, drinking and fighting and raising hell. Sometimes she'd find someone to run with for a few days. It never lasted. Her darkness was more than most wanted to deal with. She couldn't be bothered to care.

She'd been at the end of her rope when Monroe had found her. Drunk beyond reason, she'd known that slimy asshole at the bar was going to kill her and she had been strangely unbothered by the idea. What pissed her off even more than imminent death had been Monroe jumping in and saving the day, again.

So, she'd attacked him.

"Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around?" she'd screamed as she hit and kicked him. He had deflected most of her blows, looking truly worried when the blood spurted from her wrist. He'd carried her from the bar, still kicking and screaming, and finally convinced her to sit still long enough for him to patch up her wound.

By then, she'd been calmer. Not sober – not even close, but calmer. She'd bared her soul in those strange drunken moments, even though her eyes never left the bloody bandage that covered the bottom half of the now familiar 'M'. In a drunken ramble, she told him she didn't know what to do with her life. She told him she was lost. She didn't have anyone. She was alone and she hated being alone.

"So don't be alone," he'd said as if it was as easy as that.

"Not going to traipse around with strangers hanging off me like you do."

"Who said I meant a stranger?" He'd kissed her then, and it had been the most surreal kiss of Charlie's life. Bass was a good kisser – really good. His lips were soft and supple. His stubble even softer. He'd tasted like peppermint although she never had figured out why. The kiss had lasted only moments, but the heat in brought to her belly would never be forgotten.

Later, he'd asked if she'd like to come up to his room. In fear, she had run. She had run straight to Miles. He had helped her sober up and even given her a job. Turned out he never had intended to stick her in an office and the job he did give her wasn't so bad. He told her to consider it hunting. The difference was that these days she's hunting for information instead of food.

For the past month, Charlie has been trying to get a feel for Blanchard's girlfriend Josephine. She never expected that she'd run into Monroe while on assignment.

Today is the first she's seen of him since she'd left him in Dallas.

She could have gotten naked with him all those months ago. She'd thought about it for weeks after, maybe months. Maybe she'd thought about it this morning when she'd bathed in her room at the boarding house. All those months of thinking about a thing that didn't happen – couldn't happen – not until now.

Now, suddenly, the idea of it happening doesn't seem all that out of reach.

Bass's mind is reeling. What the fuck is Charlie doing working in a massage parlor? How long has she been doing it? Blanchard said she's new. How new? The thought of Charlie touching other men in the way she's currently touching him is beyond irritating. He feels jealousy swirl in his gut.

He can't help himself. He has to know. Glancing over his shoulder, he whispers. "So, you do this a lot?"

She shakes her head no without saying anything and then she nods for him to put his head down again.

So she doesn't do this a lot. Why now? Bass remembers talking to Miles a few days earlier and Miles had told him he also had someone in place to get closer to some of Blanchard's people. The puzzle pieces begin to fall into place. She's probably checking out Josephine just like he's been checking out Frank.

This is his chance, finally. After all those months of wondering what might have happened if she hadn't run; here she is. He wiggles his ass just a little, feeling the velvety lips of her pussy rubbing gently against his lower spine.

Blanchard said it would feel like heaven. He wasn't far off.

Bass wants more from Charlie than a goddamned back rub, and he intends to get it. He lets himself fully relax as a plan takes shape.

She's using the palms of her hands to get into a knot near his left shoulder blade when he begins to move. She hesitates, not sure what his game is as she watches his hand slide onto the small of his back, his palm up.

Charlie figures out his plan about a second before he reaches back , slides his fingers between their bodies and finds her pussy. She tries to jerk away from his body but Monroe is limber and his fingers follow.

"Shit," she mutters.

Bass ignores her and begins to move his fingers in a slow 'come hither' motion, effectively stroking her from ass to clit. She tries to move higher and claim that space she'd hovered in before, but Bass is determined. "Mmmm," he says with a little sigh as his fingers sink into slick heat.

"Oh God." Charlie's back arches involuntarily as thick rough fingers begin to plunge in and out of her embarrassingly wet pussy. She's breathing hard now and wonders if she should hop off the table, ending his exploration. Glancing over at Blanchard and Josephine, Charlie decides she has to stay where she is.

She's doing it for New Texas, she tells herself.

Forcing herself to focus, Charlie tries to ignore the growing tension low in her belly and the way his talented fingers tease and stroke her most sensitive flesh.

"Holy shit," Charlie whispers as she gives up all pretense of refusal and grinds against his hand. She pivots her body so that his wrist provides the perfect counterpoint to her clit. The added friction brings her closer to release and he knows it. She feels him chuckle and it's the sound of that raspy little laugh which brings her the clarity she'd been missing.

So he thinks it's funny that she wants him? That her pussy is sopping wet for HIM? Fuck that. Charlie grits her teeth as determination overtakes desire. Two can play at that game. Charlie leans back, but leaves her pussy planted on his hand, gyrating her clit against his wrist bone. With her own hand she reaches behind and slides two of her fingers, still slick with fragrant oils, between his firm ass cheeks.

Bass reacts. His whole body tenses and he tries to jerk his hand free but Charlie keeps his fingers in place even as she strokes his tiny rosebud and then wanders lower to cup his balls.

A cold sweat beads on Bass's brow. He's going to kill Charlie with his bare hands, assuming she ever lets his hand go free. Yes, he's going to kill her. He's going to fuck her first – fuck her till she can't stand up straight and then he's going to kill her. Well, maybe he won't kill her, but she has to pay for – Oh god that feels good.

She's still grinding her clit on his wrist. He feels like his arm is going to pop out of its socket and he's not even sure he cares. Between the feel of her hot wet pussy around his fingers and her own fingers buried between his ass cheeks – all he can think about is coming.

His dick throbs, but he can't come here – not like this, with his rigid cock poking through the hole in a sleazy massage table. No, when he busts a load, it's going to be deep inside Charlie's tight pussy.

He needs to make a move soon, or his willpower to this point will have been for shit. "Hey Frank," he chokes out, shocked at the desperation in his own voice.

Frank is breathing heavy himself and doesn't even need to be asked an actual question. He tells Josephine to get up. "Jo and me are going to my room. You have the place to yourself."

Bass opens his mouth to answer but doesn't manage to make a sound other than a throaty growl as Charlie slides the tip of her finger into his ass.

He has had enough.

Bucking against her, she loses her balance and awkwardly falls from her perch, landing on her feet. She grins at him wickedly. "Had enough?"

Bass swings to a sitting position, rotating his shoulder to loosen up the muscles which had tightened up again thanks to her moves from before. "Not even close to enough, Sarah." He stands and stalks slowly toward her. His eyes burn into hers with glittery resolve. His chest heaves with labored breath. His cock, thick and hard, proudly salutes its target.

She takes a step back, instinctively knowing that Bass in predator mode should not be trifled with. "So should we exchange intel? Seems like we're working two ends of the same case."

"Nah. Don't give a shit about New Texas, and Miles can go to hell."

"Why do you say that?" She's staring at his dick. It's the most perfect cock she's ever laid eyes on and she wants more than anything to suck it into her throat. "Miles is your friend."

"He won't be when I'm done with you tonight."

"Oh?" She licks her lips. She can't help it. With every step he takes, that beautiful cock gets closer.

"Yeah. He's not going to like what I do to you, Charlie."

"And what are you going to do to me?"

"I'm gonna give you what you want. What we both want. Gonna make you finish what you started over there. What you started in Dallas." Bass is close enough that she they can touch, but neither makes a move yet. Bass takes a deep breath and then seems to settle himself. His voice is low and quiet as he whispers against her ear, "Nobody likes a cock tease, Charlie and you've been teasing me for too damned long."

"No." She shakes her head, but her eyes are now glued to his lips which are parted and are begging to be kissed. "Haven't teased you."

"Really?" He leans lower and licks a stripe along her throat. "During the war when you bathed in the creek knowing I was camped ten yards away?"

Charlie's nerves are on fire as he takes another long lick. His tongue is rough and hot. "Didn't mean to tease you."

"Bullshit." He presses against her and Charlie moans as he thrusts his cock against her belly. "You did mean to. Same with that mission to Kansas at the end of the war. Pretending to be my woman and rubbing your ass all over me in that bar?"

"It was just a cover."

"And that night in Dallas?" Bass reaches down and strokes a thumb against her brand and the other scar. He brings the wrist up to his lips and sucks and nips at the puckered flesh, worshiping her marks with his mouth.

"Didn't mean to tease. Wanted you but was confused." Her breathing is choppy and shallow. Her eyes are dilated.

"How 'bout now? Are you still confused?" He ruts against her belly, rubbing pre-cum on her soft skin.

Charlie allows her senses to take over. She smells the incense in the air and the mingled aroma of massage oil and sweat on their skin. She feels hard muscles under her fingers as she digs them into his shoulders. She can see the determination in his heated gaze. She can hear his heavy breathing and the far off beat of a live band somewhere in the building.

She makes her decision. "Not confused." Standing on her tiptoes, she brushes her lips against his. She starts things out slow, but Bass takes charge immediately and he is in no mood to take things slowly. He deepens the kiss and flattens her against the velvet draped wall at the same time.

His mouth covers hers and he probes and explores with his tongue. His hands slide up her face and he tilts her head to get a better angle on the invasive kiss.

She tries to keep up but his urgency is all-consuming and Charlie is lost in it. She scrapes her fingernails lightly down his back and he growls into her mouth.

Bass wants her tight body wrapped around his dick more than he wants to take another breath. He can feel himself grow impossibly hard as he puts his hand under her knee and pulls the leg up. She doesn't fight him. Her eyes are wide, holding his gaze as he lines up and thrusts hard and deep with one determined stroke.

She grunts as he forcefully repeats the first motion. In and out, his cock almost painfully large, rams into her body at a steady pace. For a moment, Bass wonders if he's pushing her too hard. He looks at her face, gauging her expression. If anything, Charlie seems to want more. Bass leans in again and grins against her mouth. He can definitely give her more. She sucks at his tongue, urgently pushing her pussy against his thrusts, taking him deeper.

Damn, why had they waited so long?

Bass concentrates on the way it feels to be sheathed by her achingly tight warmth. He's never wanted anything as badly as he wants this woman. It doesn't matter that they are a terrible match. The age thing is irrelevant. Their checkered history doesn't faze him. His choices. Her choices. None of it matters. Not right now. The only thing that matters to Bass in this moment is fucking Charlie senseless.

He explores her flesh with trembling fingers as he pushes into her. He bites lightly at her jaw and then kisses her again. He finds her nipples with his roaming fingers and pinches them before stroking and squeezing each mound.

His cock twitches within her velvety folds and he knows it won't be long. She seems to sense it too. He can feel the way she rocks her hips against his cock, pulling him in deeper. He grasps her hips and slams in harder yet. Looking down, he sees that his cock is totally buried and he can feel her cervix against the tender skin of the head of his cock.

Charlie yanks him close, biting down on his shoulder as she comes. Her body quakes around his dick and her body shudders.

Bass cries out as he follows her over the edge, pulsing his release deep into her core.

They shudder to a stop, still joined. His forehead rests against hers. "Sweet Jesus," he says.

"Yeah." She looks into his eyes. "That was –"

He's breathing heavily as he slickly slides out of her heat. Spent, he leans into her, using his arm to rest his weight on the wall above her head. "Next time we're going to slow down a bit. Maybe even use a bed. I want to savor you, to taste you." He trails fingers through her hair. Somewhere along the way the wig had disappeared.

"Next time? A little full of yourself, aren't you?" She teases.

"What? Are you saying that wasn't good for you?"

She laughs. "No. It was really good."

"So you're going to want to do it again?"

"Yeah, Bass. Pretty sure I'd be up for a repeat."

They stand in silence for a while. He strokes her face gently with a fingertip. She looks up into the vivid blue of his eyes, soaking him in.

Finally, he breaks the spell. "So, what's next for you?" he asks. "Are you on contract with New Texas?"

"No contract. Just helping Miles out. How about you?"

"Not on contract either. Can leave anytime."

"Is that what you want, Bass? To leave?"

"I want you. Over and over until I die of old age. Don't really care where."

Her eyes sparkle at his revelation. She tilts her head thoughtfully. "Before we discuss your inventive retirement plan, we need to finish our real jobs. Should probably compare notes and present our findings to Miles."

Bass smirks. "Don't know about you, but my primary finding on this mission is that fucking you is my new favorite hobby."

"That's probably not the kind of thing we should share with Miles."

"I'm thinking this should be our last job for him." Bass trails soft little kisses along her brow. His every move now is slow and sweet, a stark difference from his earlier urgency.

"Really? What would we do?"

"I don't know. Nothing. Everything. Doesn't matter. Just want to be with you."

She looks at him, her eyes wide. "We would? Bass, what are you saying? Are you in love with me or something?"

"Never said that." He looks away, unable to meet her eyes. "But I know that I want you. Have for a long time but I didn't think I had a chance so I didn't push."

She pauses and tilts her head to one side. "But now you think you have a chance?"

He leans in and kisses her again. His lips are supple and smooth against her own. He pulls away just enough to whisper. "Stop busting my balls, woman. Think about it? You and me. Together."

"You and me, huh?" Her lips spread into a big satisfied smile. "Yeah, I guess can think about that."

** Two Months Later **

Bass and Charlie sit on horseback, hands joined as they watch the sun set over the Pacific. It is a beautiful summer night. The sky is pink and gold. The water is azure blue, sparkling in the waning daylight. The salty breeze is cool against their heated skin.

"It's beautiful," Charlie whispers. "Perfect."

Bass has eyes only for her. "It's okay."

She squeezes his fingers. "Did we make the right decision? Coming here? Leaving Texas behind?"

Bass thinks about the new government that had reminded him far too much of the one he'd left behind in Philly. Bass thinks about Miles – his oldest friend who rarely had time for him anymore. He thinks about Rachel and all the others still there who he never needs to see again as long as he lives.

He thinks about Charlie, and the difference she's made in his life.

Bass smiles. "Yeah, Charlie. We made the right decision."

The journey to this paradise on the west coast hadn't been easy or smooth. There had been bumps along the way. They'd fought and fucked and ridden hard. As they traveled across the continent, they had learned things about each other that they'd never known before.

They'd learned how to depend on each other to an even greater degree than they'd ever known when they'd fought side by side. They learned to fight in ways they hadn't yet mastered when they were enemies. They learned to be together in silence. They learned to talk all night long.

They learned to love.

They learned that Frank Blanchard was right. It's always better when you're naked.

Leave a comment if you have a moment. :)