Page 32

Charles freezes for a second before his body leaps into motion. He snakes his arms around my back and tugs me flush against him as his mouth pillages mine.

Here in this private alcove, with the lonely moonbeam as our only witness, I want to forget.

About the darkness in my past or the uncertainty in my future.

About my fears and nightmares, heartbreak and heartaches.

I want to be the breathtakingly beautiful woman this man in front of me sees. This man who’s protecting me, calming me down when panic swirls inside my mind and I can’t even think straight.

“Roses are much more beautiful with thorns.” His words echo in my ear as the heat ratches up between us.

He hears me. He sees me. He thinks my thorns are beautiful.

The scattered thoughts send more tears falling as if all the tears I’ve held inside for all these years are finally unleashed, because they need a safe harbor.

Because I need someone strong and tall, someone who infuriates me as much as entices me to hold me while I rest in his arms.

Because I’m so damn tired.

A sob collides with a moan as I throw myself into the kiss, accepting his tongue as he slips it between my lips. My skin is hot, sensitive—I’m throbbing everywhere—my nipples, my clit. I rub my legs together, the piercing sending an extra layer of sensations, shocking my senses like live wire.

He groans against my mouth, his hands buried in my hair, tugging the strands to the point of pain—oh, so pleasurable pain.

“I can’t get you out of my mind,” he rasps as we pull apart for air. “You intoxicate me. Turn me into someone I don’t recognize.”

His eyes are dilated. I can barely see his irises anymore. His blond hair is disheveled and I realize I have my fingers buried in his thick strands too. He looks ravenous and desperate.

And somehow, just like the last few times, I’m still not afraid.

The thought sends a sizzle of excitement.

I’m not afraid of him.

“You drive me nuts too,” I whisper, pulling his head toward mine.

“Let’s fall into madness together.” Charles takes my lips between his and his teeth make an appearance as he peppers small bites on my bottom lip, the tiny pinches direct caresses to my core.

Wetness seeps out of me and the pulsing need climbs between my legs—higher and higher. I’m like a bomb seconds away from detonating. My body is not mine anymore—I’m a slave to the sensations rioting through me. I want to flee from them. I want to burn with them. I want to pull him closer so I can’t tell what parts belong to him and what parts belong to me.

Clamping one leg around his waist, I grind into his hips, wanting more friction, more heat, more of the electricity sparking in my veins.

He growls, sliding his hand down and kneading my bare thigh as I move against him. Searching, seeking, needing to see the end of this.

An unmistakable hardness prods at my stomach and for a moment, that makes my motions falter.

Fly Harriet.

“No!” I attempt to shove the thoughts away. Taking Charles’s other hand, I close it over my aching breast.

“Fuuuck,” he grunts, his fingers squeezing over the sensitive mound. He thumbs my sensitive nipple, which sends a sharp current of pleasure to my pulsing core.

“Look at her thrashing. She’s going to come, isn’t she?”

“Go away. Stop it. No!” Don’t ruin this for me. I’m feeling normal, wanted, needed. More tears slip down my cheeks.

I grind myself against Charles’s cock, needing to fan the flames again. This time, I get to decide when to explode.

I get to choose this. This elusive pleasure I’ve been deprived of since that night.

But after a few seconds, I realize he’s stopped moving, his hand clamped on my thigh like a vise, the other hand curled around my waist. His lips are still on mine as puffs of air hit my face from his heavy breathing. He’s trembling—the vibrations so subtle, I almost don’t notice it.

I tilt my head up and what I see on his face makes me gasp in shock.

Charles looks furious. The same violent god of thunder I saw that first day at ABTC, except this time, I’m within searing distance of the scorching anger radiating from his body. A vein bulges on his temple, his nostrils flaring as a muscle tics in his jaw.

“I’m going to kill him.” A low, gritty rasp.

Goosebumps appear on my arms. Heat circulates through my body.

“What?”

“You were crying ‘no.’” My breath hitches, and I realize I must’ve spoken my thoughts aloud. Charles dips his forehead to mine, his voice a lethal whisper. “I’m going to kill the bastard who hurt you. I’m going to cut his dick off and make him swallow it as he bleeds on the ground before you.”

My heart slams itself against my rib cage, like it’s desperate to escape, and to my horror, my pussy pulses at his words, the murderous intent in his voice, the wrath and fire in his eyes.

My archangel will avenge me.

I swallow, knowing everything I’m thinking or feeling is probably illogical right now as I’m riding high on my emotions.

But I don’t care. My mind is mad with desire.

“Make me forget, Charles. Make me forget,” I plea, taking his hand and resting it over my breast again.

Raw determination shifts over his face and, with a guttural growl, he slams his lips over mine.

And he takes, takes, and takes, plundering my mouth like a pirate coming across a forbidden treasure.

I give back as good as I get from him. I bite, suck, and swirl at his lips, his tongue, his salty and masculine skin. I allow him to take from me, to obliterate my senses.

This time, I get to choose.

My body. My life. I want this.

His fingers pinch my hardened nipple and I tear my lips away from his to draw in a ragged breath before arching back, needing more of the same sensations. I need his touch everywhere. I want him to take me to nirvana.

“Goddess. You’re a fucking goddess,” he mutters while he plays with my nipple—rubbing, rolling, kneading, the sensations sparking my body into mini convulsions. “I can spend days upon days worshipping you and it won’t be enough.”

He follows suit with the other side as I writhe against him, desperate for more, for both this maddening torture to continue or to end. His cock lengthens, hardening unbearably behind his slacks, each drag of his turgid length hitting my barbell, what used to be an instrument of pain, but now only fans the pleasure gathering in my pussy.

Charles slides his fingers under my dress and up my thigh, the slow graze a sensual torture. He stops as he reaches my underwear.

“You sure?” His fingers play with the cotton, snapping the cloth on my skin. “We don’t need to if you don’t want to do this. Just say no and I’ll stop.”

I look at him, finding his eyes intent on mine. He’s breathing heavily, his abs rippling through his shirt, the necktie of his tux nowhere to be seen. He looks like he’s seconds away from exploding and taking me down with him.

“I’ll stop and it’ll be okay,” he repeats himself. His body trembles and a muscle tics in his jaw. “A true man doesn’t take what is not given.”

I wet my lips, a sultry warmth spreading from my heart to the rest of my body. He’s already taking care of me in his own way. How did I ever not see him? This passionate, sensitive Charles Vaughn underneath the veneer or his forced smiles and surface-level charm?

“I’m sure,” I whisper, arching my hips forward. “Over my underwear?”

A muscle twitches on his temple and his jaw works. He dips his head into a curt nod and seals his lips over mine again.

Our tongues duel and I savor the taste of fine whiskey in his mouth. His hand finds my breast again and resumes his tortuous ministrations as his other hand slowly glides over my thin underwear, my only barrier between his fingers and my pussy.

He touches the spot between my legs, his head bolting up when he feels the piercing protruding from my panties. His eyes darken and burn, and nostrils flaring.

“It’s supposed to be for pain,” I murmur, knowing I’m probably not making any sense to him.

But somehow, I think he understands, because he doesn’t question further. Instead, he flicks the barbell, sending a sharp wave of pleasure through me.

I moan and arch my head back, baring my throat. Kiss me. Make me forget.

“Fuck. Fuck me. You’re going to be the death of me,” he rasps.

Charles buries his face in my chest, kissing my cleavage, the divot around my collarbone. He drags his nose up my neck before laving at the pulse points, all the while his fingers unleash fury on my clit.

I’m wet. So wet. Wetness seeps out of me and I’m helpless to stop it. The sensations are building, the throbbing so intense, I’m lightheaded. His expert fingers flick, then circle, then tug at the piercing, then return to my swollen clit.

Lewd moans and whimpers echo in the room and I belatedly realize they are from me.

But as the sparks coalesce and I creep closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, the voices come back.

“She’s going to come, isn’t she?”

My body seizes, my mind trying to fight for control and give in the pleasure because I own this. This is my pleasure and not someone else’s. I can’t let them steal from me anymore.

“Come, minx. Look at me. Don’t think about anything or anyone else. It’s just me and you.” Charles’s sharp command snaps my eyes open, and I’m trapped in his mesmerizing pools of glacial ice again. “You’re so fucking wet, I can feel you through your underwear. You drive me wild. You and your thorns undo me. Come for me, minx. Give me more of your cum. Let me feel you flood my fingers.”

His words send me over the edge and I scream. An explosion unlike anything I’ve ever felt before slams into me like a freight train.

“Fuuuck,” he grits out, his fingers quickly circling my barbell and clit, unleashing another wave of sparks. My mind blanks as I shake against his body.

I claw at him, wanting to push him away as the sensations become too much and also wanting to fall into the flames with him again. And again. And again.

Before long, the throbbing intensifies and my mouth drops open, my eyes rolling back as I fall limp in his arms.

“F-Fu-Fu-Fuck,” I mewl.

“Yes. Fuck yes. You can give me another one.” His finger ghosts over my opening before dipping in slightly through my panties.

I fly headfirst into another orgasm, my world shattering around me, the sharp pleasure spreading rapidly from my pussy to the rest of my body. Uncontrollable shakes rip from me as I thrash in his arms.

Charles captures my lips with his and smothers my cries. He groans as he moves faster, rolling his hard muscles against my sensitive body. He removes his hand from between my legs and rubs gentle circles on my back. I collapse on him, my head resting on his hard chest as I slowly coming down from the excruciating high.

Tears stream down my face—catharsis, relief, grief, exhilaration, and too many other emotions for me to name. I sob into his warm chest as I reel from the second and third orgasms I’ve ever experienced in my life.

The only orgasms I choose for myself.

As my breathing slowly calms and I can finally hear the rapid thudding of his heart, I notice the hard length resting on my stomach.

He hasn’t come.

He hasn’t pushed me to give him satisfaction. His sole purpose was to give me pleasure.

Roses are much more beautiful with thorns.

The thoughts send my heart into a tailspin—and I don’t want to contemplate what that means. Fear suddenly shakes me to my core as I remember Camden’s harsh words and Alexis’s betrayal. I can’t do this again—make my heart vulnerable. Is it possible to give in to physical pleasure without giving away my heart?

I can’t. I can’t feel anything for him.

Panic swirls in my mind, chasing away the remnants of my orgasms.

And so, like a coward, I push him away and run from the room, desperate to escape the new and intense emotions rushing inside me.