"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his muscles trembling with restraint.
Felicia shook her head, pulling him closer. "Don't stop," she urged.
He began to move then, with slow, deep strokes that had her clutching at his shoulders. His hands slid beneath her, cupping her generous bottom to angle her hips, allowing him to sink even deeper.
"You feel incredible," he groaned, his face buried in her neck. "So soft. So perfect."
Each thrust built the pleasure higher, her body growing slick with sweat as they moved together. Charlie's hands seemed to be everywhere at once—caressing her breasts, gripping her thighs, sliding beneath her to lift her into his thrusts.
"Look at me," he commanded softly, his voice a caress against her heated skin.
The moonlight filtering through the hayloft window bathed his features in silver, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the hungry look in his eyes. What she saw there made her breath catch—not just desire, but reverence.
"You're perfect," Charlie murmured, his hands skimming down her sides to grasp the generous curve of her hips. "So lush. So full."
His words sent a flush of pleasure through her that had nothing to do with embarrassment. For years, she'd been made to feel that her curves were something to hide, to minimize, to apologize for. But Charlie's hands explored her body with such obvious appreciation that she felt herself blossoming under his touch.
He shifted his weight, pressing deeper inside her, and Felicia gasped at the exquisite fullness. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs as he lifted them higher around his waist.
Felicia's body tightened around him at his words, pleasure coiling low in her belly. She'd spent so long trying to make herself smaller, to fit the mold of what a lady should be, and here was Charlie, worshipping every abundant inch of her.
He rolled them suddenly, bringing her atop him without breaking their connection. The new position made her feel exposed, but the way Charlie looked up at her—like she was a goddess come to earth—banished any self-consciousness.
Felicia braced her hands on his chest, her thighs trembling as she began to move. The sensation was overwhelming—the fullness of him inside her, the way his thumbs circled her nipples, the heat of his gaze as it roamed over her body.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice rough with desire. "Take your pleasure."
She rode him slowly at first, then with increasing urgency as the tension built within her.
Charlie's hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements as his own control began to slip.
"Felicia," he groaned, his head thrown back, exposing the strong column of his throat. "God, you feel—"
The wave crashed over her without warning. Pleasure exploded outward from her core, radiating through her limbs until her entire body shuddered with its force. She cried out his name, her inner walls clenching around him as the sensation overtook her completely.
Her release triggered his own. Charlie's body went rigid beneath her, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs as he pulsed inside her. His face transformed with pleasure—eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent cry, every muscle taut with release.
For several heartbeats, they remained frozen in that perfect moment of ecstasy, connected in the most intimate way possible. Then Felicia collapsed against his chest, her body still trembling with aftershocks.
Charlie's arms came around her, holding her close as their breathing gradually slowed. He pressed soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. His hands stroked lazily up and down her back, tracing the curve of her spine.
"That was..." he murmured against her hair.
"Incredible," she finished for him, her voice muffled against his chest.
They lay tangled together in the hay, sweat cooling on their skin as moonlight painted silver patterns across their bodies. Charlie's heartbeat thundered beneath her ear, gradually slowing to a steadier rhythm.
Reality began to seep back in, bit by bit. Loxley. The land. Their families. The world beyond this hayloft suddenly seemed very complicated indeed.
"What happens now?" Felicia asked, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.
Charlie's arms tightened around her. "Now," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "we plan."
"Plan?"
"Mmm." His hand stroked down her back, coming to rest on the curve of her hip. "First, we deal with Loxley. The man's been stealing from your father for years—I have proof."
Felicia pushed herself up to look at him, her brow furrowed. "What kind of proof?"
