Heat coils through me. My pulse thunders. “Then take me home.”
“Bye Jess.”
“See ya, Charlie.”
He tosses a bill on the bar without looking, guides me out with a hand at my back, shielding me from the crowd—not possessive, exactly, but deliberate.
Outside, the cold hits my cheeks, and I laugh—one sharp, breathless sound. His gaze drops to my mouth. “Get in the car,” he says, voice rough.
“Yes, sir,” I tease.
His eyes flare.
As we head into the night, I know exactly what comes next. And it has everything to do with the way Charlie’s looking at me right now. He’s no longer restrained.
His hunger is taking over.
And nights like this always end up exceptional for me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TWO MONTHS AGO
We pullinto his driveway faster than usual. He cuts the engine, but neither of us moves immediately. The porch light casts a soft glow across his profile, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the controlled rise and fall of his chest.
I reach out, resting my hand on his forearm. “Charlie.”
He turns toward me, and whatever he’s been holding onto snaps. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. I lean into the touch, ready for whatever, when he murmurs. “Inside. Now.”
I nod, breath already shallow. We don’t rush, but there’s urgency in every movement as we climb the steps, unlock the door, step into the quiet warmth of his house. The door closes behind us with a soft click. That sound frees me—sealing us in our own cocoon.
To my surprise, Charlie doesn’t kiss me right away. Instead, he stands there, hands balled at his sides, searching my face like he’s astounded by the choice I’ve already made. I close the space between us until my body is nearly flush with his. Tilting my head, I meet his gaze head-on.
That’s all it takes.
His mouth finds mine with a hunger that steals my breath—not rough but thorough. Like he’s been imagining this moment and denying himself for far too long. His hands slide to my waist, anchoring me, pulling me closer until I can feel the hardness of him everywhere.
I grip the front of his shirt tight, grounding myself in the reality of him.
He kisses me deeper, slower now, like he’s savoring, like he’s memorizing the way I respond to him.
When he breaks away, his forehead rests against mine. “Rhoswen,” he murmurs, voice rough. His thumb brushes under my chin, lifting my face slightly. His gaze softens—just for a second—before the heat returns. “I won’t tolerate anybody disrespecting you.”
My heart tightens. “That’s why you got so angry.”
“Yes.” His eyes hold mine. “He spoke to you with contempt. That was unacceptable. You deserve the world.”
The care in his words sends a rush of warmth through me. My pulse stutters. “Kiss me, Charlie.”
He kisses me again, slower this time, his hands tracing my back, learning the shape of me like this is something sacred. The kiss deepens, heat blooming everywhere he touches, but there’s restraint there too—intentional, deliberate.
I tug lightly at his shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to murmur, “You’re still holding back.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Habit.”
“I don’t want you to,” I say.
He studies my face, searching for hesitation. He doesn’t find it. Instead, he spins us to back me gently against the wall, one hand braced beside my head, the other still at my waist. His body shields mine completely, not trapping me, just… surrounding.
