Page 83 of The Charm of You

My entire body erupts into cheers, with sweet pleasure on the horizon.

“Let’s see how wet you are for me tonight,” he whispers against my swollen lips.

My sharp inhale echoes between us at the sensual scrape of his voice against my flushed cheek, plus the feel of his fingertips against my heat.

“You’re so wet, Homecoming Queen. Wetter than last night,” he says with a hint of awe. “Is it because your pussy knows just how good I can make you feel? Are you thinking about how well my cock fits inside you? Because that’s all I fucking thought about today.”

“Yes.” I swallow to wet my dry throat. “Yes,” I repeat.

“No man has ever made you come so hard, have they?” He hooks one thick finger inside me, skillfully curling it with the exact amount of pressure I need, like he really needs to prove how right he is.

He thrusts a second finger alongside the first, and my hips buck into the air like a wild bull, begging for release, even though he’s just started.

But I can’t take it anymore.

I need this—I need him.

I gasp into his mouth, then lose myself in his sinful kiss and all the sensations he elicits. At one point, I find myself turning my body to the side and angling myself into his hand. I hitch my leg over his, and I shamelessly ride his hand all the way to ecstasy.

“You’re so fucking sexy, Caroline,” he growls into my neck.

My chin falls to his bare shoulder, and my mouth hangs open as a mix of arousal and surprise washes over me.

He used my name. He never uses my real name, and the fact that he growled it like a caveman while his fingers work me into a frenzy catapults my body into a whole new realm of bliss.

How will I ever recover from him?

I’m captivated under his touch and his filthy words, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear the door downstairs open.

“Oh!” I yelp and dig my fingers into the ripples of Austin’s back as I near the edge, ready to jump.

But my mother’s voice drifts upstairs, like she’s on the phone—loud and clear.

And my bedroom door sits wide open.

“Fuck,” Austin hisses, and I roll off the bed onto my feet, my leggings soaked and my knees wobbly.

“Right,” my mother says to whomever she’s talking to. “I’ll have the napkins, plates, cups…”

Her voice trails off as my thundering heart replaces any other sound in this house.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I spin in circles, equally aroused and disappointed. There’s also the large helping of embarrassment seeping into my distracted, wholly unsavory mind.

I toss Austin’s shirt at him, then leap to close the door.

I look at Austin—bad idea. I catch him right before he lowers his shirt over the rest of his abs, and as if on cue, I drool again.

But now is not the time to appreciate such magnificence.

My freaking mother is here, and I feel like a teenager breaking the rules, at the top of which was always: No boys allowed in my room. Ever.

While my mom had other rules, this one was my father’s biggest and most strongly enforced.

My head is a cloudy mess of arousal and panic as I point to the window. “You have to go out that way.”

“What?” Austin blinks, his blue eyes hazed much like I imagine mine are. He’s in a stupor too, like we’re drunk on each other and about to be asked to walk in a straight line.

A test we’d both fail.

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