Page 75 of When Hearts Awaken

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 ismypleasure 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 feelanythingfor 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.

Chapter 32

“Sir Ian, what areyour thoughts about your Parisian performances? The reviews were lukewarm—are you disappointed?”

There’s a quiet murmur from the press—pens scratching against paper, the shutter sounds from cameras, whispers and furtive glances. I look at my uncle, finding him sitting tall in his seat behind the long table where we’re having our first international joint press conference in Prague, the second international stop of the tour, between ABTC and Bank of Columbia to discuss the tour and the donations we’ve raised so far.

Ian appears to be smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. This is the smile he taught me when I was young—lips tilted a fraction, eyes slightly squinting to fake the genuine thing.

A muscle twitches on his forehead, but his expression doesn’t waver.

---