Page 107 of Duke's Daring Bookworm
“That’s it.” Charles stroked himself faster. “Such a pretty girl. Let me hear you.”
Oh god.
If I did that, the real Charles might hear me, too. “Fuck,” I said too loudly at the thought that he might hear me. I’d had this fantasy before, but there was never a possibility of it being real. “Oh, fuck. Charles.”
My orgasm came over me in a tidal wave, erasing everything but the feel of pleasure and release. Imaginary Charles was still there, though now he was kneeling beside the tub as I came down.
“Such a good girl coming for me, Angel,” he said as he ran his hands through my hair. I closed my eyes and reveled in theremnants of him before he too disappeared, and the inevitable shame replaced everything good.
When that finally happened, the water had cooled, and the steam cleared from the room. I drained the tub and took a quick, hot shower to rinse away any soap and gather my courage before going out and seeing the real Charles again.
I hoped he hadn’t heard.
I also hoped he had.
Chapter 8
Charles
Trying again looked like dinner, steaks with my signature honey butter and a side of sweet potatoes. I searched through the cabin for a tablecloth, or something that could be used as one, and a candle. I knew I wasn’t getting anything so nice as a flower in this storm, but I wanted to do the best I could with what was here.
Jess slipped away into the bathroom before I could say anything to her. She was still hiding from me. I immediately pictured her in the bath with soapy water sluicing down her pale skin and hiding every part I wanted to explore.Fuck.It was tempting to go take care of the problem that image produced, but I wanted to take advantage of the time to get dinner finished and make the place look as good as I could.
Jess walked out of the bathroom, steam billowing behind her, her hair curling slightly from the moisture, draped head to foot in a heavy robe. That couldn’t have been comfortable in the warm steam of the bathroom. For that matter, it wouldn’t have been practical in Savannah, either. I tried not to smile at the thought that she brought it just to be armor against me.
“Dinner’s almost done,” I said simply. “Go get dressed and I’ll have it plated and ready to eat.” She stared at the dining table, decked out in an extra sheet, the best settings this place boasted, and a candle for a moment before darting into thebedroom. I was a little worried when she took longer than I expected to come out, and I prayed she wouldn’t decide to keep hiding.
When she emerged, she was dressed in tight jeans and a light sweater. Damn, she looked good. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she dressed up for me. I pulled out her chair for her as she walked into the kitchen.
“Thank you,” she said. She looked up at me, an odd expression on her face, like she couldn’t quite figure something out.
“I hope you’re ok with steak and sweet potatoes. It’s a favorite of mine,” I said as I made my way to the seat across from her.
She assessed her dinner like it was going to bite her, but the moan that came out of her mouth on the first bite of food was borderline indecent and definitely something I wanted to hear again. My jeans were suddenly too tight, and my chest swelled with pride. I drew that sound out of her, even if it was just with food.
“I never would have thought honey on steak would be good, but this is amazing,” she said after a few more bites. I sat there, transfixed. Watching her enjoy the food, watching her tongue dart out and lick the honey from her lips, was driving me crazy. If we didn’t figure this out, I was going to combust.
“I love honey on my meat,” I said with a giant grin. It took her a minute to follow me, but she snorted with laughter and rolled her eyes as soon as she did. That was more of a reaction from her than I’d gotten all day.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said as she took another bite and melted into her seat from how good it was.
“Anytime, Angel.”
Her smile fell at the nickname.Shit.I didn’t want that.
Dinner conversation was awkward after that, and I was kicking myself for screwing this up. Maybe I was delusional, thinking I could make us work again.
“Why did you end it?” I ripped the band-aid off after dinner. The question had been stewing for years and every effort I’ve made to let her warm up to me this weekend had been met with more resistance and not less. I probably should have kept it to myself, but the words were out of my mouth before I could swallow them down again. If I was going to fuck up, I might as well fuck up royally, I guess.
“What?” She asked. She went still, her arm no longer brushed mine while we washed and dried dishes.
“Why did you break up with me?” I pressed. She wasn’t getting out of this. I needed an answer.
“Oh, you know,” she said evasively. “It just wouldn’t have worked.” Her voice was higher than usual as she carefully went back to washing a plate, staunchly refusing to look my way.
“No.” I turned towards her, putting the dish down I was holding so I wouldn’t accidentally break it in frustration. “I don’t know. Enlighten me.”
“Do we really have to go over this?” She stopped pretending to wash dishes and finally turned to look at me.
