Page 55 of The Wicked

Oh. My. Gosh.

“I need to gag that stupid voice inside my head.”

“No gagging, not this evening. I have plans for your dirty mouth. Are you ready to take this inside yet? Or shall we go for third time lucky right here against this column?”

“Are you talking about sex?”

“I’m not talking about playing the lotto.” He trailed kisses down my jaw. “If ‘pretty terrible’ is your baseline, I can raise it with one finger.”

“That’s just a figure of speech, right?”

He shook his head. “That’s all I need to find your G-spot.”

“Isn’t that a myth? I’m almost certain I don’t have one of those.”

“Do you want me to show you?”

I chewed on my bottom lip—a bad habit—and he let out a low groan.

“How long would it take?” I asked.

“Longer than nineteen seconds.”

I glanced in the direction of the main house, but all was still. If the Baldwins saw Charming here, they’d lose their collective minds.

“Then I guess you should come inside.”

As soon as the door closed behind us, I pulled the drapes in every room to hide the evidence of my illicit activities. The last thing I wanted to do was answer awkward questions.

“Where’s your car?” I asked him.

“In the parking lot by the beach. I was heading up to the main house when I saw footprints leading this way and got curious.”

“Why didn’t you drive in through the front gate?”

“If I’d buzzed the intercom, would you have answered? Or would you have hidden behind the couch and waited for me to leave?”

How did this man I’d only just met know me so well? When I didn’t answer right away, he raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, the second one. Did anyone see you come here?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because if you found me, then you must have worked out who I’m related to.”

“Uncle Sam spent a great deal of taxpayer money teaching me how to sneak behind enemy lines. Trust me, nobody knows I’m here. Are you done stalling now?”

“I…” What could I tell him but the truth? “I’m scared.”

Charming’s gaze softened, and he took both of my hands in his. “Tell me what worries you, Cinderella.”

“You,” I whispered, unable to look at him. “What if I do something wrong? The more time we spend together, the more terrified I get that I’ll lose you. Not that I really have you, but—”

“You have me.”

“I do?”

“Yes, you do. And there’s no right or wrong in sex, just what feels good and what doesn’t. Every person has different tastes, and the only way to find out what you like is to experiment. And communicate. No lies.”

---