Page 54 of Charlie

Watching Jack build a bonfire for the last thirty minutes has been a true test of self-control. His wild hair is pulled back into a bun, shirt long-forgotten, tattoos on full display. His skin is velvety in the evening light, and I desperately want to run my hands over him to find out if it's as soft as it looks.

I pull my towel tighter around my arms, tucking my legs up against my torso. The air has a bite to it, but I can't bear to stray from his orbit. I'm tracing his back muscles with my eyes when he stands and turns, my eyes once again level with his crotch. I look for a second longer than I should before raising my head, our gazes colliding. He bites his lip, his eyes dark as they slowly coast over my body.

"Are you cold?" he asks, arching his eyebrow.

"A little." I cover my breasts to hide the evidence. He smirks and tosses me his discarded hoodie before turning back to the fire. His scent invades all my senses as I pull it on over my bikini top. I close my eyes and breathe in, the image of him stretched out over me flashes in my mind, a spike of lust lodging in my core.

I open my eyes and take several deep breaths, wrestling for self-control. I try thinking of everything except him, but my body has a mind of its own, the heartbeat between my legs growing stronger every second. I squeeze my thighs together, desperate. Jack's gaze flies to mine, taking in my hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. I straighten, a stubborn tilt to my chin.

"Can I help you with something?"

His brogue sets every tiny hair on my body at attention. I shiver, swallowing a groan as I shift in my seat.

"Touch yourself, Charlotte," he whispers. The firelight flickers around him, he looks like a Greek fire god here to avenge my tragic sex life.

"What? No!" I hiss, "Someone will see us!" I can hear Isla and Lorna laughing up on the deck, and even though I know they can't see us, they only need to come down the stairs and look to the right to have a direct view.

His eyes are pinned to the apex of my thighs, to the moisture gathering there. "Fuck, Charlotte." He palms his cock, rubbing himself through his swim trunks. I watch, breathless, as the veins on his arm pop out more with each stroke of his hand. His gaze brands me, and I know without a doubt that I'll never be the same after this.

"Touch yourself," he commands, erasing any willpower I have left.

Oh, God. This is really happening.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I run my hand over my breast, arching my back as I roll my nipple between my fingers. Jack's stilted groan gives me the confidence to keep going. I slide my hand over my stomach, then lower, opening my legs. Jack steps closer, dropping to his knees just out of reach.

"Keep going." His voice is ragged, his hand keeping a steady pace on his cock.

I push my fingers under the fabric of my swimsuit, slowly sliding one finger over my slit. I'm soaking wet.

"I need to see you," he whispers as he unties the sides of my swimsuit and pulls the fabric away. "You're so fucking perfect."

"Your turn," I rasp, feeling like I'll die if I don't see all of him.

Jack jerks down his swim trunks and then sits back on his heels, his hand stroking from base to tip.

I sink a finger inside me as the head of his cock disappears in his hand, a whimper escaping my lips. The fire outlines his muscled body, every square inch of him bathed in flickering light. Toes digging into the earth, thick thighs spread wide, broad shoulders tapering down to washboard abs. I watch as he moves his hand over himself, mirroring his movements with my fingers.

"Can I?" Jack asks, sliding a hand up my leg and kneading my thigh.

I don't know what he's asking, but the answer is yes. Always yes. I nod. He pushes a thick finger into me, and I arch against his hand, my hips bucking in the air.

"Fuck," he mutters, frustration and lust warring over his features as he watches me come undone. He pulls his finger from me and spreads my arousal over his cock.

"Jack, please," I whimper, bereft without him inside me.

He closes the distance between us and pushes my legs wide, his hands rough. His eyes are barely open as he plunges two fingers into me. I roll my hips against him, my ass sliding to the edge of the chair. He pulls out and licks his fingers, his gaze never leaving mine. He rests his head on my inner thigh, heavy breaths puffing against my sex. He breathes in, a deep groan vibrating through him and into me. I contort, trying to get his mouth on me, but he only pushes his fingers into me again.

He chuckles. "Not until we're somewhere no one can hear you scream, mo maighdeann-mhara."

I moan, cradling my clit between my fingers, pushing and pulling in time with his thrusts, his other hand pumping furiously.

It's too much. I drop my head back against the chair.

"Look at me, damn it." His voice is deeper, darker. An edgy side he hasn't shown me yet. I meet his gaze.

"Good girl." He moans my name as our hands pick up speed. We come together, our gasps and groans melding into an obscene symphony. He waits for the tremors to stop before pulling his fingers away, licks them clean, then cups my face, bringing my mouth to his in a mind-melting kiss. We break apart to breathe, and he presses his forehead to mine, chest heaving.

"What did that mean?" I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck, the warmth of his skin keeping the cold at bay.

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