Page 121 of Charlie

"Aye, that you did," he rumbles, a twinkle in his eye. He checks to ensure I’m safely inside before closing the door and double-checking that it's secure. He walks around to the other side and climbs in, his head almost touching the roll bar above us, his hands making the steering wheel look like a toy car. My gaze follows the veins from his fingers over the back of his hand and up his forearms. I clear my throat and shift in my seat, squeaking when he grips my knee, sliding his hand up to the top of my thigh and squeezing. My knees open on their own as his hand travels higher, and I slam them closed, but not before his pinkie brushes against me, lighting me up.

"Ready?" he asks, chuckling.

"Always," I murmur, checking that my seatbelt is locked in place. Jack presses the pedal to the floor, and we peel away from the barn, mud and rock flying out behind us as we skid out. He whips the wheel around to straighten us out, and then we’re flying over the field, my butt flying out of my seat with every bump.

"Is this made to take this kind of abuse?" I ask, my teeth knocking together, my knuckles white as I hang on for dear life.

"It can take way more than these little bumps," he laughs, his attention snagging on my breasts, jiggling like Jell-O under my sweater. "I think we’re going to have to do this more often," he says, winking, his lips twisting as he tries to hold back his smile.

"I'm wearing a sports bra if there’s a next time," I say, grimacing as I cup my hands over my boobs and hold them in place.

"Why don’t I do that for you? You can steer," he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows. And that’s when it happens. He’s concentrating on my tits and doesn’t see the giant mud puddle in front of us. He tries to avoid it at the last minute, but it’s too late, the muddy water drenching us from head to toe.

"Fuck, I’m sorry," he says, stricken, pulling to a stop. I look over at him, the streaks of mud on his cheek, down his shirt and pants.

"Again," I laugh, wiping mud from under his eye. All I can think about is how we'll clean this mud off later. Hopefully, it will involve us being naked. Together.

The farm tour turns into three hours of mudding. It's the most fun I've had in years – maybe ever. The second Jack notices me shivering, he turns back toward the barn. Then he's by my side, pulling off my helmet and drawing me into a gritty, muddy kiss.

"Thank you," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck and giving him a tight hug.

"For what?" he asks, taking my hand and pulling me toward the castle.

"For the tour," I say, smiling up at him. "I had a lot of fun." He looks down at me, a light blush staining his cheeks. God, I want to see him blush like that in the bedroom.

"My pleasure, mo chridhe. We better get washed up before the chef comes," he says, attempting to brush the mud off his clothes before we step inside.

"I forgot to bring a change of clothes," I groan, mentally cursing myself.

"No worries, I have a robe you can use," Jack says, leading me down the hallway.

"You want me to wear a robe while we cook dinner?"

"I will if you will," he says, a dare in his eyes.

I imagine him in a robe. Easy access to all that warm skin and muscle. Easy access to everything.

"Deal."

Jack opens a carved wooden door, and a gust of steam billows out, enveloping us. The entire room is covered in marble, including the sunken pool in the middle of the floor.

"Holy shit," I breathe, looking around in awe. "What is this place?" I ask, looking back at Jack, the flickering light from the wall sconces bathing him in a golden glow.

"Isla and I think it used to be the bathing chamber for the lady of the house," Jack says, encouraging me inside with a hand on the small of my back. "Once upon a time it was filled by a hot spring, but that dried up years ago. My parents had it plumbed when I was little. We would come in here, spread out a picnic on the side, and swim and splash while we ate."

He shakes himself out of the memory, shrugging off his flannel and letting it puddle on the floor. Grabbing the hem of his t-shirt, he pulls it over his head in one swift motion.

I can’t move. Can’t even breathe.

The humidity beads on his skin, tiny droplets caressing the ridges of his muscles before they disappear into the waistband of his pants. I bend and catch one with my tongue, licking up over his ribs and chest, swirling my tongue around his nipple. I straighten, pulling off my sweater and dropping it on top of his clothes. His eyes are molten lava, an inferno of tension burning between us. I hook my fingers in the waistband of his joggers and push them down over his ass so they fall to the floor.

"Much better," I breathe, closing the distance between us. I pull him against me, his cock hard against my stomach. He pushes a strand of hair out of my face and tilts my chin, pressing a kiss to my lips. His callouses scrape my skin as he smooths his hands down my arms, over my waist, fumbling with the button of my jeans before helping me take them off. We shed our underwear, and then we're yelling as we plunge into the pool together.

Jack backs me against the ledge, his hands tangling in my hair as he angles my head and plunders my mouth. When we're both out of breath, he kisses my neck, licking and biting down to my clavicle. He cups my breast rolling my nipple between his fingers, a groan from deep in his throat lodging in my core like a poker, stoking the fire impossibly higher.

I hoist myself onto the ledge, and it becomes clear that this room was not made with only women in mind – Jack's cock is exactly level with my pussy.

"Fuck," Jack whispers, his gaze pausing between my open legs before traveling up my body. "Charlotte," he says, his voice rough, "Lay on your stomach with your legs in the water. I want to eat you out without worrying about you being uncomfortable."

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