Page 60 of Charlie

"You won't," he promises, continuing the onslaught.

The visual of his fingers in me is so fucking hot that I can't bear to pull my eyes away. "Oh God," I roll my pelvis against him, on the verge of wetting his bed or having the best orgasm of my life. "I?—"

"You're not going to fucking pee, Charlotte. Stop thinking and feel." He seals his mouth over my clit, alternating between sucking and licking.

I explode underneath him, the pressure finally too much to hold in. I feel liquid gush from me as I rock against his mouth, screaming his name. He reaches over and pulls at one of the ropes, untying it. I pull his head to me, grinding against him until the last tremor fades. He's grinning when he pulls away from me, wiping his face on the towel and then throwing it into the basket next to the bed. "You're fucking magnificent," he says as he unties me, pulling me to him, curling his body around mine as he pulls the fluffy duvet over us.

"Your mouth is what's fucking magnificent," I mumble as I snuggle into his warmth and promptly fall asleep.

33

Ihole myself up in the cottage for three days following the day at the lake. I pour myself into my work, sketching ideas while out on the deck every morning and practicing my rusty calligraphy in front of the fire, sipping hot cocoa every night. On the third day, I finally feel confident enough to roll out the thick, expensive parchment and begin laying out Arty's tree.

I let my mind wander while I work, mainly to the other morning and my conversation with Lorna – to the irrefutable fact that Jack wants kids. He probably doesn't think it's a big deal now, but a couple of years down the road? Regret. Resentment. Heartbreak. I blink quickly, and a tear drops to the parchment; I watch as it sucks ink into its center. I bang my palm on the table, frustrated with myself.

Who says this is even going anywhere? I take a deep breath. It's okay to live in the moment. To enjoy my time in Scotland and then go home like I've been planning from the start. No harm, no foul. Yes, I may leave with a broken heart, but isn't that part of life?

The questions turn round and round in my head until I feel like I'm losing my mind. I put away my art supplies and crank the music, dancing around the cottage, forcing my body to release the stress. My heart nearly leaves my body when someone bangs on the door. I scramble to turn the music down, poking my head out the door to find Jack loaded down with dishes.

"Are ye ignoring us, lass?" He pushes past me, pressing a heated kiss to my lips.

"Just trying to get some work done," I say, praying my smile is convincing.

"I hope you're ready for some company. We've missed you."

"We—?"

"Charlie!" Isla barges through the door, a pitcher of something pink and fruity in her hands, Lachlan right behind her.

"Isla was worried you died, so here we are," he laughs, his eyes sparkling.

I smile, my mood instantly lifting. "I'm glad you're all here. I don’t think I could eat another sandwich if my life depended on it."

"Ew. Why didn’t you tell me? Sandwiches are the worst. " Isla makes a face as she grabs glasses from the kitchen while Jack sets out plates and Lachlan places the utensils.

The three of them move together like a well-oiled machine. It makes me yearn for the tight-knit family I never had. I love my parents, but it wasn't ever easy like this. Jack pulls out a chair for me at the head of the table, and we all sit down. Isla passes around the pitcher of white peach sangria while the guys dish out the food.

Tears well in my eyes. This feels so right. It feels like home. I blow out a shaky breath and take a couple of gulps of wine.

"So why are you ignoring us?" Isla asks, popping a bite of fried fish into her mouth.

"I promise I’m not," I laugh, "I turned my phone off because I needed to get some work done."

Isla raises her eyebrow at me.

I shrug. I’m not exactly going to tell her I’ve been daydreaming about fucking her brother and childhood friend for the last seventy-two hours. Or that I've been giving myself pep talks about leaving.

Lach squeezes my knee under the table, making me jerk. He chuckles, "A little jumpy, lass?"

I give him a dirty look and shove a chip into my mouth, avoiding his question.

The night flies by as we talk, every story we tell reminding one of us of another. I haven't laughed this much in years. I feel so relaxed, my social anxiety completely gone – which I tell myself is the wine even though I know damn well it's the people.

After dinner, Lach and I clean up while Jack works on getting a fire started, and Isla runs back to the house to grab another pitcher of sangria.

"Is everything okay?" Lachlan asks, cornering me in the hallway on my way to the bathroom. He nudges my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "We didn't do anything the other morning that made you uncomfortable, did we?"

His words startle me out of my selfish pity fest. "God, no. You were both amazing."

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