Page 114 of Love at First Fright

Charlie pressed a kiss to my ribs. Soft lips against cold skin. “Lies,” he murmured against my sternum.

Then lower. “If it wasn’t real, then I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

His tongue dragged all the way up to my nipple. Wet heat. Then teeth—just a nip, just enough pressure to make me gasp.

The moan that tore out of me sounded feral. Desperate. Like something from one of those badly acted pornos.

“Or this.” Charlie’s mouth moved to my neck. Licked a slow stripe up to my jaw.

“Or this.” His teeth caught my earlobe. Tugged. Then released to suck my bottom lip into his mouth, pulling gently before letting go.

My dick throbbed. Throbbed, throbbed, throbbed. I had to swallow down the words rising in my throat—touch me there, please, please touch me there, I’ll do anything—because I refused to be that pathetic. That needy.

Even though I absolutely was.

Charlie’s hands continued their exploration. Mapped the topography of my chest. Traced the ladder of my ribs, carefully avoiding my death wound. Smoothed over the sharp jut of my hip bones. His palms skated across my stomach—concave, as it always was—and down to my thighs.

Each touch felt like revelation. Like archaeology. Like he was excavating something precious from beneath layers of dust and forgetting.

“Fuck, you’re so cold,” he breathed, marvelling as he stroked every inch of skin he could reach.

“Sorry about that,” I mumbled. “Side effect of being dead.”

“I don’t mind.” His fingers trailed down my inner thigh. So close to where I needed him. Not close enough. “It’s nice. Refreshing.”

I chose to believe him.

His hand moved higher.

Higher.

Charlie hooked his fingers into the waistband of my briefs—black, of course—and I whimpered.

Fucking whimpered.

Like some desperate, touch-starved creature who’d been locked in a tower for a hundred years. Which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth.

My brain scrambled. Short-circuited. Sparked like faulty wiring in a condemned building.

Charlie—lovely, gorgeous Charlie—was about to see my dick. Touch my dick. Do things to my dick that I’d very recently fantasised about while hiding in a dark corner of this manor, hand wrapped around myself.

My underwear came off with a whisper of sound, my cock springing free. Long and flushed, thicker than my lanky frame might suggest. Standing at attention like it had been waiting its entire non‑existence for that exact moment.

Yes. Yes. Fucking hell, yes!

Charlie stared down at it. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Those perfect, soft lips that had kissed mine in the garden. That had sucked on my bottom lip just moments ago.

Then he lowered his head.

Moved his mouth toward my dick.

If I’d had a functioning heart, it would have stuttered to a complete stop. Flatlined. Called it quits right there.

Because I couldn’t believe, absolutely could not process the fact that I was about to be inside Charlie’s mouth. That those lips would wrap around me. That his tongue would—

The warmth of his breath ghosted across the tip.

Just the breath.