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Tucking the bag under my arm, I take a cursory glance around the place for anything that Charlotte might want to bring back with her. I am not letting her return here.
My eyes fall on a faded green photo album, sticking out from under a pile of newspapers. Picking it up, I casually skim through it, curious about what photographs are so valuable to her.
Some of them are of her and her mother, some of Agatha and her, a few with my grandmother. But as I turn page after page, I notice the majority of the photographs are of me, and both of us, just causal snaps that Agatha took and printed out for her.
The last page is a picture of me, with her tucked under my arm, where I was grinning at the camera and she was looking mortified, trying to escape my hold.
The picture takes the entirety of the page and looks worn out, as if it has been held a lot.
Urgency building up, I move through the album again, and then close it with a snap, a frown on my face.
I’d assumed that Charlotte moved on after what I did, but the pictures she kept tell a whole other story.
Is Charlotte still in love with me?
Hope blooms in my chest. I tuck the album into the bag and carry it downstairs.
Watching from the door, I notice the way she runs her hands over the new coffee maker, clearly in awe. Turning around, she gives away a gasp when she sees me standing at the door.
“Why are you lurking?” I take a step forward, forcing my heartbeat under control. “Philip?”
There is a new wariness in her tone.
I can’t help it, and when she takes a step back, I corner her in the kitchen, where the bodyguards can’t see her.
“I love you,” I murmur to her, making her eyes widen. Her cheeks turn red.
“Why are you saying that right now?”
I run my thumbs over her cheek and see the way her eyes darken in desire. I drop a kiss on her cheek, then her nose, then her jaw, urgency driving my actions.
“Because I can. Because I want to,” I murmur to her, and feel her arms wrap around me, as I taste and tease her skin. She is getting caught up in my fervor, and I feel the way her nipples tighten under her shirt.
“Come to bed with me,” I murmur in her ear. “Let me show you.” My hands move over her curves, touching, petting, learning. She shivers under my experienced hands, but doesn’t say a word. “Charlotte, let me love you.”
A sigh of acquiescence, and then I hear the whispered ‘yes’ that is filled with heat.
I don’t think. I grab her hand to drag her to the car, but she shakes her head, biting her lower lip.
“No. Here.”
Her desperation seems to match mine at the moment, and I make sure we are in a corner that is not visible.
I capture her mouth in a fervent kiss, as my hands struggle to pull up her shirt. As I ravish her mouth and her neck, planting wet kisses, and biting into her soft skin, leaving my marks on her, she shudders and makes small sounds.
Pushing up her shirt, I don’t take it off, instead leaving it on her arms, above her head, and effectively leaving her helpless and bound.
My hand cups one of her breasts, and squeezes the firm mound, making her cheeks flush. As the color spreads down to her chest, I smirk, enjoying her small gasps. My fingers tease her nipple, making it hard. Her soft lips part in a moan when I pinch the hardened nub.
My own erection grows hard at the way she is wiggling before me, and my mouth waters at the sight of the pink nub.
I want it in my mouth. I want to suck on it until it is red and swollen.
And so, I do.
Leaning my head down, I take her nipple into my mouth and suck, my tongue teasing and lashing out at it, making her move in frustration. I can tell she wants to drag my head even closer.
The moans that slip out of her mouth are turning me on, and I like the way she is helpless under my touch.
