“How do you feel…” he asked, tapping her temple, “in here?”
“Aware,” she said and paused. He seemed to be waiting for her to continue speaking. She swallowed. “Aware of my nudity. Aware of each nerve ending. The cold on my skin. The empty space between my legs. The ache in my arms, legs, and hands.”
He traipsed a finger from the top of her spine to the top of her tailbone. “What do you feel when I touch you?”
She blew out a breath and closed her eyes. “I feel alive. I feel fire.”
She believed this man could bring to fruition and then satiate the things she didn’t even know she desired.
“Come here, Audrey.”
She stepped inside the modest bathroom. It was warm and still a little steamy, and it smelled like the shower and whatever Gavin used for shampoo.
“Closer, baby girl. I want you to shave me.”
“What?” She shook her head and felt her cheeks heat. “I can’t. I might cut you.”
He pressed his palms against the countertop, dropped his chin, and stared at the sink full of water. “You’ve already sheared me.” He looked up, peered into her eyes, and placed the razor in her hand. “I trust you … and I will guide you. It’s not difficult.”
Her eyes closed, then opened. Everything with him sometimes felt like slo-mo. His arms were so close, threatening to tear his shirt to shreds with a sudden movement. His leather and cedar permeated her nose. Her flesh broke out in goose pimples as her nipples turned to stone.
“Concentrate. You’ll shave me, and I’ll tell you a story. Start with the sides. Top to bottom. Go ahead.”
“Gavin,” she whispered with a smile.
Taking her hand, he placed it where he wanted her to begin. “Care for me as you do yourself.”
Their eyes met and locked for several heartbeats, seconds in which she couldn’t breathe properly. Caring for herself had become something she did last, not foremost. He could surely see things in her gaze: hesitation and insecurities. He’d seen them the day he’d fed her the potato soup.
“Top to bottom.” He dragged her palm with his toward his ear. “Good girl.”
Her hand seemed to trip on the compliment, and he caught it and smiled. “I trust you, Audrey. Now listen to me.”
“You think I’m a hooker?”
The fiercely brooding guy I met at the bar needed to check his asshole behaviour. Still, he fast turned into the distraction I needed from my life. But it wasn’t romance. Couldn’t be. Running was my MO. This time I’m hiding in paradise, hoping I can stay alive, and trying to ignore the one person I’ve never been able to — my brother.
The problem is, I didn’t know who Nate Cane really was, and I didn’t know what was coming for me either.
“You try it again, and I’m done.”
That’s what I said to my brother when he challenged me. I meant every damn word. This time it’s my rules. My life. My game.
But the woman I met at that bar hid her devious eyes from me. She wasn’t who I thought, and life has a way of determining your future, no matter the odds. Gabriella Alves might have started as a calculated fling — dirty, far from innocent, and mine — but then hell came after her and invaded my world. And a Cane always protects what’s his.
Odds be damned.
Loyalty. Family. Dark. Erotic. Romance.
Charlotte is an Dark Erotic Suspense/Romance author living in the heart of the Shropshire countryside in Great Britain. She’s lived all over the UK, but finally settled in a small town that still reeks of old school England.
Writing and poetry have become a revolution for the soul, and she cherishes every second that she’s sitting at the laptop tapping her way into a new character.
“Life is a torrent of differences, different needs and wants, and it doesn’t always end that well. Yet we strive …”
Charlotte E Hart
Most of Charlotte’s work is bdsm based and intended for mature audiences only.
Rachel De Lune writes emotionally driven contemporary and erotic romance.
She began scribbling her stories of dominance and submission in the pages of a notebook several years ago, and still can’t resist putting pen to real paper. What ifs are turned into heartfelt stories of love where there will always be a HEA.
Rachel lives in the South West of England and daydreams about shoes with red soles, lingerie and chocolate. If she’s not writing HEAs, she’s probably reading them. She is a wife and has a beautiful daughter.
For every woman who’s ever desired more.