Grace
Charles’ lips were warm and insistent against mine, igniting a fire that had been steadily building between us. The air around us seemed charged with tension and desire, the electric current of attraction drawing us closer with every passing moment. My heart raced in response, the memory of his touch lingering on my skin. More. I wanted more. By the moon, if I had to hold back any longer from having this man, I was going to break something.
He groaned into my mouth, thrusting his tongue with a sensual promise.
“So good,” he panted, shifting until he was pressing me into the couch. “So—”
Charles pulled away sharply, sitting up. I blinked, flustered, and about to ask why he stopped when I heard her voice.
“Mommy?” I went still and turned slowly as the sound of Cecil’s tiny feet
