Page 33 of Charlotte's Kisses

Hugh held Charlotte’s satedbody close to him, trying to decide what to do about his excruciatingly stiff cock. He had known that despite being innocent, she would be passionate, and he’d been correct. But claiming her maidenhood seemed wrong when he could never truly be with her. She was the daughter of a blasted marquess. Add to that, for every ounce of her sweet innocence, he was ten pounds of ill-tempered letch.

And yet… She brought out his gentle side. There was something to be said for that, was there not?

Unfortunately, her aristocratic relatives were absolute fools. On the other hand, he had been raised by hard-working, loving parents. His sister, Elizabeth, was a bit free-spirited with men, but she was generous and warm-hearted. In contrast, Charlotte’s brother was a pompous arse.

And that was just her brother society knew about. Unbeknownst to everyone, Charlotte had at least a half-dozen siblings, and Theodore was a drunken, privileged man-whore. However, who was Hugh to pass judgment? His profession was the only thing that made him respectable, and now even that was on the line. But that was because he did not tolerate browbeating bullies. At least, that is what he told himself.

And her stepmother was beyond evil, possibly even abusive, and definitely dangerous.

All of these musings led Hugh to realize that he may not have a rank or title, but he needed to stay close to Charlotte because something about her current situation fueled his apprehension. As for tupping her? As much as he wanted to, he should simply leave them both with the memories of her orgasm as he feasted on her sweet quim.

Purring like a content cat, Charlotte snuggled against him.

He beamed at her, which was bloody ridiculous because he did not beam.

“That was lovely, Hugh,” she said as she slid her hand beneath his shirt.

How in the blazes was he to abstain when her touch scorched his skin, the scent of her orgasm hung in the air, and the taste of her desire still clung to his tongue?

“Charlotte, you deserve better than me,” he whispered.

Her fingertips caressed his chest as she shook her head. “Do not say such foolish things. I want to be with you, Hugh Fletcher.”

His throbbing cock, stabbed into the soft curve of her hip.

“I cannot offer you a commitment. You need to marry someone of your class.” Bloody preposterous. Why had he mentioned commitment and marriage to a chit?

His angst only lasted for a moment because this was not just any chit—this was his Firefly. She was sheer magic. If permitted, he might like to spend forever with her. But since that was impossible, the thought bore no further attention.

Charlotte looked up at him, her eyes clouded over with lust. “I am inexperienced and am unsure how to ask for what I desire.”

How in the devil was he to react to such an honest revelation? He caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “But I want to know. Tell me. What do you want?”

She smiled—a blasted, twinkling smile, warming him to his soul.

The moon? The stars? His heart? Whatever she wanted, it was hers.

She sat tall, fully exposing her luscious breasts. “Could I see you naked?” Her cheeks flushed crimson, and her lashes fluttered. “You have seen me.”

Well damn, that was not what he had expected her to say. “Of course.” Impatient bull that he was, he rid himself of his shirt, trousers, and stockings in mere seconds.

Would it be an arse move for him to stand up and turn around so that she could witness the entirety of his nakedness? He was quite proud of his physique, having honed and sculpted his muscles in the boxing saloon. And, just maybe, this passionate princess might appreciate his hard work.

Grinning, he stood. His cock stuck straight out, obscenely pointing at Charlotte. Hopefully, the monstrous thing did not scare her back into her frock.

Although she brought her hand to her mouth, it did not hide her gasp. Her gaze traveled from his cock to his eyes, then back down to his cock, and she swallowed.

Cocky shite that he was, he leisurely turned in a circle providing her a view of his back and arse. Her breathy pants indicated approval, and her worshiping gaze made him feel like a bloody king.

She stood and approached. Her disheveled hair hung past her shoulders, and the lantern light dappled over her pale, unblemished skin.

The second she touched his pectorals, every muscle in his body tensed to the point of delicious pain. He hissed.

She gently ran her hand over the bruises on his shoulder. “You are so strong, and you are healing well.”

“Because you are a fine physician.” As well as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Yes, indeed. He favored blonde hair, big blue eyes, and soft feminine curves.

Forming fists, he fought to keep his arms hanging by his side because otherwise, he would greedily paw at her breasts, and for now, he would allow her to explore unmolested.