Chapter 37 Charlotte
Charlotte
“I hope you’re happy. I’m never going to get this clay out of my hair,” I called through the bathroom door.
I sank deeper into the enormous tub, letting the hot water soothe the ache between my thighs. Cole popped his head around the door. His eyes raked over me, and I covered myself with my hands.
“What are you doing? Get out.”
Slowly, he rolled the sleeves of his pale-blue shirt to the elbows. “Relax. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
I threw a sponge at him. “You can’t just come in here when I’m in the bath. Get out. Shut the door behind you.”
He dodged the sponge, walked to the gigantic tub, and kneeled down at the side of it. “Come here.” He grabbed a jug from the cabinet underneath the sink. “I’ll help you. Sit up.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue after what had happened between us in the pottery studio. Also, I genuinely needed the help, or I’d be picking dried clay out of my hair for days. I did as he commanded and sat upright in the water, covering my breasts.
Lathering his hands with shampoo, he began washing my hair.
“You don’t have to cover yourself.” Carefully, he massaged the shampoo in with perfect pressure.
Yes, I did. I’d lost my mind in the pottery studio.
Now, I had to scrape back some control. The lush coconut scent filled my nose.
Closing my eyes, I surrendered to his touch.
The tension left my body, like the hot steam curling from the tub. I couldn’t help my sigh of pleasure.
“Feels good?” His voice was a velvet murmur.
Like you have to ask. He had to know I was wrapped around his little finger.
I’d just thrown every one of my inhibitions away and let him have me in such a compromising position.
Anyone could have walked in and seen us.
That had been the wildest thing I’d ever done, but I’d been powerless to resist. “So good.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said before.”
I opened one eye. “What did I say?”
His fingers raked through my hair, carefully picking out clay, like I was something fragile. He rinsed off the shampoo. Hot water cascaded down my neck.
“You met my nephews at the wedding, right? Oliver, the youngest, had a birthday party a couple of years ago. Thirty small children running around in a soft play. It was one of the worst afternoons of my life.”
A laugh burst out of me at his earnest expression. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”
He mock-shuddered. “No. It was. Intolerable. Believe me. I bet there have been less chaotic war zones. I had to lie in a dark room afterward. It took days to recover.”
“Your nephews must have been thrilled to have you there.”
He scooped more water into the jug and tenderly rinsed the ends of my hair.
“Oliver loves to build towers. He made this enormous creation out of blocks while the rest of the children were running wild. But do you know what happened to it? Just as he was putting on the last block, some kid came running across and kicked it over. Oliver didn’t even cry.
He just looked confused. That’s the part that really fucked me off. ”
“This one next.” I passed him a bottle of conditioner. “Kids can be mean sometimes.”
He squeezed the conditioner into a white blob in his hands. “The kid who did it ran off with this look of glee. I helped Oliver rebuild the tower, and if any kid got so much as within a sniff of us, I gave them my death glare.”
“Your death glare? You know you’re going to have to show me now.”
He tilted his chin and stared me down with his icy eyes. It was probably intimidating to anyone else, but it only made me chuckle.
“So, this is basically a story about you terrorizing small children at a party? What does it have to do with me?”
He combed the conditioner through the length of my hair with his fingers. My scalp thrummed with pleasure at his touch.
“The point is, some kids build the towers and some kids kick them over. History is divided into creators and destroyers. Deep down, everyone would prefer to build the tower because that’s where the satisfaction comes from.
The joy is in the creating. You were born a creator.
My mother was the same. My father said her solos were so affecting, she could make a grown man weep. ”
I closed my eyes again, surrendering to the heat and pleasure at his hands. “Anyone can learn to paint if they want to. Anyone can make music. Creativity is within all of us. It’s not some mysterious spark. I wasn’t born a creator. I think artists are made through practice and hard work.”
“But in that moment, for whatever reason, that kid wanted to destroy something someone else had built. Maybe he got a rush from punching down, or maybe he was just jealous because he wanted to build his own tower, but didn’t know how.”
He leaned forward to rinse away the last of the conditioner from my hair.
“My father is a destroyer. I have no doubt he was born that way. It’s all he’s capable of.
He has spent a lifetime kicking over other people’s towers.
It shames me to say, I’ve kicked over a few myself.
It sounds like your old tutor was the same kind of man.
“You can’t allow someone like that to get inside your head. Destroyers spread hate because that’s what they have inside. They don’t know how to do anything else. Never let people like that stop you from building your towers, because then you deprive the world of your gifts, and everyone loses.”
A pang pulled at my heart. If only it were that simple. “And if someone kicks the tower over again? You get hurt twice. It’s easier not to try.”
He fixed his gaze on my breasts. “You think I’m ever going to let anyone get near one of your towers?
” He reached out and gently circled my nipple with his thumb.
“If anyone tries to kick down anything you build, you tell them to go fuck themselves, and you start again. They don’t matter.
Kids don’t build towers to impress art tutors. They do it because they enjoy it.”
“Did you tell a five-year-old to go fuck themselves?”
His hand plunged under the water and explored between my thighs. “No comment.”
Heat surged through my body as his finger slid over my entrance. “There can’t just be creators and destroyers, because which category are you going to put yourself into?”
“I’m a destroyer,” he said without hesitation, his finger circling my clit lightly.
My breath hitched, and I tried to keep rational thought in my head, despite his touch making me senseless. “No. You said yourself you sat there and warded all these other kids away with your death glare. You’re not a creator or a destroyer.”
“Then what am I?”
“A protector. You wouldn’t let anyone get near that tower. I think you’re the favorite uncle for a reason, and not just because you bring gifts. Your nephews see the real Cole. The one you don’t show other people. The one I see.”
His finger slipped inside me at the same time as his mouth covered mine. He kissed me until we were both breathless. My hips jerked against his hand, willing him to work faster. I shouldn’t want this. I can’t not want it.
Breaking the kiss, his eyes locked with mine. “A protector?”
“You’re not full of hate. At least, you didn’t used to be. You don’t have to be now if you don’t want to be. No one is born a creator or a destroyer. You can choose who you want to be.”
He slipped another finger inside me and rubbed my clit just the way I liked. My head fell back, and my fingers gripped the tub painfully. If I let him close, he’ll hurt me again. I can’t fall like this.
“Please.” My breath escaped me in sharp snatches.
He chuckled darkly. “So needy, Mrs. Ackroyd.” Smoothing my wet hair back from my face, he whispered low in my ear. “I won’t make you wait. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come. I want to see you let go with me, Charlotte. Please. That’s all I want. I’m the one who needs to beg.”
He rubbed my clit relentlessly while pumping his fingers in and out of me.
My hips writhed at his mercy, sloshing water over the sides of the tub.
Pleasure sparked at the base of my spine, and a cry left my lips.
I came hard, my pussy clenching around his fingers buried deep.
He bit his lip and groaned. Maybe it was weakness that had made me break the contract, maybe it was forgiveness. Hard to tell the difference anymore.
He kissed the tip of my nose, stood, and grabbed a towel from the rail.
We were due to fly home in two days. The water held me as I caught my breath, but my stomach dropped.
How had the time gone so quickly? What would it be like when we got home?
Back to normal? How could it go back to normal after all of this?
Cole held the towel out and beckoned for me to stand. I got out of the bath, and he wrapped the towel around me, drying me tenderly. I couldn’t put it off any longer. There were still a few places I hadn’t been.
“I need to see the Sistine Chapel. Then on our last day, I want to go to the Trevi Fountain together. We’ll throw a coin in, and that means we’ll come back again.”
He wrapped a towel turban around my head. His eyes clung to mine. “You think we’ll come back again? Together?”
My heart took a leap. “I hope so.”
He took my hand, and despite every reason not to, I let him lead me to the bedroom.