caught staring. She liked watching him. With his unruly, windswept black hair, and his dark stubble, despite the faded jeans and that dark blue hoodie, he definitely resembled the pirate he had jokingly claimed to be earlier.
Her fingers—the same ones which had so enjoyed stroking his prickly stubble—lifted to trace her still tingling lips. She knew that he had wanted more than that soft kiss, but he hadn’t made any protest when she had moved away from him.
She contemplated the kiss. She had liked his lips; curved, firm and smooth, she had enjoyed how mobile they had felt beneath hers. She had daringly traced the seam of his mouth with her tongue, but he hadn’t taken it as an invitation to stick his tongue down her throat. He had merely allowed her to explore as she pleased.
But she regretted not taking the time to discover more. She still wanted to touch the chest that so fascinated her, wanted to feel his weight on top of her, and his thighs between hers…her nipples hardened at the exciting thought. And she very nearly forgot herself and touched them.
Her breathing accelerated, and the long-neglected inner walls of her pussy tightened in anticipation. She wanted to feel him there. Inside her. Hard. Hot. She wanted him above her…No better; beneath her, and she wanted him to command her to come. In that deep, controlled voice.
The thought of it excited her, thrilled her. But also terrified her. How could she be so helplessly aroused at the thought of allowing any man such control over her again?
How dare you touch yourself while you’re sucking my cock, you little whore? I didn’t say you could come!
She was nearly overwhelmed by the surge of nausea that hit her at the uninvited, repulsive memory. And she shuddered in all-consuming horror.
Her burgeoning arousal was immediately dampened.
She could never again trust anyone to have such absolute dominion over her mind, body, and soul.
Never again.
Stormy’s shrill barking wrenched her from her horrific recollections, and she looked up to see what had stirred the pup into such a frenzy. Charity recognized the huge scarred dog—a boxer—before she even registered the jogger who had stopped to shake hands with Miles.
Stormy, showing more wisdom than Charity would ever have given her credit for, dove behind Miles legs and barked at the man and dog from between his calves. The boxer, so much more well-behaved than the pup stared off into the distance, ignoring everyone around him, while his owner—Charity’s self-defense instructor—Sam Brand, shook Miles’s hand.
“Hey, I heard you were in town,” Sam said by way of greeting. Not even a hint of wind in his voice to indicate that he’d just been full on running over sand dunes.
“Yes, I arrived a couple of weeks ago. Stormy, sit!”
Shockingly the pup obeyed and stopped barking, but she continued to voice the occasional kittenish growl at Sam’s dog, Trevor. The larger dog tossed her a disdainful glance before looking away again.
“Sorry, Sam, she’s a former stray. Showed up in the middle of a storm. I’ve been attempting to train her. With limited success.”
“That’s okay, Trevor is used to little dogs with Napoleon complexes. He won’t hurt her. Training takes time and patience. The veterinary practice offers puppy training and socialization classes on Wednesdays if you’re interested.”
“I might look into that. Dr. McGregor, right?”
“That’s the one. He’s my future father-in-law.”
The familiarity between the two men surprised Charity. She hadn’t realized that they were this well acquainted. They were both English, maybe it was an expat thing?
“Sam, I take it you know Charity?” Miles asked, and Charity, who had been hovering about a yard away, nodded and smiled awkwardly when both men looked at her.
The two men were similar in height, both a couple of inches under six feet. But while Sam was blond and sported a healthy tan, Miles was dark and—even though he wasn’t nearly as pale as he had been two weeks ago—still had residual sickbed pallor. The winter sun had added some color to his face, and Charity was once again struck by how much healthier he looked.
“Of course, I know her. She’s my star pupil. How’re you doing, Charity? We missed you these last few sessions. You know how much everybody enjoys watching you kick Grey’s butt.”
Greyson Chapman—still quite new to town—was the other instructor.
“Pupil?” Miles asked, his brows beetling.
“Self-defense,” Sam said. “We do a combination of MMA, Muay Thai, boxing, and Krav Maga. Any rough and ready way to get a woman out of