Charlotte knows what she did with Mr. Westwood in the forest was wrong. And yet she can't help gazing at the curious book entitled Kama Sutra that he left on her nightstand the next day. She can't stop thinking of all the deeply pleasurable things the dashing gentleman did to her body.

The lure of the forbidden is simply too hard to resist! Her body craves Mr. Westwood's skillful hands and lips on her unmentionables. And his bedroom is just down the hall...

Part 2 of Charlotte's sexual awakening is 5000 words long.


EXCERPT:

"Miss Thorne," he said in surprise when he opened one of the doors.

Doing everything within my power to ignore the way the soft cotton of his sleep suit clung to his great, muscular form, I held the book out to him.

"Please forgive me for bursting in on you at this late hour, sir. I felt it necessary to return this to you, and I reckoned it would be best to do so without threat of an audience from Mrs. Ford or one of the children."

He cocked his head to one side and peered at me with a curious look in his eyes. He made no move to take the book from me.

"Please, Mr. Westwood. Please, will you take the book?"

I was feeling so desperate, I very nearly placed the book on the floor next to his feet before I turned and ran, but Mr. Westwood's words prevented me from doing so.

"Oh, Charlotte. You poor girl."

I could not begin to imagine what could have inspired him to say such a thing.

"Sir?"

"I had so hoped that our passionate night in the forest would bring light to your life as it has done with mine. But I can see quite clearly that you're in turmoil, and that is the last thing I ever could have wanted. I'm terribly, terribly sorry."

I didn't know what to say. How desperately I wanted to cry out and let Mr. Westwood know that his hopes had in fact been realized! For our magical night in the forest had most certainly lit up my life. Of course it had. How I longed to touch him, to run my fingers up his muscular arms, over his broad shoulders and bury them in his thick, dark hair. How I longed to press my body against his and to feel the strength of his male organ, hard and powerful against my skin.

"Mr. Westwood," I whispered.

And then, as if I'd been overtaken by the spirit of some wicked entity, I did exactly what I'd been wanting to. Dropping the book on the floor, I threw myself in Mr. Westwood's arms, and parted my mouth, hungry for his kiss.

He held me tight, indulging my needs with his strong, forceful lips and his probing tongue. Running my hands up and down his back, I rejoiced. It was wrong; I knew it was wrong, but at that moment, I didn't care one iota.