Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

“Oh.” She tips her head back, eyes rolling shut. “Rhett, that feels—good.”

My dick is throbbing, and so is my pulse. I lean down and take her nipple in my mouth, sucking hard, seeing stars when she steadies herself by putting her hands on my shoulders.

“I want you to come on my dick,” I say. “You’ll go first, always you’ll be first, but this time I’m inside you when it happens. Understood?”

She nods, breathless, hips rolling against my hand. Her pussy flutters around my finger, and I know we don’t have much time.

I carefully remove my finger and then my hand, and I tell Amelia to lie down on the bed.

Reaching behind me, I tug my shirt over my head and shuck off my jeans and briefs. All the while watching Amelia make herself comfortable on the left side of the bed. She pulls back the covers—my housekeeper came today—and climbs inside, and my chest about damn near explodes seeing her here, in my room, hair a dark halo around her head on the pillow.

And then she sighs. Eyes soft, pussy hot, the woman sighs, like she’s never been more content in her life.

Fuck chasing the wild.

I am wild. I yank open the top drawer of the bedside table and grab a condom, tearing it open with my teeth. I roll it on.

Amelia holds up the covers. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

But I have waited.

I’ve waited my whole life for this. The girl. The feeling.

The permission to finally, finally let go.

I let go. And pray like hell it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Amelia

Rhett wastes no time.

He climbs into his massive bed. Climbs over me, my legs falling apart as he settles himself between them. He does this insanely hot half push-up thing, using his arms to lower himself just enough to capture my mouth in a searing, hungry kiss.

I clutch his sides, huge slabs of muscle and warm skin, and do my best to meet him stroke for stroke. I rise into the kiss to keep up, bewildered at the sudden onslaught of intensity.

Don’t get me wrong, our connection has always been intense. But this—this is different, more ferocious, and I wonder what’s changed between this morning’s breakfast sandwich and Liam’s bedtime to make Rhett burn this way.

My stomach hollows out as he kisses me. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

It’s everything, being wanted this way, loved this way, and it makes me almost sick with want.

I want this man more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but I’m afraid he was never mine to have.

I’ll let him have me. I’ll show him how it’s done, the surrender, and I’ll hope he’ll reciprocate. I’ll hope he’ll set himself free from the things that hold him back. And if he doesn’t—

He’ll destroy me.

Then again, he’s doing that right now with this kiss. I’m done for, whether or not he sticks around.

Shit.

Oh, shit, it feels nice when my nipples brush against his chest as he rises on one hand, using the other to reach between us. My blood leaps in anticipation, my pussy throbbing and needy. The sheets are cool against my back, a welcome antidote to the rising heat inside me.

He takes his dick in his hand and glides it down my slit, back up again, making me moan. Eyes locked on mine—my God, the look in them, fire and possession, feral lust and focus—he notches himself at my center and shoves inside me with one hard thrust.

I cry out, body igniting, and he curses.

“You’re still sore, aren’t you?” he says, keeping very still. “I’m sorry, A.”

I shake my head. “No. I mean yes, I’m still a little sore, but this—you being this way—I like it. Keep going.”

He brushes his lips over my forehead. “You sure?”

“If I tell you something, I’m sure. Don’t make me repeat it.”

His lips twitch. “Lesson learned, Miss Fox.”

And then he pulls back his hips and thrusts again. Harder this time, deeper, nearly splitting me in half. He thrusts again and again, taking his time, the muscles in his sides and back flexing beneath my fingers.

All the while, his eyes never leave mine. He watches me, watches me writhe and moan, his gaze serious. Soft too.

How can lust like this be soft? Makes no sense.

It is, though. I feel equal parts soft and hard. Soft with feeling. Hard with need.

“Show me,” he says, hitting me with another gutting, athletic thrust. “How you touched yourself. Show me and make yourself come.”

“O-okay.”

I’m overwhelmed, but I somehow manage to do as he tells me, touching my clit, closing my eyes against the urgent sensation that bolts through me.

“Rhett,” I breathe, sweaty and surrounded, throat tightening.

“Do as I say,” he growls. “Don’t you dare stop. Lemme feel you, honey. I need to—”

His voice catches, and he doesn’t finish the thought. Instead, he kisses the corner of my mouth, my closed eyelids. My jaw and my earlobe. Both nipples.