Southern Pleasure (Southern Heart 1)

“Thank you.” She takes the shirt into the bathroom to change. I strip down to my boxers, turn off the light, and climb into bed. I’m more excited than I should be that she’s going to be in my bed again, at least I hope she is. We didn’t talk about it, but after tonight, I just need to hold her. Besides, she’s going to be my wife. How in the hell am I going to stay away from her now? We should talk about it, about living and sleeping arrangements, but that’s not what we do. We share kisses and sleep in the same bed and pretend it doesn’t happen. I’m just going to let the cards fall where they may.

I watch the shadows dance across the ceiling, willing my racing heart to slow its rhythm as I wait for her to finish in the bathroom. When the door opens, she turns off the light and walks toward the bed. There is just enough moonlight to lighten her features. I lift the covers, inviting her to join me. Her step doesn’t falter as she climbs in. Dragging the covers up over both of us, I pull her into my arms and hold her close for several minutes before I finally whisper, “Thank you,” into her ear.

She rolls over so she’s now facing me, our bodies aligned. I place my arm around her, resting it on her back, and move her as close as I can get her. “We’re really doing this?”

Her hand rests against my cheek. “Yeah, we really are.”

I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t find the words. Instead, I lean in and press my lips to hers. The kiss starts soft, as I trace her bottom lip with my tongue. She opens for me, and the minute my tongue slides past her lips, I lose all train of thought. I have a single purpose—to have more of her. I need more. I need to taste her for hours, everywhere I want to trace her soft skin with my tongue and to be buried so far inside of her that we both forget our own names.

I want her.

I can no longer fight it. I don’t know if it’s the thought of her being my wife or just because it’s her.

More than likely, it’s both.

She throws her leg over mine and presses her body closer. My cock pulses against her belly. “Evan,” she moans my name. Moans my fucking name!

Breaking our kiss, my lips find her neck. My hand slips under her shirt and I’m once again treated to the silky smooth feel of her skin against mine. I guide them up her spine and she shudders in my arms.

She’s so fucking sexy.

“Evan.” This time, my name on her lips is a pant.

“Tell me, McKinley. Tell me what you need.” I’ll fucking give her anything she wants. I just need to know she wants this. Her actions tell me she does, but this is a turning point for us. I need to hear her say it.

Instead of telling me, she sits up and pulls my shirt over her head, throwing it across the room, and then lies back down.

“You,” she whispers.

Fuck me!

I close my eyes and will myself to slow down. I want her and this will change us, but we’re getting married. We’re going to change regardless.

With my index finger, I trace the contour of her face down to her neck. I continue my journey until I reach her full breasts, tracing each pert nipple with my finger. No longer able to hold back, I bend my head and take one, then the other, in my mouth. Giving them both equal attention with my tongue and a gentle tug of my fingers.

“Evan,” she moans again and the sound goes straight to my dick. I’m now painfully hard with want for her.

Never moving my mouth from her breasts, my hand skims her flat belly, touching every single part of her I can. When I reach the hem of her silk panties, I don’t even hesitate to slide my hand underneath.

I gently run the tip of my thumb over her. This causes her to raise her hips from the bed. Exploring further, my hand is coated with her. I want to bury my face between her legs and feast, but I can’t seem to tear my mouth from her chest, from the tight, perky nipples, I’ve not had my fill of.

My hand is going to have to do for now.

I’m naked except for my barely there panties. Evan sucks a nipple into his mouth and it sends fire through me. His hands on me—this is something I’ve thought about more than I care to admit. He’s holding back; I don’t want him to hold back.

“Evan.” His name falls from my lips. He doesn’t lift his head, just continues to suck and nip at my breasts, driving me insane with lust for him. His finger is softly tracing my folds, so I know he knows what his touch does to me. But he doesn’t make a move to take this further. It’s almost as if he’s just enjoying the feel of his hand covered in . . . me.

I need more.

I know he’s in his head. He’s thinking this is wrong and, honestly, it might be, but I don’t give a damn. Nothing that feels this good can be wrong. We’re adults. Adults who agreed, just hours ago, we should get married.

Deciding he needs a little encouragement, I keep one hand in his hair, holding him to my breasts. The other follows the same path he just covered until my hands slips underneath the hem of my panties. I place my hand over his and push. I need him to touch me. I need . . . him.

“McKinley.” His mouth falls from my breast. I watch as he squeezes his eyes closed and bites down on his lip. It’s a heady feeling, having him fighting his control.

“Touch me,” I whisper, raising up to capture his lips. He moans deep in the back of his throat and deepens the kiss. His hand still under mine, I begin to move his fingers where I want them. It takes seconds for him to give in to whatever he was fighting and slip inside.

Turning my head, I break our kiss. His hands . . . finally . . . he’s driving me crazy.