Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

He nudges my nose with his and kisses me. Deep.

He’s kissing me nonstop. Like he can’t get enough.

Like he’s got a lot of time to make up for.

Never breaking the kiss, Greyson rests his weight on one arm and reaches between us with the other. He grabs my knee and guides it to his hip, spreading me wider.

My blood leaps when I realize what’s coming next.

His hand sweeps down my leg toward my hip. He lifts his body, and glides his palm over my pussy, pressing the heel into my clit.

“Greyson,” I moan, the crown of my head dragging across the duvet as I arch against him, clawing at his chest.

“My God you’re soft,” he replies roughly. “Ready.”

“Are you gonna make me beg?”

He smirks. “Only if you want me to.”

He removes his palm, and glides a finger up the length of my slit, back to front. Circles my clit, which makes me want to scream. Dips inside, which makes me want his cock.

Pressure.

Enough of all this pressure. I need relief.

Just when I really am about to beg him to put on a condom—yeah, I’m pregnant, but we haven’t talked about STDs—and put himself inside me, he starts working his way back down my body. Mouth all over my skin as he hooks my left leg over his shoulder, then my right.

“Oh, yes,” I breathe, putting a hand on his head.

It’s between my legs now. His eyes meet mine. He watches my expression as he opens his mouth and presses his tongue to my pussy. I see stars when he toys with my clit, my hips starting to roll.

He places his hands on the insides of my thighs.

“Put your feet on my shoulders,” he says. “I want all of you. Wide open.”

I do as he tells me, spreading myself farther, and he does not hesitate. He eats me out with erotic patience and intention, and I feel a familiar tightening, a maddening stretch that warns of a massive orgasm yet to come. His fingers play with my pussy while his tongue dips inside me, around me. While he gently nicks my clit with his teeth, giving it a quick, devastating suck before moving to explore other parts.

That’s what he’s doing. Exploring me. Taking his time.

Literally savoring me, letting out these rude little grunts.

“Now you’re doing it,” I pant.

“Doing what?”

“Making noises while you eat.”

His eyes are on mine. They’re dancing.

“Sweetheart”—he presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh—“you have no idea how much I missed this. Missed you.”

My stomach dips as my impending orgasm spirals higher.

“I’ve missed you too,” I reply, gently slicing my fingers through his hair. “The growly boss. Your body. Your tongue, more specifically.”

He laughs, my pussy vibrating at the sound.

He laps at me with the flat of his tongue, and my head falls back on the bed. This feels so damn good. High thread count sheets at my back. Naked as the day I was born. Greyson’s head between my legs, stoking me higher and higher toward my first orgasm in months.

It’s not even nine in the morning yet.

Too early to say this just might be the best day ever?

He takes my clit between his lips at the same moment he sinks two fingers inside me. My eyes squeeze shut as my legs begin to shake.

“Grey,” I manage, back arching.

“I like it when you call me that. Say it again when you come.”

He’s kissing my pussy now, stroking and pulling and sucking. My God, the sucking, it’s soft and it hurts and I want—

I need—

I reach down and pluck at one nipple, then the other.

My orgasm rips through me, the release so powerful it flirts with the line between pleasure and pain. I buck against his face, but he doesn’t stop, slipping his hands onto my ass cheeks and holding me steady as I come.

My legs are shaking and my pussy is contracting and I’m chanting his name over and over again. Waves of sensation roll through me, knocking down every defense, every warning, every fear.

I’ve read somewhere that pregnant women have increased blood flow to the genital area.

Maybe that explains why this orgasm is to die for. It’s the existential kind. The kind you remember. That makes you grateful to be alive.

It’s that damn good.

It’s happening with Grey.

When I’m finally able to catch my breath, I open my eyes. He’s looking at me, expression all soft and sweet, and my heart goes soft, too.

Lord above, I’m in deep, and I’m not even sure how I got here.

All I know is I want more.

“I’m impressed,” he says, voice husky. “I’ve made you come before. But never quite like that.”

I give his hair a tug. “Get up here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I grin as he climbs over me, placing his palms on either side of my head.

“This is a fun little role reversal,” I say, gliding a hand up his chest. He’s got a nice smattering of dark wiry hair here that stands out against his pale skin.