Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

Pained.

My heart suddenly feels very full.

Like any red-blooded woman, I’ve dreamed of being touched well. I’ve dreamed of being fucked thoroughly. Knowledgeably.

This is that kind of touching.

I knew Luke would be good at this. But I had no idea he would be masterful.

I am in the presence of a goddamn maestro.

The hazy desire to be masterful at this myself drifts through me. If there was ever a time and place to learn these delicious dark arts, it’s here. Now. With this man.

A man who’s on his haunches now between my legs. I reach for him, grabbing his wrist just as he’s parting my folds with his thumb.

He looks up. “You always shave like this?”

His voice is rough.

He’s dying, I’m dying.

There’s comfort in knowing we’re in this together.

“Do you not like it?”

“This is your pussy, Gracie girl. I love it any way you love it. So let’s rephrase your question. Do you not like it?”

I blink.

Then I answer. Gut-quick.

“I do like it,” I say. “Sometimes, anyway. It’s work I don’t always enjoy doing. But makes everything a little more sensitive. Makes me feel sexy, too.”

I don’t know why, but saying that makes me smile.

Luke smiles, too, and the fullness in my heart spills over.

Stop, I want to tell him. That, or keep going forever please thank you goodnight.

“That’s all I ask—you do what makes you feel sexy. I don’t expect or need you to shave on my account.” He runs a hand down his chest. “Clearly a little hair don’t bother me.”

I nod, simultaneously smiling and swallowing the slight tightness in my throat. Where the hell did that come from?

“I’m gonna get to know you now,” he says, scooching back so that he’s once again in pussy eating position. My blood leaps. “Eyes on me. Show me what you like.”

He uses his thumbs to open me. Sucks in a breath. Leans down and inhales again.

“Aw, baby girl, you smell so sweet.”

Stop. Keep going.

And then he kisses me. None of that half-assed shit.

A full on kiss, tongue and lips and ferociousness. He focuses on my clit, pressing the flat of his tongue against it before drawing it into his mouth.

Slow slow slow.

Good good good.

I moan, spearing my hand through his hair. My hips buck. I can’t keep still.

Can’t get a grip.

His eyes flick to meet mine. My heart bangs. The realization ripping through me with the force of a hundred hurricanes as silent communication passes between us.

“I’m doing this on purpose,” he says with his eyes. “I’m showing you me so you’ll show me you.”

Jesus Christ, he’s cornering me. With his tongue and his adoration and his hairy, dirty-talking self, he’s backing me into a corner, leaving no room for fear or artifice. Everything he’s making me feel is urgent. I don’t have time to second guess it.

I don’t have time to think. I just respond. Rise. Roll with it.

I just am.

A thought snags—that he’s somehow manipulated me to get to this point.

But then I think, no way. No fucking way. I have been a willing participant in every millisecond of this encounter. I am the one who initiated it. I am the one who wanted intensity.

He’s giving it to me. Freely. Asking nothing in return except to keep an open mind.

Sweetness gathers between my legs. He runs his tongue down my slit, then back up again, and I cry out when he’s back on my clit. Kissing and sucking.

He pulls back. Eyes flashing mischievously as he licks his lips.

“Fucking tease,” I say, tightening my fist in his hair.

He smirks. “Bringin’ you to the edge over and over again’ll just make it better when I finally push you off it.”

“Push me,” I say, not recognizing my own voice. “Hard.”

He touches the tip of his tongue to his top lip.

“Now who’s being bossy?”

I glide a hand down my chest and start playing with one of my nipples. “Me. Push.”

Push. Pull. I’m feeling it all tonight. And I don’t hate it.

The look in his eyes darkens. He narrows them, all his focus on my face, and the insides of my torso suddenly feel stretched tight.

“Yes ma’am,” he says, and he ducks down to tongue me again. The lewd way his head dips as he eats me out—

It. Is. Everything.

Now there are fingers involved. He laps at my clit while he sinks his middle finger inside me. Thrusting gently. Slowly. In time to the movements of his tongue.

I am rising into my orgasm like a kite on a windy day. In stomach dropping increments, uneven, sudden dips and lurches higher.

My eyes flutter shut.

“No no no, baby girl. Eyes on me,” he murmurs against my flesh. I do as he tells me, our gazes locking. His finger slips out of me. I cry out. “I wanna touch your ass.”

The heaviness between my legs spikes.

“I know you’ve never had anal sex. But has anyone touched you there at all?”