Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

Especially when her hands find the sides of my ass and she squeezes them, pushing me a little bit further into her mouth.

Her tongue circles around my head.

“That’s it,” I gasp, jerking my hips. Pulling my cock out of her mouth. “I’m gonna come.”

Without thinking I curl my hands around her waist and toss her onto her back. The mattress dips; she sucks in a breath.

Then I’m climbing on top of her, dick in my hand. Surrounding her with my body. One, two savage strokes, and I’m coming.

We both watch as I come all over her chest. Her tits. Her belly. Jesus I keep coming. It’s all over her now.

My pulse is pounding. An ominous drumbeat.

Gracie closes her eyes, turning her head away from me.

My stomach plummets. Was this too much? Did I cross a line?

“Gracie girl,” I say gruffly. “Baby, look at me. Right now. Let me know you’re okay.”

She opens her eyes. A beat passes between us. Her chest rises and falls. Rises and falls. Like she can’t quite catch her breath.

Her eyes never leaving mine, she glides a palm down her chest. Uses the pad of her first finger to smear my cum across the hardened point of her nipple.

“It was just enough, Luke.”

I stare at her.

“My fucking God,” I manage, hanging my head. “You—gah, you are sexy as hell, Grace.”

I look back up. She wipes at her lips with that finger, smearing me all over her mouth. Lips curled into the most sated, seductive smile ever.

“You taste good,” she says.

“You taste better.” I look at her. Heart beating hard. “Still ravenous?”

She goes still at that. Blinking lazily up at me as her gaze takes on this look—it’s almost wistful.

“For sex? No,” she says. “But for food? Yes.”

I don’t know why, but this makes me grin.

Curling an arm around her waist, I roll onto my side and take her with me so we’re face to face. Nose to nose as I lean in and kiss her mouth. I taste myself there.

I was right. She tastes better.

“How ’bout we give those cupcakes you brought over a try?”

She kisses me back. “I heard your rhubarb was especially potent.”

“I only grow the best,” I say. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”Chapter TwelveLuke“I don’t got coffee,” I say, switching on the kitchen lights. It’s gotten dark since we were downstairs earlier. “But I do have plenty more beer if you’d like one? Water?”

Gracie leans a hip into the counter, crossing her arms. Damn does she look good all rumpled and shit. Just fucked hair, swollen, pink lips. Pink cheeks.

That light in her eyes—the one that was missing—it’s back.

Y’all. I did that.

My chest swells with pride.

I did that, and now I am fucked. Because I wanna keep that light there. For good.

“Water would be great, thanks,” she says, glancing at the clock above the stove. “I gotta drive back to town, so…”

Right.

She’s gotta drive back because she’s not staying the night. Because this is just a hook up. She came up to my bed for one thing and one thing only. An hour. Maybe two.

But I want more than that. I want Gracie’s entire night. Her morning, too. Lordy, how great would morning sex with her be? Her all soft and warm from sleep, making these quiet sounds as I put her on her side and slip into her from behind. Afterward, she’ll make coffee, I’ll make breakfast, we’ll make love one more time before we start our day.

The swelling in my chest contracts.

I just have to keep doing what I’m doing. Keep giving her what she asks for, keep drawing her out. If we’re meant to be, we’ll be.

I really, really want us to be together.

“Of course,” I say.

I make two ice waters and set them on the counter. Gracie pulls thirstily on hers while I open the pastry box. It’s white, stamped with Holy City Roasters’ name and star logo. Reminds me I still need to pick Gracie’s brain about my grits. Right now, I’m just selling what I have to Eli. But as I ramp up production, I’d eventually like to package them for retail—sell them at specialty food markets, grocery stores, that kind of thing.

As I open the box, I’m greeted by the sweet smells of sugar and butter. Four good-sized cupcakes are nestled inside, smeared with heaps of decadent-looking frosting that’s tinged pink—gotta be the rhubarb.

Rhubarb that I grew.

Despite the ache in my chest, I find myself grinning. I’m damn proud of my produce. And touched that Gracie would go to such lengths to show it off like this.

“Gracie, these are beautiful,” I say, looking at her. All this looking. “Seriously. I like the pink. Reminds me of you.”

Her cheeks burn a deeper shade. “Any part of me in particular?”

“You know the one.”

I reach over and tear a sheet off the roll of paper towels beside the sink. Then I pick up a cupcake and put it on the paper towel, passing it to Gracie.