Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

“Thanks,” she says.

Holding my cupcake in my hand, I watch her peel back the wrapper and take a big, messy bite.

She catches me watching and giggles, once, ducking her head. It smears frosting all over her face, bits of sweet potato cupcake sticking to it.

“You have something here,” I say, touching my finger to the side of my mouth.

“Shut up. I know,” she says around a mouthful of cupcake. She tries to wipe her face with the edge of the paper towel, but it only makes the situation worse. “Did I get it?”

“Nope. Now you have some here, too,” I say, pointing to the other side of my mouth.

She tries again. And again she just gets frosting and cupcake everywhere.

She looks so damn adorable I want to bite her face and fuck her for a week straight.

Instead I take a neat bite of cupcake. “Still there.”

“Goddamn it!” She’s wiping furiously at her face. “Now did I get it?”

The cupcake is good. Really good. The sweet potato really comes through—gives it an almost carrot-cake like flavor. Add in the cream cheese frosting—that hint of rhubarb is unexpected but yummy—and it is damn delicious.

Shaking my head, I take another bite of cupcake. Watching Gracie squirm is fun.

“Ugh! I’m hopeless. I’m gonna need a shower at this point.”

“I’d be happy to hose you down.” I casually tilt my head toward the window. “Got a spigot out back. You’ll have to take off your clothes, though.”

Gracie looks at me. Fire in her eyes. A laugh on her lips.

“Hell no,” she says. “If anyone’s getting naked, it’s you.”

And then she shoves what’s left of her cupcake in my face. Chunks of it fall onto my shirt.

A startled laugh erupts from my belly. What the fuck is this? Second grade?

I’m in.

She’s laughing now, laughing so hard she’s bent at the waist.

I gather what I can of the cupcake off my face in one hand. With the other I grab Gracie, looping my arm around her middle so she can’t escape.

Then I’m smearing frosting on her cheeks, her lips. Her chin. She’s shimmying against me, her breasts pressed to my chest as she tries to wiggle free.

I let her twist around so she’s facing away from me. I use the momentum of her movements to lift her off the ground, tightening my grip on her torso.

“Don’t you dare!” she wheezes. Her shoulders curl up to her ears and she turns her head. Just enough for our gazes to catch.

“What?” I lean in to lick some frosting from the side of her mouth. “Don’t do what, Gracie?”

“I’ll bite you!”

“I like the sound of that,” I say. I spin her back around and tilt my head, offering her my neck.

Her arms are trapped between us. But that doesn’t stop her from rising up on her toes, a sly smile on her lips.

She licks my throat first. Then she bites it, this rough, sharp little thing. My cock takes notice.

Gracie takes notice of my cock taking notice.

“You’re really out to beat your tractor tonight,” she says when she falls back. Eyes flashing. Dimples so deep I could swim in ’em.

She’s in my arms, cuddled up close. The scent of her shampoo filling my head.

“I’m out to beat somethin’.” I reach down and use my finger to swipe some frosting from the tip of her nose. I put that finger in my mouth. “And it sure as hell isn’t my tractor.”

Her gaze follows my movements, landing on my lips.

“You’re good at dick jokes. Almost as good as your mamas.”

I grin. “Like Mama says—I only inherited the good stuff from her.”

“Your character? Charisma?”

“My looks and my pervy sense of humor, clearly.”

“Clearly,” she says, her dimples deepening as her gaze softens.

My heart softens, too. Even as my dick goes full mast.

I reach down and tuck her hair behind her ear. “I had fun tonight. I hope you did, too, Gracie girl.”

She blinks. Blinks again, several times. Like the weight of everything we’ve done tonight—of all the territory we’ve covered—is just hitting her.

She looks a little crushed by it.

My heart clenches, even as I get it. I get that this is bewildering. Me holding her like this in my kitchen, both of us smeared in cream cheese frosting and post-oral satisfaction.

This is my best friend’s sister we’re talking about here. The girl I was never allowed to touch.

The girl I’m touching all over.

It’s one of those moments you have as an adult when you stop and think wait, wait a damn second, I really get to do this? I’m not fifteen and I’m not gonna get my ass beat because I’ve engaged in some heavy petting with my friend’s sister?

I give her a small squeeze. “Tell me.” What you’re thinking. When I can see you again because I think I’m addicted to you.

“It was perfect.” She looks me in the eye. “What you did for me tonight—what you did with me—Luke, it was so good I’m struggling not to pinch myself to make sure this isn’t all some kind of super arousing dream brought on by the romance novel I’m reading.”