Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

I circle my fingertip around my clit. My hips buck.

“Rub the cum over the head.”

“O—okay.”

“Now give yourself a stroke. One only.”

He doesn’t wait. I hear his sharp intake of breath.

“Aw, honey,” he pleads.

I stroke myself again. “Another.”

“I’m there.”

“So you keep rubbing me with the washcloth. Your other hand—you lather it up with soap, keeping the soap in your hand while you glide it over my tits. You like how they look when they’re all soapy and slick. You keep pressing against my clit with the other hand, the rough cotton of the washcloth catching on my flesh. Driving me wild. I’m moaning your name.”

“Gracie.”

“I’m soft and spread wide open for you. I tell you that I want you to fuck me. But you say naw, naw baby, I’m gonna make you come first.” My finger is really working my clit now. “Start stroking yourself.”

“As much as I want?”

“As much as you want.”

His breathing becomes labored. I imagine the sinews in his neck tightening and his mouth falling open as he works his hand in smooth, hard strokes.

“I grab at you. My orgasm is close. You lose the washcloth and touch me. I’m soft. Ready for you.”

He lets out a strangled growl.

“Your first two fingers sink inside me as you use your thumb to make me come.”

“You’re coming?” he says, his voice cracking.

I’m pulling at my nipples now, working my clit hard with my other hand. “I come. Really hard.”

“Then,” he breathes. “Then what?”

“And then you pull me out of the bathtub. You grab me and spin me around and bend me over the sink. Water is everywhere. The pants you’re wearing are soaked. But you don’t care. All you care about is getting your dick out. I watch in the mirror as you lather yourself up with your soapy hand. Then…then youuuuu—” I lose my grip for a second when my orgasm threatens. “You say you’re going to put it in my ass.”

“Oh, baby,” he groans.

“You work my asshole open with your fingers. Stay fucking still you tell me when I start to squirm. You use your knee to pry my legs open. And then you put yourself at my entrance. You’re ready, you tell me as you meet my eyes in the mirror. I look away, but then you say You look at me when I’m fucking you.”

I hear Luke’s labored breathing. His obvious distress only eggs me on more.

“So I look at you. And you fuck me. Slowly at first. Sinking in one inch at a time. The pressure is unreal. It hurts at first. But then, when I get used to the feel of you, you start to move.” My orgasm is close. “You grab my hair and you thrust again and again, putting that baseball butt to good use.”

He scoffs. The sound half amused, half pained. “Gracie. I’m gonna come. Tell me it’s okay.”

“Can we—can we try to do it together? I’m close too.”

“You’re the one in charge. You tell me.”

I focus on the movement of my fingers over my clit. I close my eyes and imagine what Luke looks like on his bed, strung out on this little spontaneous fantasy I threaded together from bits and pieces of imagination. His chest barrels out with every breath he takes. Brow furrowed, dick hard but eyes soft.

He’s vulnerable. Even though I’m not actually there, I feel his openness, his willingness to let his need show, through the phone. It’s in his voice and his pauses. His sighs and his pleas.

All in the service of my fantasy. My needs.

The thought makes my chest contract. That ache I felt this morning—it’s back with a vengeance.

I can’t fucking breathe.

“Luke,” I say, my body arching out of the water. “I’m ready, and I want you with me.”

“I’m here, Gracie girl. I’m ready.”

I circle my fingers faster. Their motion blurring my senses, my vision, every line I’ve drawn.

“Luke—I’m—”

“I’m there,” he grunts. “I’m with you.”

The explosion rocks me. I shout—what, I couldn’t tell you—as my completion rips through me. My legs tremble, sending water over the edge of the tub. I feel myself unfurling, opening, letting go. I let go and ride the wave, praying I don’t drown. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear Luke shouting, too. My name. God’s. Mine again.

He’s twenty miles away, but I feel him here. Feel his warmth, his confidence. His certainty that this is right, and this is good, and that I’m the only one he wants this way.

I am the only one.

Just the thought sends my heart on a rollercoaster ride.

My God, I think absently, the orgasm pounding through me, this is what I’ve been missing out on all this time.

This.

This.

This feeling of being worshipped for who I am.

My orgasm fades. I lean back against the tub, just trying to catch my breath for several beats. I hear Luke doing the same.