Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

I look back at Luke. Eyes on my face, he grabs my leg and hikes it over his hip, spreading me wide. Settling himself between my legs, he takes his dick in his hand and carefully—slowly—parts my folds with the head. He slows when he comes to my clit, circling himself there. Slowly. I feel the slick warmth of his pre-cum making me even wetter.

My orgasm coils low in my belly, twisting, tightening. Ready to release at any moment.

I’m on the edge of pain.

“Luke,” I plead. A little too loudly.

He covers my mouth with his hand at the same moment he shoves inside me.

I cry out. The muffled sound only making me hotter.

“Be.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Quiet.” Thrust.

He stays there for a second, buried to the hilt, and circles his hips.

Hits my clit.

I fall.

I fall right the fuck off that cliff, bucking against Luke as my orgasm uncoils. Quick and painful. Sharp sharp sharp sensation. Clench after clench while he still pounds into me. The wooden slats on the wall behind me dig into my back, but I don’t care. I like the pain.

This orgasm has bite. Teeth and tremors all at once.

So I bite him. Luke. I open my mouth and sink my teeth into the calloused skin of his palm.

He makes a noise. A smothered growl.

And then he’s pulsing inside me. Coming, too, curling his body around mine. I feel the hot stickiness of his cum somewhere between us.

Luke drops his head onto my shoulder. Breathing hard.

He lets the hand fall from my mouth.

I still struggle to catch my breath. That was…

Intense. Intense and wonderful.

Exactly what I wanted.

Exactly how I dreamed it would feel.

Luke nips at my collarbone. Trails his mouth over my shoulder. Lingering, scruffy kisses that draw my nipples to hard points. I try to dig my hand into his hair, but I find his hat instead. So I glide my middle finger between his hat and ear. Teasing the licks of hair that curl out there.

Straightening, he watches my face as he pulls out of me. Slowly.

Puts himself back inside his jeans with a wince. He bends down and grabs my shorts and underwear, instructing me to lift my feet so he can put them back on.

I stand very still as he dresses me. I’m worried if I try to move my legs will give out.

I am still shaking.

I feel sticky and sated. Possessed.

Had. I feel fucking had.

And bewildered. I can’t get a grip on my body. My thoughts.

My feelings. I was prepared for intense.

I was not prepared for how overwhelmed it would make me feel.

I mean. I just got fucked. In public. Outside of a bar.

It’s rude and it’s wrong and it was so, so good.

Luke buttons the top button on my shorts. I’m put back to rights.

Wordlessly he takes my hand again and starts to lead me back toward the street.

A knot of people, loud and clearly drunk, approach on the sidewalk.

Luke’s cum is seeping down my leg.

I can’t. Can’t calm down. Overwhelmed.

Reading my distress, Luke slips an arm around my waist and holds me against him. Propping me up. His arm is the only thing that keeps me upright as we step onto the sidewalk, joining the crowd like we’re just another pair of tourists in town for the weekend.

Like we’re not two fiends who just fucked in an alley, ten feet from curious eyes.

“You like it?” Luke murmurs.

I manage a scoff. “Did I like it? Luke, I liked it so much I think I might need a cigarette or something.”

“You smoke?”

“Would you judge me if I did?”

“Naw, baby. I don’t judge.”

He doesn’t. One of the five hundred thousand reasons why I adore this man.

I look down at my leg. Nothing noticeable. But I feel it.

“What?” Luke asks.

“I need a napkin.”

He slows his stride. “Wanna use my shirt?”

“That’s okay,” I say. “Shirt looks too good on you—I don’t want to ruin it.”

“I think Mama put some wet wipes in my glove box.”

I look up at the street. It’s busy. Lit up. Loud.

I look up at the sky. I can just barely make out the stars.

The ocean is two blocks away. Bet we could see the stars there.

I could also take care of this bodily fluid situation.

“Let’s go to the beach instead.”Chapter Twenty-FiveGracieThe bustle and lights of Middle Street feel a world away the second we step over the dunes and onto the beach.

I unbuckle my sandals. Luke toes off his boots and takes off his socks.

Then he’s reaching for me. Curling his hand around the nape of my neck, holding me in the warm little hollow between his arm and torso.

A tug of panic.

This feels too nice. I’m falling too fast.

I’m showing him too much. If he leaves—

Stop.

Stop stop stop.

All of that is true. But I choose to see the bright side instead.