Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

I do as he tells me and kneel in front of him. The wooden slats bite into my knees.

My skin feels stretched tight. Need blaring between my legs.

He hands me the mug, and I set it on the dock beside me.

Luke slides his hand into my hair and gives it a little pull to tilt my head up. I meet his eyes.

I see reverence there. Pain.

Love.

He takes his dick in his other hand. Takes a half step forward. He thumbs the head down so it meets with my lips. Eyes still on his, I open my mouth a little wider.

He guides himself into my mouth, sinking slowly. Quietly. His breath coming in hot spurts through his nose. He moves his hips, a gentle thrust, fisting my hair in his hand when he meets with the back of my throat. He tastes clean, like water.

His skin is hot and smooth.

“All the way in, honey,” he says. “Show me how good you are at makin’ messes.”

I am. I am good at that.

He’s huge, and my gag reflex threatens, but I don’t care. I take him as deep as I can on a swallow. I need to show him how much he means to me.

I need him to know just how much I appreciate everything he’s done to get me to this place.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. His eyebrows snap together, surrender softening the hard edges of his desire.

“Honey, you—God, you do this right. Just fuckin’ right.”

I put my hands on him. Palms sliding over the broad muscles of his stomach, his hips, his ass. I feel the muscles there flex as he pulls back and thrusts, more forcefully this time. Making my eyes water as he goes deep.

I take him there with a moan, curling my lips over my teeth so I don’t hurt him.

“I want you to move,” he says, pulling my hair so that my head bobs. It hurts. And it’s hot. “I wanna watch you suck this dick like I know you can. Move.”

I do. I bob my head, pull him out, take him deep. Do it over and over again, a little deeper each time. His eyes never leave mine. His words are obscene. But his eyes—they are full of worship.

The dock sways gently. I realize that we’re the ones making it move.

Me.

He’s groaning now, these short, intense gusts with every thrust I make.

My hands move to his thighs.

They are trembling.

I give them a squeeze. You okay?

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ stop,” he says, guiding my head up and down, up and down. “I’m the one who tells you when to stop. You listen to me. Only me. Only me. Only me.”

The only thing ruder than those words is the fierceness with which he says them.

His stomach caves as he struggles to catch his breath. His thumb is on my lips again.

“Gracie.” It’s a plea. His hips jerk.

He comes in my mouth with a shout.

I swallow. His grip softens in my hair, and he gently smooths it away from my face as he watches me. His eyebrows coming together, softening his expression.

He pumps his hips slower. Slower still.

When he’s done, Luke guides himself out of my mouth.

He wipes at my lips with this thumb. The gentleness of this gesture—the way he’s looking at me—how fucking full I feel—

There’s a sacredness to it.

The sex. The seeing.

I’m hit by the sudden urge to cry.

So I do. Tears spilling out of my eyes, fat and hot.

Luke’s expression morphs into one of panic. He’s reaching down and pulling me to my feet and thumbing away my tears.

“Did I hurt you? Fuck, Grace, I’m—”

I loop my arms around his neck and pull him into a hug. Holding him close with the same fierceness I felt earlier. Burying my face in his neck.

His skin is warm.

“Not hurt,” I murmur in his ear. “Healed. Well, healing. Moving in the right direction.”

He hesitates for a second. Not quite sure what to make of that.

But then he’s wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me tight, too. Pressing a kiss to my hair as his fingertips dig into my shirt. His shirt.

“I’m glad,” he says softly.

“I am, too.”

Luke kisses my temple. Lets out a breath.

I pull back to look at him. Morning sun catching on his irises. Making them look almost green.

He’s scruffier than usual. Little purple marks underneath his eyes.

He looks as tired and happy as I do.

“Come with me,” I say. “To the opening.”

“For Holy City Roasters? ‘Course I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it, Gracie.”

“I mean as my date. My boyfriend. Come.”

Luke looks at me. Half a heartbeat.

Why do I get the feeling that he’s hesitating again? Isn’t this what he asked for? Isn’t this what he wanted from the beginning?

But then he’s leaning down. Kissing my neck. My mouth. Pulling at me just how I like. I suck in a breath, my head falling to the side.