Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

But sparing Ted meant hurting Eli. The look in his eyes when I pulled away just now—that was hurt, raw and real.

I’m hurting the guy who’s been nothing but wonderful to me.

I can’t keep doing this to him. I need to make my choice already. I know that.

I just wish I had more time.

I just wish I wanted him less.* * *EliYoga usually clears my mind. But after an especially intense hour and a half class later that afternoon courtesy of Peter, I still can’t stop thinking about Olivia.

I’m dying for this girl. I can’t remember the last time I wanted someone so bad.

I want her body, yeah.

But I also want inside her head, too. Want to know what’s got her all twisted up.

Want to know what private parts of her inspire such passion.

She’s hurting. I’m doing everything I can to help her feel better. But until she tells me the whole story—not just parts of it, not just what she wants me to know—there’s only so much I can do.

Olivia is just so fucking hot. Everything about her is hot. Her body. Her eyes. The way she’s chasing down this dream of hers to write a novel.

She burns.

Damn it, I want to burn with her. I miss burning like that. I’ve been so wrapped up in the business of food that I’ve forgotten the joy of just creating.

Lines from My Enemy the Earl swim across my thoughts.

The devil in Gunnar wanted more, wanted to peel back the layers of Cate’s clothes and make her bloom with his hands and his body…

Cate’s belly muscles tightened beneath Gunnar’s palms, her body winding tight, curling into his caress…

That night Cate lay awake in her bed, touching herself. She imagined Gunnar doing it, his fingers on and inside her body…

I can’t help but wonder—foolishly—if Olivia is writing about us. About me doing those things to her. Cate and Gunnar are fictional. But Olivia’s admitted to mining her own experience for inspiration.

Was she thinking about me when she wrote about Cate touching herself?

Aw, fuck, I’m hard.

I’m so turned on—so lost in thought—that I almost run someone over when I turn onto Longitude Lane without looking.

“Jesus Christ,” I say, spearing a hand through my soaking wet hair.

I need some relief. Right now. Before someone gets hurt.

Inside my house, I turn the knob in my shower all the way to cold. But the water does nothing to calm my raging hard on.

What in the world are you doing to me, Yankee girl?

My skin is throbbing as I lather up. Every inch of my body feels overly sensitive. Needy.

Turning away from the shower head, I draw a sharp breath through my teeth when my palm brushes the head of my dick. Instinctively I thrust into my waiting hand.

I see fucking stars.

The soap provides just enough lubrication to let me slide easily in and out of my grip. My balls tighten; already sensation is gathering in my head, threatening to explode.

I shut my eyes. Take a shaking breath through my nose. I’m on the edge. And just the thought of Olivia is enough to push me over into the abyss.

I imagine it’s her pussy that’s gripping me tight and warm. I imagine her opening her mind and her legs to me, trusting me.

I want this girl to trust me already. I don’t know why, but I need it.

Tightening my hand around my cock, I thumb the seam on the underside of the head. Water beats down on my neck. The blades of my shoulders.

Would Olivia take charge in bed? Or would she melt into heat and softness?

Soft thighs and soft noises and soft, swollen, perfect cunt.

Heaven. Help me.

I start pumping my hand, hard, messy, jerking strokes that would make my fifteen year old self roll his eyes at how artless they are.

But I don’t care. I am desperate for relief. Any way I can get it.

My hips surge forward, thrusting my dick into my tight grip one last time, and then I come.

I come so hard it’s painful. I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut against pulse after pulse of sensation.

I’m in deep with this woman. But she won’t let me in. I don’t know what else to do to scale her walls. Bring them down.

I am a patient man. You have to be if you want to climb the ladder in the restaurant business.

But then I meet this woman, and suddenly I am a greedy, desperate shitbag, insatiable and impatient and indescribably horny.

I put my palms on the tile, cool to the touch, and lean my weight into my arms, hanging my head. Letting the cold water course down my back as I try to catch my breath.

Catch my feelings before they run away with Olivia again.

I need a drink.

Many drinks. Good thing I have the night off.