Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

She’s moaning now into my mouth.

I feel like I died and went to heaven.

I want to unbutton these jeans and touch her for real. Slide my fingers into her soft, sweet heat. Spread her wide and taste her. See if she’s as hot and bothered as I am.

Because good Lord am I hard. My dick feels swollen and huge inside my jeans. I’d like to unbutton them, too.

But I don’t.

For starters, I don’t want our first time to be some wet, thoughtless fuck after a couple beers at The Spotted Wolf. Olivia means more to me than that.

I want to give her more than that.

But more important, she’s letting me in. She let the fire in her eyes spread to her body. She’s feeling the passionate things she writes about in My Enemy The Earl, and she’s trusting me to keep them from burning her to a crisp.

She’s being truly vulnerable with me for the first time. Her trust wraps around my heart like a hand and squeezes, making me feel—

Capable. Strong.

Things I haven’t felt since this whole business with The Jam began.

And if I’m as capable as Olivia seems to think, then I’d know not to reward her trust by pushing her. Even though I’m on top, she’s the one in charge.

She’s the one calling the shots.

So as much as I want to get her naked and give her an orgasm or five and make love to her the way Gunnar would make love to Cate, I’m not going to.

Not unless she specifically asks for it.

We’ll stick to making out for the time being. Which I certainly don’t mind.

Actually, all this dry humping takes me back to my teenage days in the backseat of my old beat up Ford. It’s fun. I feel like I’m seventeen again, doing all this shit for the first time.

The way Olivia froze when I kissed her—the way she went boneless not long after—makes me think this is the first time she’s been properly kissed. The first time she’s been overwhelmed by desire.

Or maybe it’s just been a while for her.

Whatever the case, I follow her lead, and do my best to give her what she wants. When her hands rove over my body, touching every inch of my skin with reverence and care and curiosity, I do the same to her. I walk my fingers over her belly, her breasts, her neck.

Olivia really likes it when I touch her neck. Especially when it’s my mouth that’s doing the touching. My mouth and tongue and teeth.

She’s as soft as I imagined her to be.

My heart—that’s soft, too. Soft and already sore from so much wanting.

I want to make this girl mine.

I think we’re finally moving in the right direction. Thank fuck.* * *We make out for hours.

My lips are raw. So is my dick from rubbing up against the zipper of my fly all night.

But I still fight a pang of disappointment when Olivia’s kisses become less ardent, and then stop altogether. I look down to see her nodding off, head lolling on my shoulder.

Her breathing evens out. I tuck her hair behind her ears. My arm is falling asleep, but I don’t move. I don’t want to wake her. Not yet.

I know I need to go. Olivia hasn’t asked me to stay. Even though I want to.

Lord, do I want to stay. Curl her body into mine and fall asleep breathing in the scent of her skin. Wake up together. Make breakfast. Talk books. Maybe get to third base before I have to go in to the restaurant.

With a sigh, I give my arm a little shake.

“Olivia,” I murmur in her ear. “I’m gonna go. But you should take off your jeans. They’re still wet, and I don’t want you catchin’ a chill.”

She nods, not opening her eyes. “Okay.”

“Can I see you day after next?” I ask. “I have a long day at The Jam tomorrow, but I should have some time the day after.”

A pause. She rolls her lips between her teeth.

My heart contracts as I wait for her reply.

“Yeah,” she says at last. “I’d like that.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding. I gently roll her off my shoulder and sit up. Roll off the bed, careful not to disturb her.

“Promise me you’ll take off the jeans. I’d do it for you, but…”

Her eyes are still closed when she nods again. Her fingers move sleepily to her fly. She undoes the button, raising her hips.

Even in the dark, I can see her nipples, puffy and perfect, straining against the sheer cups of her bra.

F-u-u-u-c-k.

“Two days.” I quickly kiss her mouth. “I want to see you.”

Wiggling out of her jeans, Olivia offers me a lazy smile. I glimpse the teeny tiny strap of a thong—red, too—and force myself to turn around. My cock is screaming bloody murder.