Southern Sinner (North Carolina Highlands 3)

Her pubic hair glistens. Arousal? Rain?

“Oh, yeah,” Stevie says when she catches me looking. “Apparently, my body doesn’t want food. It wants you.”

Her pussy lips part when she raises her leg to step into my sweats, and I glimpse her pink center. The head of my dick jams against my zipper.

“You touch yourself? While you were gone?”

She lifts her shirt over her head. “Thought of you the whole time.”

I shove my jeans and briefs down to my ankles. This time she’s the one staring at me.

My cock, really. “See, I haven’t. My way of torturing myself, I guess. Punishing myself. Which means I’m raging, honey.”

“I can see that.” She swallows. Closing her eyes, she pulls my cashmere sweater over her head. She flips her hair out of the collar, giving it a good shake.

It’s wild and wet, and it smells like her shampoo.

I get dressed quickly. Taking her face in my hands, I thumb away the streaks of mascara and look her in the eyes. “Talk first. Then I’m gonna feed you. Then we get naked.”

She swallows again. “So decisive tonight.”

“You’re giving me the second chance I didn’t think I’d get.” I press a kiss, soft this time, to her lips. “I’m not gonna fuck it up. C’mon, let’s get you in front of a fire.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Stevie

The fire blazes, and I defrost quickly in Hank’s sweater and the blanket he wrapped around me when I sat on the bedroom floor.

Ever the thoughtful host, he hands me a tumbler of whiskey as he takes a seat beside me.

His guitar is where we left it a week ago.

I hold up my glass. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?” Hazel eyes locked on mine, he taps my glass. “Stevie, you gotta know I’m crazy about you.”

The whiskey burns a delicious trail of heat down my throat. “I’m crazy about you too. Which is why I had to come back. I probably should’ve called—”

“Calling’s for cowards. Showing up at my front door is a gamble, sure. But I love that about you—how unafraid you are to go all in.”

I drink, watching the light of the fire catch on Hank’s smooth skin. His eyes look more green than brown tonight, the way they sometimes do.

My stomach and pussy clench in unison. He’s unbelievably handsome.

He also gets me. I love that about you—how unafraid you are to go all in. He appreciates me too.

Lord above, I am definitely in deep with this man.

Only now, that idea doesn’t scare me. Well, I guess it still does, the way falling in love with someone will always be scary, but my reaction to that fear is different. I’m excited now. Hopeful.

I’m no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Egged on by this newfound optimism, I dive right in.

“I want you,” I say. “Long story short.”

Hank sips his whiskey and swallows, running a hand over his mouth. He looks up and lets out a breath before looking back down at me.

His eyes are wet now. And happy.

“That’s my line,” he says at last, lips twitching.

“I’m borrowing it. Look.” I set my glass on the fireplace, then grab his hand, twining our fingers. My body, already lit up, positively sings at the contact. “I realized something when I went home. Remember how we talked about you being totally different from my ex, but how I was worried I would be the same if I were to ever be in another relationship? I was so afraid of turning into the person I was with him.”

Hank nods. “Right. The Stepford wife simmering with rage.”

“Exactly. But now I’ve realized I’m different too. I’ve changed since then, and I’m never going back to Stepford wife Stevie.”

He trails his fingertips up the sides of my fingers, eyes serious as my words sink in.

“I love this idea,” he says at last. “And I one hundred percent agree. I could never imagine you being that person, much less turning into her for a second time. But I have to ask—what’s changed? Just a week ago, you were pretty damn convinced a relationship with me wasn’t worth the risk.”

I lift a shoulder. “Another long story short, but it hit me just how much I like myself now. I didn’t back then. I was afraid to ask for what I wanted. I was afraid of being a pain in the ass, of having boundaries and coming off as lazy or ungrateful. Before I would think, wait, who the hell do I think I am to ask for fulfillment? Fairness? Now, though, I skip the toxic thought process and just . . . go after what I want, so I can be who I am.”

Hank curls his fingers over the back of my palm. Electricity blooms inside my skin, and I wonder if I’ll ever get over how lovely his big, broad hands feel on my body.