Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

Eli groans, hooking his first finger in the top button I have done on my shirt. “You really gonna make me wait?”

“Delayed gratification,” I reply with a smirk. “It’ll make the payoff that much better. I promise.”

Rolling his eyes, Eli reluctantly takes his hands off me and goes back into the kitchen.

I watch the muscles in his forearm pop as he uncorks the bottle.

“Cabinet above the stove,” I say when he looks up for glasses.

He smiles. “I’m learnin’, sweetheart.”

I join him in the kitchen, taking the glass he presses into my hand.

His gaze flicks appreciatively over me again. His nostrils flare.

I’m hit by the juiciest wave of that feeling—the feeling that there is nowhere on earth I’d rather be right now than in this kitchen with Eli. Drinking wine.

Drinking each other in like horny teenagers.

He nods at my shirt. “So you gonna take it off or what?

I take a sip of wine. Sancerre. It’s perfectly cold, crisp, just a hint of fruit. I close my eyes, allowing myself a second to enjoy the feel of it on my tongue.

“What are you going to give me to take it off?” I tease, opening my eyes.

Reaching up, he tucks my wild hair behind my ear. Takes a sip of his wine before setting it back on the counter.

“You know what I wanna give you, baby,” he says, his voice lower and softer and rougher, all at once.

A new rush of heat to my pussy makes me squeeze my legs together.

I’m a little sore. Nothing new there. He’s just so much bigger than I’m used to.

He fucks me harder and better than I’m used to.

I open my eyes to see him looking intently down at me. His eyes are soft.

Hungry.

My heart twists.

Jesus, I am drowning in this man. Just when I come up for air he pulls me under again. A look, a sound, a touch—that’s all it takes to send me reeling. He never gives me a moment to catch my breath.

He steps closer, surrounding me, and starts unbuttoning the shirt. Case in point.

“How are you feeling?” he says, eyes not leaving mine. His concern is so sweet it makes me ache. Ever since I bled that first night, he’s been extra careful with me.

Not to say he hasn’t been ardent in his attentions. He just knows my body better now. Knows when to push and when to pull back.

His skill is intoxicating.

“Like I’m drunk,” I reply honestly. “On you.”

He laughs. “I can relate.”

The top buttons are undone now. He reaches inside and gently cups my tit.

Runs a calloused thumb over the nipple, coaxing it to a hard point.

I arch into his touch, my breath catching.

“Eli,” I plead.

His hand moves back to the buttons. “Keep drinking the wine.”

I blink. “The wine?”

“You’re enjoying it.” The shirt is fully unbuttoned now. He parts it, putting his hands on my waist. “So keep drinking it.”

He kisses my mouth. I rise into him, kissing him back.

He hooks his finger into the strap of my thong. “You have no idea how much I love these little panties of yours.”

“I do, actually,” I murmur. “But that’s not the surprise.”

Eli pulls back to look me in the eye.

“I like this game,” he says.

Then he’s trailing his mouth down the slope of my jaw. He kisses my collarbone, my chest. Stops to take one nipple, then the other, into his mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder.

Harder.

My clit pulses. Agony.

He crouches the further south he goes until he’s on his knees.

Gliding his hands up my thighs, he gathers my hips in his hands and leans forward. Buries his nose into my crotch and inhales.

“You smell so good here, too,” he says, pressing his lips to the red lace. “I can tell you’re already wet.”

His fingers are in the straps at my sides now. I’m bursting with anticipation.

My hand shakes as I bring the wine to my lips. I close my eyes and take a sip at the same moment Eli pulls my thong down.

His hands go still on my legs. Silence.

My heart flips. I drink the wine, letting it slide down my throat. I feel the start of a happy buzz inside my skin.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he growls at last.

I open my eyes to see him staring reverently at my bare pussy.

“You did this?” His eyes flick to mine.

My heart flips again.

“I like it,” I reply. “Maybe not always. But it’s fun to try something new.”

He shakes his head, letting out a pained scoff. “Fun. Jesus Christ, Olivia, sometimes I think you’re tryin’ to make me stroke out.”

“So?” I shoot him a look. “Are you going to have fun with me? Or are you going to have that stroke?”

In reply, he hooks one of my legs over his shoulder, spreading me wide. Then he twists my thong in his fingers and gives it a solid, savage tug, snapping it in two. He throws it behind him.