Southern Charmer (Charleston Heat 1)

Turns his attention to my sex.

He uses his thumbs to gently prod me. He feels the smooth skin on my labia. Rubs it. I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

Watching his eyes darken with need as he looks at me, looks, turns me on so much it hurts.

His thumbs open my lips. Now I’m spread wide right in front of his face.

He’s still staring at me with such intensity I want to scream.

He swipes at my clit, back to front, with the tip of his thumb. Just once.

A tremor claps through me. Making my legs shake.

“Yes,” I hiss. “Dear God, yes.”

He shoots me a dark, saucy look before gliding that questioning thumb through the length of me. Front to back this time. I’m slick enough that he goes easily. Smoothly.

My hips roll into his touch.

His middle finger finds me. Sinks inside me at the same moment Eli leans forward and kisses me.

He kisses me just above where my lips meet.

I dig a hand into his hair and give it a pull.

“I like that,” I say.

Eli’s eyes flick up to meet mine. “Don’t forget your wine. Keep drinking, Olivia.”

“How can I—”

“Do it. Otherwise, you’re not getting this,” he says. His middle finger slips out of me, and he gives my clit a hard pluck between the knuckles of his first and second fingers. I moan.

I tip back my wine and take a long, long sip.

“That’s my girl. Good, right?”

It is good. My buzz is growing in tandem with the throb in my sex. The two of them together is sensory overload.

I love it.

And then Eli is slipping a hand onto my ass, his fingers toying with the crease. He kisses my clit next, and my need for release tightens. Becomes almost unbearable.

He tilts his head a little and then full on french kisses me. Takes all of my pussy—everything that I can see, anyway—in his mouth, laving at me with his tongue. His teeth. His lips.

Slowly. Oh so slowly.

I can’t help it. I cry out his name. I feel myself getting weak. Losing my footing.

But Eli holds me up. One hand on my hip, the other still on my ass. His fingers are slipping lower inside my crack.

Lower.

I buck against his mouth when he presses a finger to my asshole.

He doesn’t insert it. He just plays with my pucker, teasing me as he sucks hard on my clit.

I moan again.

I feel the wave coming. It’s already huge and overwhelming.

“Why,” I gasp, tugging at his hair. “Why do you have to be so good at loving me?”

Loving me. Panic lights in my belly at the words.

I hadn’t meant to say that. I wanted to say those words when we weren’t—well—doing this. It’s important to me that I tell him I love him not in the heat of the moment, but in a moment I intentionally choose.

Shit.

“Because.” He gives my pussy a long, slow lick before locking eyes with me. His are clear, free of lust. “I do love you, Olivia.”

It’s his eyes that do it. Yes, we’re in the heat of the moment right now. But he’s still somehow clear eyed.

That’s all it takes to send me over the edge.

I come. The orgasm to end all orgasms.

Tears spring to my eyes at the bite of its intensity. I crumple against Eli as my limbs stiffen, then go slack. Beat after beat after beat of sweetness roils through my pussy. My blood.

My heart feels like an open wound inside my chest. It’s bursting. It’s tender. It’s vulnerable, helpless against the onslaught of everything, everything Elijah.

I close my eyes.

I surrender.

Eli gives my clit one last kiss. I feel him rising to his feet, his body brushing against mine. He grabs my wine. Sets it on the counter. Grabs me and lifts me onto the counter, too, looping one arm around my waist to hold me upright as he settles between my legs. I’m helpless. I cling to him, too overwhelmed to move.

Above the furious working of my heart, I hear the tear of a foil packet. He pulls back for a minute.

Then he’s prodding my entrance. He’s using his arm to guide me onto his dick. He sinks slowly into me, letting out a hiss between clenched teeth.

He feels so good I can’t look at him. I’m worried I’ll combust. Be left in mangled pieces on the floor.

Capturing my mouth in a kiss, he begins to roll his hips. God, I love the way he moves inside me. Deeply and strongly and slowly. Great, rolling, athletic thrusts. He takes his time.

He’s always giving me time. Time and space to be who I am.

I curl my arms around his neck.

“I love you too, Elijah,” I say in his ear.

He goes still mid-thrust.

He pulls me a little closer, hanging his head.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear from you,” he says. His breath is ragged. “You’re all I want.”